Chapter 7: Decisions
Sweet darkness surrounded her. It fell like a velvety blanket, growing deeper and thicker with each passing minute. It nipped at her skin and swirled down her throat, settling in her lungs. She felt like she was breathing in twilight.
Hisana glanced up into the sky. A thousand silvery pinpricks of light filled the firmament. It was beautiful. It was serene. It filled the spirit and eased the mind.
She stared into the black and silver for a while. How much she wished to be among the stars. To be free, shining, and steady. Her heart swelled. How long would she have to enjoy their stark majesty? How long would she be able to enjoy their silent beauty, staring down at her from on high like the judgment of a god? The questions rankled her heart and turned her stomach.
There were so many things that she would miss. There were so many opportunities foregone. There were so many wrongs that she needed to right. All gone. In a few short days, it would all vanish—evaporate—in front of her. All of her hopes and dreams and silent promises would scatter like her remains on some hateful wind.
Hisana shook her head.
There was no use in moping. No use at all, she told herself. All she could do was breath in and out and enjoy the little time she had left.
Stress, however, weighed heavy in her heart and locked her muscles in tight torsion. The fibers in her neck felt like tautly pulled rubber bands. Pain gnawed on her sinews, plucking the threads of her nerves and muscles in a painful melody. Her head pounded and a strange white noise filled her ears, drowning out the world around her.
The crickets' chirping, the frogs' bellowing, and the babbling of the spring water were inaudible to her mind. Her thoughts and her heart quickened. A heavy drumming din shielded her from nature's canorous humming.
Then it stopped.
Her thoughts ceased their hideous noise. Her heart stopped its doleful beating. The blood pounding through her slowed its current. The stress dissipated.
She turned, feeling the calmness pull her. It was something other. The source of her sudden tranquility was external. It was familiar. She knew what it was, but her mind refused to believe it. It refused to believe it until her eyes perceived it.
She smiled. A sweet closed-lipped smile. Her eyes, large and searching, reflected the moonbeams, and she bowed her head. There was no need to speak. To speak would have been too abrasive, too cutting.
He watched her for a moment before taking a seat beside her. In silence, they stared into the dark water lapping at the stony bank. She smoothed the blanket out for him before gazing into the sky reflected in the black waters.
For a moment, she didn't feel alone. Her soul quieted. Perhaps because she had company, she denied the effusive feeling rising in her chest. Perhaps his presence forced her to transform into something that she was not truly. But, it did not feel that way. Indeed, it felt like his presence calmed her. She felt tethered to the here and now. She felt fixed. She felt real.
"My offer stands," he said, quietly. Too quietly. She could barely hear him above the susurrus of leaves against a quick breeze.
Her eyes drifted to him, and she lowered her head. She let the moment pass, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. "Congratulations," she said, hoping to digress. "You passed your examinations." The words came out on a listless breath.
He started at her observation. Surely, he was prepared for her to rebuff him, or, at the very least, to acknowledge his offer. She did not. She could tell this unnerved him, and she offered him a conciliatory smile. "Your position will be with the Sixth?" she asked, knowing the answer.
He nodded.
"Seated?"
He hesitated. "Uncertain."
"Of course," she said. Her bright eyes trailed back to the spring. "Assignments take a day or two to process." Her statement was sharp, rebuking. She knew the process, but she had simply forgotten what it was like to embark on such a road. It felt so foreign now.
"I am a Shinigami," he said.
She perked up. She wondered if he was just realizing his commitment. Perhaps it was the first time he had actually considered the implications of passing the examination. Perhaps, he meant to say something else. She could feel his gaze on her, hopeful. 'Oh, yeah,' she moaned inwardly, 'He has checked off all the requisites for the task.' There was only one, to be truthful—be a Shinigami. She could only select from among the Shinigami. There were other caveats. Unspoken caveats: She could not select a captain. No, that would have been improper. She could only select Vice Captains or lower ranked men. She should select warriors. To choose a healer would have smarted, stepped on too many toes. It would have been a waste. She shouldn't select high nobles. Such was not her charge. They were above her, like captains.
Byakuya Kuchiki was above her, like a captain. She took solace in his offer, but she took even more solace in knowing that she could never choose him because he was not a Shinigami. Now, he was a Shinigami, but he was also a high noble. He was the heir to the Kuchiki title. He would succeed Ginrei. He could not be spared.
Hisana turned to him. Her gaze was soft and gentle. "Lord Kuchiki," she murmured. Through the shade, her bright eyes pleaded with him to rescind his offer.
"I wish to avenge my father. My family deserves this. It is deserves to reclaim its pride—the pride that was stolen from it," he said, astutely reading her look. Appeals to their friendship would not convince her. Even though he wanted to protect her. He also wanted to avenge his father's name. It was the only primary reason that could sway her, he was certain.
Hisana's look darkened at his retort. She assumed such was a motivating factor. She knew he would want to salvage his father's memory. To save it, to preserve it. A small smile cracked her lips, and she averted her gaze to the pale grey rocks shimmering in the moonlight.
"I think your family would lock me away."
"Good!" he said drily.
For a brief moment, she wondered if that had been his plan all along. She chuckled at the thought: Her speaking the wrong name could send her to a tower. Locked away forever. "Sir Byakuya," she said, covering her mouth as she giggled at the very idea. As soon as the words escaped her, she cupped her lips and glanced up at him, wide-eyed and apologetic. She hadn't meant to refer to him so commonly. It was out of habit. She had not quite acclimated to his new position. She had not quite come to grips with the death of Sōjun.
He did not bat an eye at her faux pas. Perhaps he, too, had not grown accustomed to the sudden formality. In fact, the title seemed to smart when she spoke it. He would turn his cheek and gaze off into the middle distance.
She blushed as he gazed down at her. His eyes could be so intense. It made her feel shallow and clear, like a puddle. He melted her with a look. She hated it, and she loved it all at once. She was not a humble woman naturally, but he made her humble. He forced her to see her humility. He forced her to face her mortality.
She inhaled a deep breath, and she held it. It burned her lungs. She closed her eyes, and lifted her head into the night's chill. It felt thick and heavy. It roused her senses and mind. Then, she felt a warmth pooling in her hand. She didn't have to open her eyes to see it, but she did. His fingers curled around hers, and she breathed easy.
She was not alone. No, she was tethered. She was connected to something, to someone. And, when her gaze moved up to meet his, she saw something she had never seen before. A sweet tender look softened the edges of eyes. His eyes were grey—like a storm cloud—and for a moment they cleared. The mystery, the sternness—it all faded away. She could see him for a moment. Unguarded.
She smiled up at him with a soft look in her eyes. She curled her fingers around his, and she inhaled. The breath was fragrant. She could almost taste him. Memories of a day prior flooded her mind. The way he had bent her head back and kissed her. She had broken her vow then. She had promised to move when she saw his look, but she had not.
It was her first kiss, and she suspected it would be her last. She couldn't let the moment escape her. Not knowing what she knew. It was harmless. She would be dead soon. He would survive her, and he would lead a perfectly noble life. The memory of her lips against his would fade with age. It would be replaced by many other kisses. Kisses from women who deserved his affection—who deserved his attention. It would be replaced by myriad adventures and achievements. It would be replaced by new acquaintances, rivalries, and friendships.
He would survive her, indeed. He would go on to pursue his dreams. He would go on to hope, to despair, to live.
Hisana pulled her chin to her neck, and her gaze lingered on Senbonzakura. Her gaze was empty. The sword, sheathed and tucked in his hakama-himo, was merely something to occupy her mind.
Byakuya, however, misread her look, and he withdrew the sword from his side. "It is yours," he said, offering the blade.
She blinked, stunned. He had offered his blade before, but it was a formalized offering. He placed it in front of him on the floor, and he bowed. That was traditional. That made sense. She knew what to make of that. He had followed the script.
This offering, however, seemed inscrutable. She did not know what to make of it. What did it mean? Hesitant fingers wrapped around the sheath and hilt. It felt light in her hands. Lighter than she had first anticipated. It was balanced, perfectly calibrated. And, it was beautiful. Its shape and form were elegant. An effective killing instrument. She brought the hilt closer to her face to examine it.
Byakuya watched her. Her fingers, thin and quick, fluttered over the lavender wrapping down to the guard. She studied the lines of the guard with childlike wonder. Plenty of Shinigami had a similar outward manifestation of their Zanpakutō. Katana were common enough, but she seemed intrigued.
He wondered what her Zanpakutō looked like. He had never seen it. Per the Fourth's unofficial tradition (but tradition nonetheless) she did not carry it. Or, at least, she did not appear to carry a Zanpakutō. Byakuya was perfectly aware that the manifestations could be small—daggers, small swords—or other items altogether. But, she didn't appear to be concealing a weapon. Her gait and movements were unfettered. He did not detect any suspicious outlines under her robes. And she did not carry any item that could pass for Zanpakutō with any frequency—no canes, umbrellas, or hairpins.
"I wish I could speak to him," she said. Her eyes were bright and hopeful, catching the silvery moonbeams. Carefully, she handed the sword back with the same gentleness as if she was handing him a small child.
Byakuya straightened at her words. "I think he would like that," he murmured.
"What is Senbonzakura like?" she asked, tucking her hands in her lap.
"Stubborn."
She quickly smothered a giggle with the sleeve of her kimono. Her eyes shut tightly, and a pale pink color crept across her cheeks. Perhaps he had said a mouthful with that single admission? He didn't care.
"That makes sense," she joked.
Byakuya stared at her, and, deadpan, he asked, "Why?"
She shook her head, smiling. She knew he was teasing her, and, for a moment, she had forgotten all her troubles. Everything flew out of her mind. All she could see was him, and her heart felt light, playful. It was so easy with him. He was so willing to ease her mind. He was so willing to talk to her.
Her happiness, however, poured out of her in an instant. Swift and complete, the warmth left her body, and the noise of doubt filled her mind. White static clawed at her brain, unraveling her thoughts.
A troubled blackness seized her heart and strangled her breath.
"Thank you," she said, stealing a quick glance. Her gaze, however, was fleeting. Like the wings of a hummingbird, it flitted back to the spring. Starlight twinkled on the rippling water, gripping her attention and holding it.
Silence fell over them.
He looked down at her. His gaze and mind were inscrutable. He wore that look so well, so effortlessly now. When she met him, he hadn't. He had been hot, prone to emotional outbursts.
She preferred his heat. She preferred his rage to his reserve. She was good at cooling people down. So many souls wandered into the Fourth with great intensity. She had practice coaxing and placating men.
Byakuya wasn't injured, though. Conflicted? Perhaps. Torn? Yes. Injured? No.
He had been injured when she first met him. He had been injured and wounded. So many affronts all at once. It had intrigued her. The personal affronts seemed to sting him the most.
"Do you remember when we first met?" she asked. Her gaze, dark and solemn, remained on the dancing moonbeams.
"I believe so." His voice was low but clear.
"You were, what?" She struggled to remember his age. He had been young then. His hair had been longer, pulled back into a loose ponytail. He wore a blue robe, and his face was soft and round.
Reflexively, her gaze flicked up at him as if to compare her memory against him. His features weren't soft and round now. They were sharp and angular. His eyes were no longer large and probing. They were keen and penetrating. He was a man now, not a boy.
She had known him many long years.
"A child," he muttered.
Hisana shook her head. "As was I." She lifted her chin up. Her eyes glistened as she stared up at him, searchingly.
"I had fallen."
"From a great height, mid-chase," she murmured to herself, remembering the incident as if it were yesterday. "What were you pursuing, again?" She couldn't remember, or, rather, she never knew. She was new to the division when she met him. She was a mere orderly. Her task was to triage the young noble. She never asked him the questions that the attending would have. She asked him about his pain and took his vitals. That was it.
"A cat."
Hisana smiled, knowingly. Her look seemed to say what his lips refused: Oh, yeah. Back when the Captain of the Second was a different woman. Back when Yoruichi Shihōin was the head of the noble Shihōin clan. Back when your father was still the Vice Captain to the Sixth. Back when your mother was still alive. Back when we were young. Back when we were hopeful.
She said none of those things.
His mind was perfectly capable of filling in the words better left unspoken that hung over them. "A hellish cat."
Hisana nodded. "You were a mess. All battered and bruised. You sure it was a cat? Not a monster?" A wry grin curled her lips up.
His expression softened into a small smile. "I am sure."
"You were so…" Hisana couldn't find the word to describe the young noble's emotional state. It was there, in her heart and flashing brightly in her mind. She could almost see his face, hear his sighs, and feel his frustration sitting there at the infirmary, plopped down on a gurney and staring at her with those piercing slate grey eyes. He wanted blood then. He wanted revenge.
"Angry?" he asked, caught in the same memory.
Hisana gave him a lingering sidelong glance. "Yes. I had never seen someone so intense. So locked in thought despite being so fractured."
He cocked his head to the side at her description.
"You had broken half the bones in your body!" she teased.
"I hadn't broken half the bones in my body," he retorted slyly.
Hisana grinned. "Well, more bones than I had ever seen broken all at once. And you were so quiet as I patched you up. You were so quiet, but so intent on whatever plot you were hatching. I was certain we would never the see the Captain of the Second after I released you."
Silence again filled the spaces between them. She quickly realized her mistake. Indeed, shortly after the incident Captain Shihōin went missing. She was never found. The Second presumed her dead. A memorial was held for her. That was it.
"We never did." His voice hit a low note at that observation.
Hisana swallowed hard, and she stared into the waves lapping against the bank. "I am sorry," she whispered. Her words were breathy and somber—a soft amends for unearthing unpleasant thoughts.
"Yoruichi was foolish," he murmured, shifting in his seat.
"You're getting married," Hisana said abruptly. She was eager to change the subject to something less sad, to something promising. Her words, however, rang hollow. Part of her deflated with the observation and that was the moment when she realized it. She realized that her heart had betrayed her. She felt its cold thump before stopping short. An icy sensation filled her chest, caught in her lungs, and closed her throat. She wasn't sure if it was the upcoming nuptials that strangled her breath or if it was recognition that she did not want to see Byakuya married. Which was stupid, she chastised herself. She wouldn't see Byakuya as a married man. She would be dead. The thought alone, however, pierced her just as sharply.
He watched her. She did not hide her inner turmoil well. She appeared conflicted, like she had let a secret escape. "Yes," was the only response he could manage.
"That sounds exciting," she said, gazing up at him. "Have you known her long?" It took a lot of effort for Hisana to push away the thoughts of a day ago. Of his eager lips against her own. Of course, he did not know the woman well or long. Or, at least, he had not cared for her well or long.
"No." He was brutally honest at times. He felt he could be with Hisana. He had told her enough to know she did not blanch or blush at his candor. He knew her well enough to know his words would go no further. She knew his most prized secrets, or, at least, the secrets he would ever care to admit aloud. She knew them all, and his words had never haunted him. She locked them away, only to discuss her concerns with him and him alone.
She lifted her head. Their eyes met. "Is that common?"
"Yes," he said almost before she had managed the get the words out.
"When?"
"Never," he said boldly.
She flushed at the forceful way he said the word. There was a light that sparked in his eyes, and she believed him. Never mind how the conversation did not make good logical sense. He was getting married, but he wasn't. What did that mean? Her mind did not entertain such observations (like it normally would have) nor did it consider such a question (like it should have). She merely accepted the quiet contradiction. "Oh," she said, tangled in his gaze. His eyes were so clear, so honest.
He leaned closer to her.
The space between them diminished until she could feel the heat from his skin against her own. His head dipped down. The look on his face was soft but certain. She knew that look. She had seen it several times now. And, yet again, she broke her vow for she remained steady, unmoving.
He kissed her.
And she let him.
She didn't stop him when he deepened the kiss, bending her head back. She didn't stop him when she felt his hands against her. His grip was equal parts wanting and anxious. Slowly, he loosened her robes. His mouth was wet and hungry. She reached up, letting his kisses travel down her neck. A breath hitched in her throat, the moment she felt her collar pull down and over her shoulder.
With gentle guidance, he eased her down on the blanket, and he kissed her. Deeply, passionately. His lips were soft and supple against her own, but she could taste his sadness. It was salty and sharp against her tongue.
His fingertips glided across her belly, and she gasped out.
Her thoughts drifted, scattered. All she could think or perceive was the sensation of him against her. It was warm, visceral, intoxicating. Nothing else seemed to exist beyond the feeling. The world dimmed. Time slowed. Sound altered.
He pulled away, perhaps surprised by his own tenacity. Caressingly, she reached up. Her fingertips, cool and light, skated across the sides of his face. She pushed a stray tress from his eyes, and she stared up at him. Her eyes said everything.
"Please," she whispered. Her breath was heavy and warm against his shoulder. "If you don't now, no one ever will."
He kissed her, and everything bled away. The world became dark and unknowable. It became small and intimate. Fragile but complete.
The sound of fabric pulling against fabric soon faded to the sounds of heavy breaths and moans. They found each other in the darkness, and they remained unbroken through the night.
In a state of disarray, but clothed, the pair held each other. Both gazed into the sky. Wordless. There was nothing to say for hours. Both were too worried that words, harsh and inelegant, might break the spell. But, as the dawn began to break over the sky, casting away the stars and velvety blues of nightfall, Byakuya shifted under Hisana.
The rustling of his robes against the blanket sounded in her ears, and she stirred against him. Byakuya caught her before she sat up. His touch settled her, and she relaxed against him. "I have to make my decision today," she explained against the breeze. Silently, she prayed the wind's howl had eclipsed her words.
"I know," he replied soberly. "I will accompany you if you wish it."
Her gaze followed the vibration of his chest, hard and peeking through the dip in his kimono, up to his lips. She was about to say something, anything, but her lips closed. Something had changed. A cold wind froze her in place, chilling her flesh and stifling her voice.
Motionless, Byakuya gazed up into her face. He felt it, too. He felt the sudden change. It felt almost atmospheric or tectonic. They were close—closer then than they had ever been. But, there was a rift between them. A great divide that could not be undone no matter how much he wanted to undo it
She shook her head. "Only I can go."
His eyes flicked up to the sky. A vibrant scarlet streaked the clouds, bathing the firmament in a blood-orange hue. The clouds held his attention for a few breaths. She knew some strange invisible thought caught him, consumed him. It was his defense mechanism for bad news. She wondered which problem he was trying to solve. There were so many now.
Each passing moment seemed to add to their problems.
. . . .
"Where is he?" A voice rich and quiet entered the starkly decorated room.
"Father," Byakuya's aunt murmured. Her voice was soft but assuaging, begging almost. Her gaze was equally as pleading. She had done a lot of pleading in the last few days. With Sōjun gone, there was no one else who could do it. No one else possessed the status or captured Ginrei's affection well enough to speak to him about such matters.
"What time is it?" Ginrei stepped across the threshold. His robes trailed behind him, creating a biting wake in his absence. His gaze shifted across the room. "Where is my grandson?"
Byakuya's aunt flinched at the questions fired in her direction. She knew perfectly well that her father knew the answers. It was time to announce Byakuya's position within the Sixth, and Byakuya was missing.
Byakuya went missing from time-to-time, she noted to herself. It was nothing so unusual. "He likes his strolls," she said, remembering the last time he took a wandering path to the detriment of his schedule.
Ginrei glared at her. He was displeased, and he was not above airing his displeasure. A stern look, a heavy breath—all were telltale signs of his discontentment.
The patriarch sat down at his desk in a small huff. Words caught on his tongue, but he did not brandish them. There was no use. His daughter did not deserve to be chided for his grandson's errant behavior.
Byakuya's aunt was about to make another appeal, but her mind refused. Instead, she could not shake a troubling thought: Byakuya only missed appointments that he found loathsome. His absence was always intentional, meant to send a message.
His aunt shook her head.
This time, however, did not make good sense. Byakuya should have been waiting to receive his grandfather. He should have been waiting with baited breath and dutiful heart. He should have been bright faced and enthusiastic. This was not kimono designing or tea with his betrothed.
With a silent command, Ginrei summoned the steward. "Fetch my grandson's body servant." The steward gave a deep bow before scurrying out of the room.
"How is the miai?" he asked before beginning to compose a letter.
Byakuya's aunt lifted her head, and her gaze settled on her father's steady penmanship. His strokes were fluid, hypnotizing, almost. "He is," her voice dropped as her brain scrambled to find the words. Nothing. Many words flooded into her mind, but none of them was appropriate. "Adjusting," she said belatedly.
His gaze flicked up. The look was brief, piercing. His blue eyes were sharp and perceptive. "Lady Nanako?" he asked, continuing his writing.
"She seems warm and affectionate. A perfectly agreeable lady if there ever was one."
He nodded mid-stroke. His approval was quick but duly noted. Byakuya's aunt was rather proud of her matchmaking prowess. Lady Nanako was perfect. She was adequately lovely, well-read, and charming. She would be a perfect addition, as would her family. Byakuya, however, would hear none of it. He simply did not care. He was icy in receiving the Lady. His iciness did not warm, either. It seemed eternal—a tundra that would take millennia to thaw.
Byakuya's aunt frowned at the observation. She was going to sentence a perfectly lovely noblewoman to immense unhappiness. She knew Byakuya's heart was elsewhere. He would never accept Lady Nanako while the Vice Captain of the Fourth existed. Perhaps even after Hisana's death, Byakuya would reject Nanako. She had seen the spectacle a day ago. Or, at least, she had glimpsed part of the torrid affair.
She never spoke of her nephew's inclinations to any soul other than Sōjun. She had threatened to reveal Byakuya's affections more broadly. But, she had not. Ginrei likely knew. Everyone seemingly knew. It only took a good look to gather as much.
"He does not find her so agreeable." Ginrei's voice cut through his daughter's deep contemplation. He did not spare her a glance with his observation. He continued composing. A serene look smoothed his wizened features.
Her gaze trailed to the floor. "No."
"His affections lay elsewhere?"
She bristled at the observation. His voice seemed so disinterested, but a sly glance indicated that he found it amusing. She suspected that her father found Byakuya a constant source of amusement and consternation. Frequently, she heard her father chastise her nephew for his rash behavior.
Byakuya tried. He really did try to please his grandfather. She could tell that he wanted to temper his soul to match that of Ginrei's calm spirit. He was young, however. He would get there. She hoped.
"Sir Kuchiki went on a long stroll last night, and he never returned." She turned to find Byakuya's personal servant bowed before the threshold. His forehead was pressed against the floor, and his arms were stretched in front of his head.
Immediately, she turned to Ginrei, who bristled at this sudden revelation.
That was unlike her nephew. He never went on evening strolls and refuse to return. He always slept at the manor.
"I sent a guard to locate him," the body servant continued, sounding panicked.
"There is no need," Ginrei sighed, lifting his head.
Byakuya's aunt felt the shift in pressure around them. Ginrei had noticed it before her, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. "He returns," she murmured, certain that Byakuya would be rebuked for his impudence.
"Do you know the meaning of his absence?" Ginrei leveled the question at his daughter.
She shook her head. "No." She had her suspicions, but she could tell that her father was in no mood to theorize.
"You have not been completely open with me," he noted. His eyes locked on her, and she could not free herself from his penetrating stare.
"I have," she murmured. He simply had not asked the right questions.
"Where was he last night?"
She stared into her lap. Her hands, balled together, created deep wrinkles in her kimono. She eyed the shadows of the material as she spoke, "I do not know for certain, Father."
"You suspect he has been somewhere? Where?" his voice was soft, but, to her ears, his voice boomed like the firing of a cannon.
She nodded. "Likely, he was in the company of another."
A knowing look spread across Ginrei's face. "I see."
A retinue of servants escorted Byakuya to the door. He entered with little ado. When he passed his aunt, she glimpsed his mien. It was brief. A mere flicker. But she could tell from his pallor, from his heavy brow, and from his icy stare that he was exhausted but not spent.
He bowed before his grandfather and acknowledged his elders with a forced greeting.
"You are tardy," Ginrei stated drily.
Byakuya apologized softly, sitting up.
Ginrei did not ask Byakuya why he had been delayed. He did not ask Byakuya where he had been all night. He did not even ask his grandson with whom he had been with. He merely withdrew a small envelope from his desk, and he offered it. "Your appointment."
Byakuya took the envelope, and he placed it against his chest, in some hidden compartment of his robes. "Thank you, grandfather," he murmured, bowing his head in gratitude.
"You are ordered to report to the Sixth tomorrow."
Byakuya nodded his head.
"You are dismissed."
. . . .
Hisana folded the paper in quarters before stuffing it into a small envelope. She bit her lip as she sealed it. There was no turning back now, she thought mournfully to herself.
There was no turning back as she stepped across the hall from her quarters. She could feel the autumn's bitter cold sting her cheeks and her hands. She could feel the chill sink into her bone, cooling her blood and freezing her stammering heart.
There was no turning back as she opened a series of doors toward her captain's office. She could feel the heat of a thousand gazes burn her back. She could almost feel the air vanish to fuel a thousand gasps.
Definitely no turning back as she entered her captain's office. She offered the envelope to Unohana, bowed, and waited for Unohana to dismiss her. The transaction was wordless for now. The words—the explanations for her choices—would come soon enough. She had a few hours to understand her decision, to formulate a coherent thought, to fashion a persuasive argument. Afterward, duty would compel her to express her gratitude to the chosen ones' friends and family. Unohana would smooth things over with the relevant captains.
The four of them would then receive a briefing from the Second, where she would be fitted with the vambrace. Then, they would embark on their quest. In a few weeks, she would be a memory. She prayed that her companions would be spared such a fate.
She was certain that her companions would survive.
It was her design.
Author's Notes:
Sunev.31: Thank you so much for all of the reviews! I really appreciate them!
Sky1011: Thanks! The previous three chapters were written together so updating quickly was easy.
Peachflower: Thanks! So sorry that you have not liked my characterization of Kaien. I will try to be more mindful.