"Blow violently, Ueta Kaze!" Mizuki sounded with a swing of his Zanpakuto. Wind burst forth and traced the path of his blade before it surged the distance and surrounded the maskless man at the other end of the stone-floored arena. Slabs of the moss-covered ground tore away in the ceaseless fury of the gale. Slabs of stone from the arena and the sands below bellowed before colliding against the hardened mass of stone that made up the towering cliff-face that blocked the moon and sands above.
Stalwart against the gust, only the opposing figure's loose black clothes and brown hair whipped in the mistral. Unsheathing his blade, the Shinigami struck once and the cyclone parted. Then, with unrivaled speed, the figure disappeared.
"Above, Mizuki!" Madorean yelled from the sidelines as the young man hesitated. For all the years spent training amongst the Adjuchas, Mizuki still lacked experience compared to the other combatant and those that watched from the sidelines. That was not from a lack of trying on the part of Mizuki. As a child, and into the equivalent of his teenage years, much of Mizuki's energy was spent withstanding the overwhelming weight of reiatsu that filled the atmosphere within the cage called Bosque Santuario. It was only in relative recency that his power advanced to the point where its manifestations were not overwhelming.
Blades clashed, metal against metal, as Mizuki blocked an overhead strike from Aizen. In a torrent of air both men leapt backwards.
"A good start, but you must react more quickly." Aizen spoke, then disappeared again. It was not that Mizuki was incapable of tracking rapid movements– such skills were required when training with and fighting Adjuchas-level Menos, like the town guards– it was that Aizen's Shunpo was leagues faster than any skill shown by all but two citizens of Bosque Santuario. It was unfathomably more difficult to follow his movements. Nallundra's own speed had been surpassed by her son over a year ago, leaving only Koukou and Bylosse able to compare while Madorean lacked any equivalent and had never even been in competition for fastest.
Another clash and a narrow block from Mizuki, this time from the left.
"Why aren't you affected by my Zanpakuto's power?" Mizuki asked through clenched teeth. Locked blades held strong for a movement before closing in on Mizuki. Another rush of wind poured from the yellow-hilted katana. All that effort merely caused Aizen's shihakusho to flap against the breeze. Again distance was put between the two and they stood at opposite ends of the windshorn arena.
"Concentrate before you swing. Split attention will ensure your strikes will fail to reach their target." Mizuki grimaced at the words. If he were being completely honest, the amount of effort put into that last nightmarish rush of wind that ripped the sands, moss, and stone from their resting place and cast them aside like dust in a hurricane had drained his body of what energy remained from the previous displays. Concentrating on the attack was what he had done; all he could do.
It would be several months later, when sparring with another denizen of the forest shrouded in night, that the meaning behind Aizen's words would fully blossom within Mizuki. To fully understand one's Zanpakuto requires more than simple communication with the spirit residing within the blade. Acceptance of the blade and the power conferred as not a separate entity but instead as an extension of the self is required to wield a Zanpakuto's true potential: the weapon and the wielder must be in sync.
For now, Mizuki held his sword out and winds spiraled around its surface. It was a final attempt to rise up and meet the skill of the opponent before him. One swing sent the swirling squall towards the man draped in black– who disappeared with the all-too familiar swooshing sound of a Shinigami's Shunpo before reappearing in front of Mizuki. Again their weapons clashed.
"Damn it! I just want to get stronger." Pink curls swirled around the young man's head as winds engulfed the two. "Don't fail me now, Ueta Kaze!"
A glimmer of surprise reflected itself through the black rimmed shine of Aizen's glasses when the violence filling the surrounding air made itself known. What caused fabric to flicker in the wind instead ripped at the threads and tore holes into their clothes and sliced at their skin. Red ran from a cut that appeared on Mizuki's cheek and dripped off of the pale stubble of his chin. Neither retreated from the onslaught as its ferocity increased. The power may have emerged from the Zanpauktou called Ueta Kaze– from within Mizuki's soul– but it was he who suffered the most in its wake. No matter how close the blades were to meeting the sage green cloth of his tunic and the skin beneath, Mizuki did not waver. Too focused or too determined, instead the razor winds' intensity rose further with a surge of strength and threatened to shred the arena along with its two inhabitants.
All at once the winds subsided. Ueta Kaze's wrath burned itself out before the damage to either fighter could become catastrophic. How Aizen could have predicted this outcome is difficult to know, but he stood watching with knowing eyes as the sword collected what was left of its winds while spinning across the arena before coming to rest in front of Nallundra as she approached. Mizuki slumped to the ground, stretched his arms back, and fell backwards with a sigh,
"Why did Ueta Kaze...?"
"Well done, Mizuki. There's room for improvement, but you have come a long way. It would be best if you spent the rest of the day meditating with your Zanpakuto," Aizen said when the air settled, returning his own katana to its sheath.
"Right!" Mizuki sat up and turned to look for his misplaced blade. Whatever defeat revealed itself after the loss suffered had already lost its hold on the young man's mood, replaced by a determination unabated by loss and the depth of his breath. Ueta Kaze was no longer resting on the shattered tile and instead found itself resting within the silken hands of his mother - her eyes smiling with pride. The inorganic weapon looked out of place against her slight frame and the earthly colors of her kosode.
Attached to the embroidered pink obi holding her delicately adorned kosode closed was a small, equally ornate, cloth sack clearly full to the brim. Loose fitting clothing and tied back hair combined to make her look far more matronly than before – amplifying the strange beauty brought by a rabbitine mask and long white ears that framed her face.
Mizuki wondered how long she had been watching. By the light of Tower Vare, he knew that a few hours had passed since he started training. Bylosse accompanied them to the arena from the start, analyzing every movement without so much as a word. Such was not unexpected as the Arrancar had made it a point to play silent watcher time and time again. For the Shinigami who had once shared disdain for the constant observation of Bosque Santuario, it had become a point of amusement – should the eyes ever become too overbearing, Aizen could simply activate his Shikai and lead them away.
There was never a time that the child of Hollows failed to welcomed Bylosse's attention. When dinnertime came, after Koukou was given details of the day's events, Bylosse revealed a wealth of wisdom from what he had observed. How best to improve his sword technique, how to become faster, and how to predict an opponent's moves. It went beyond simple combat guidance, stretching into advice on where to station guards to better protect the entrances and keep the average citizen in line and also how to better identify potential threats. Invaluable knowledge Mizuki respected and cherished well – perhaps more so than the words of his own father at times.
Madorean had arrived not long after they had started training with encouraging words and gentle eyes. His gaze could not have always been so friendly, Mizuki knew from listening to the tales of other Hollows, as the path all Adjuchas follow is stained with rivers of blood and mountains of corpses. However, terrors of the past did not stop Madorean from acting as a loving father and perhaps seeped into his parenting style. Mizuki decided long ago that Madorean was far too protective and knew that was why he had trudged the sandy path to supervise his training. If his father had his way there would be no training at all. Like a captured maiden Mizuki would be forced to rely on others for protection and watch as others fought on his behalf. It was fortunate, then, that Nallundra was his mother.
Opposite of her lover in almost every way, Nallundra took a much more hands-off approach towards raising Mizuki. He was free to explore the entirety of Bosque Santuario where Madorean did not intervene. Often that meant visiting Soujimaru, talking to the guards, and, when Rymenocc had been alive, helping him tend the forge. Trouble and mischief did find the younger Mizuki at times but never failed to meet corrective guidance.
That is not to say he was unsupervised in every respect, nor was it to say that Nallundra was uncaring – no one dared hurt the boy, for fear of incurring her wrath, and there were lines even she drew, like the years Mizuki spent insisting on visiting the Soul Society or human world so that he might see the sun and feel the breeze. Exploration of the other realms was full of risk, falling under complete jurisdiction of the Shinigami, making the denial of his request pragmatic– it was impossible to know how a being like Mizuki would be seen.
Additionally, traveling between the realms was taxing and had to be done with care. While Hollows have an innate ability to rip through the fabric of the realms and enter the intermediate spaces, Mizuki, like common Shinigami, did not. Returning without accompaniment of a Hollow would require specialized tools or training that simply could not be found within Bosque Santuario. For powerful Menos, encountering a Shinigami was often more deadly than any encounter with another Hollow could be, which meant that anyone accompanying the boy would be destined to die. That knowledge did nothing to dissuade a curious boy from his dream, and when he stopped asking, neither parent inquired as to why.
Mizuki's gaze passed back to Aizen for a moment. Aizen had been the reason for most of his growth, he realized. Before he'd arrived, Mizuki had been so afraid of Shinigami, no doubt worsened by Rymenocc's disposition and Madorean's coddling, that he never stepped far beyond the walls of Tower Vare unless accompanied by a parent. Only after he overcame that fear that he began to explore and emerge from his sheltered cocoon. Out of that one change he experienced many more – from Soujimaru's quirks to Rymenocc's fires and Kaisett's intelligence and decay. For better or worse. Alone, that courage was not enough to give credence to the claim that it was this strange Shinigami that was to thank for his growth. After all: there was no gift more freeing than the blade.
No memory was better engraved into Mizuki's mind than the day Aizen returned with an Asauchi from the Soul Society. On that day, he felt the growth from child to man. No longer was he 'Little' Mizuki but someone the other Hollows looked up to. Each day he trained until the light of Tower Vare faded – and sometimes well into the windless darkness. Even after Bylosse, Nallundra, and Koukou had retired for the evening, Mizuki trained. Until he could stand no more. Like Aizen, he too reached a threshold where no skill improved regardless of how rigorous of a training regimen he followed. Capped potential that could only be unlocked through mastering the first release of a Zanpakuto – Shikai. Through Aizen's instruction Mizuki learned both mastery and the name of his weapon: Ueta Kaze, the hungry wind. With its name came power and unshackled potential.
"Looks like I am a bit late," Pink strands of hair fell loose from the bun and lolled amongst smiling eyes. Mizuki rose to take his blade and she continued, "I caught most of it though. Pretty soon you'll be stronger than I am,"
She sat beside Madorean and the smile never left her as she looked up to Aizen, "Thank you for teaching him."
"My pleasure." Aizen said. Nobody knew what lurked behind his eyes, shrouded by the lenses of his glasses, but there was a genuine quality to the words, smile, and half-wave.
"Wait, Aizen! There's blood running down your leg, are you alright?" Mizuki said, leaning forward and placing the katana upon his lap.
"Yes, I am fine. Although it appears training you like this may be a bit more dangerous than anticipated. Your Zanpakuto's ability appears to allow you to ignore reiatsu differences."
"Wait, really?" Before understanding, "Oh, shoot! I could have really hurt you. Sorry!" Mizuki lowered his head.
"There's no need to worry," Aizen said.
"I brought lunch. Are you two joining us?" Nallundra said as Mizuki finally stood. Mizuki and Aizen shared a gaze. Aizen offered Nallundra an uncertain smile and Mizuki looked as though he was going to be ill.
"Don't look at me like that! Hmph." Nallundra grumbled and then whispered, "Madorean made it anyway."
"I couldn't have made them without the plants you grew." Madorean said for her and her alone. His words eased her scrunched expression.
"And I could not have grown them without your waters." She said and sat beside him and pressed her head against his.
With a shared sigh of relief Mizuki and Aizen took a seat next to Nallundra and Madorean. The four of them sat below the light of Tower Vare, beneath the crystalline tree glistening with orbs of light. It was quiet and windless, as the Forest of Menos and settlement within so often was. A carpet of green moss and the warm light from Tower Vare painted the mostly gray buildings beyond in a warm orange glow. What should have been a desolate wasteland looked scarcely different from a mountainside town that stood well-lit in the depths of night.
"Aizen, you're good at knowing these things. I have been wondering, why did my aging slow so much after you gave me the asauchi?"
"Hollows don't appear to age in any discernible way, so it stands to reason that you age more like a Shinigami. If that is the case, then the aging process would slow as your potential grows."
"I think I understand. Is that why you have hardly aged the entire time we've known you?"
"Perhaps." He answered.
"I bet you're stronger than most of the other Shinigami."
Aizen offers a half-hearted smile and takes another bite of the onigiri Nallundra brought.
"I've lost the last several times we sparred, so you're probably stronger than the average Captain." Nallundra said.
"Who knows."
"Who knows?" Nallundra scoffed, dissatisfied with his response, "You're still just a seated officer, right? It cannot be easy being that much stronger than your peers."
Beneath the fractal shadow of the crystalline tree they sat and ate. Time passed and Mizuki left to return to the guardstation, Bylosse left to take care of the town's buildings. Nallundra got up to leave not long after and as she did, she asked.
"Are you coming back tomorrow?"
"Yes. I have a few days off. I'll still go back to the Soul Society to ensure nobody is looking for me, but it will be nice to spend some time here."
"Oh?" Nallundra said as she gathered the dishes from around the hearth, "Are you sure you didn't take the time to come celebrate Tanabata?" It was a slight tease.
"That's right, it's tomorrow. I'll be there."
—
Before night fell, Aizen turned to the yellow building at the far end of the trade district. Soujimaru was a rare sight, and had grown even more scarce in the days following Kaisett's release from Hueco Mundo. With the Tanabata celebration tomorrow, he would be busy preparing streamers and decorations and slips of cloth to use in place of paper for writing wishes. Perhaps not the ideal time for a visit, but there was something amiss.
Aizen entered the too-tall building, greeted the cluttered mess around and upon the counter and store-front, before finding Soujimaru knelt beside a deep blue basin at the center of the room. It was an easy figure to miss at a glance, surrounded by several piles of uncut cloth. Some dyed in cold hues and a few in a vibrant yellow, but many were surrounding him in their bare plaid nature. None were red.
Despite the disorder of the surroundings, there was a tranquility to Soujimaru's movements as he pressed each sheet into the vivid pool and recovered a fabric of unmistakable beauty. Only when the length of linen had been brought high above his head and hung on the drying line did the Hollow's trance break.
"Oh! Hey, Aizen! What brings you here?"
"Tanabata is tomorrow; I thought I would offer some assistance."
It was strange that there were no other Hollows here with Soujimaru. Every previous visit Aizen had made to the clothier there had been at least one other. Spinning fibers into thread, or cutting fabric to size, handing dyed cloth, or sitting around, conversing. Never alone. But not today.
"I don't need any help, but it was nice of you to stop by and ask."
Soujimaru evaded the gaze that questioned his words, but as the Shinigami turned to leave, something in the Hollow with a golden-mane spoke.
"Actually, right now I only have green, yellow, and blue dyes. If you'd like to help, I could use your assistance in creating another color..."
"From my reiatsu, correct?"
"Yes. I would just need to add a proportion of your reiatsu to the basin. If that is alright."
Aizen stepped in front of the swirling pool of blue and Soujimaru sat across from him and raised one hand – pooling purple from the energy surrounding the Shinigami and draining it into the blue liquid. With each drop, the color darkened until it was indistinguishable from its source.
As if by reflex, Soujimaru reached back and grabbed an undyed cloth and drenched it within the dye. What was once off-white was recovered as a brilliant shade of deep purple.
"I forgot to tell you last time, Aizen." Soujimaru said and wrung the dark liquid from the cloth, "Your reiatsu is a beautiful shade of purple. I can't say I have seen anything quite like it. Usually, to create purple I had to mix the reiatsu of Mizuki and Rymen–" Soujimaru stopped, "Well, red is the most common color for a Hollow's reiatsu, so it's just whoever volunteers first."
"Anyway, I appreciate your help. I can finish up the rest, I know you're busy, too."
"I am happy to help, but... Soujimaru, I apologize for Rymenocc's death." The words struck the Hollow's ears causing him to drop the cloth back into the pool.
"It's fine, really!" He turned to Aizen with a sheepish grin. Finding a complex expression upon the Shinigami's face and no escape, he continued. "Well, I wish I could say it was alright."
"We were never very close, but he saved my life a few times."
"Of course, that doesn't make up for what happened and I am glad you're alright." Soujimaru pulled the purple cloth from the vat.
"I wish it never came to that. He hated Shinigami, but it wasn't like him to be so brash. And..."
"It isn't like Lady Koukou to go that far. Troublemakers usually just get exiled unless they kill or eat someone. Even then, we would all meet and decide on what happened to them. But now there's many for that." Tears formed in his eyes.
"I don't blame you; not for his death or Kaisett's. So please don't apologize." A single tear ran from his eyes, through the crevices of his mask and down its nose into the pool below. The surface rippled.
"There's more you want to say, isn't there, Soujimaru?"
"Yes," He said, eyes locked upon his own hands. "It reminded me of when I was alive."
"I was a Samurai in my human life. I wanted to be a tailor, but because I was born into war I didn't have a choice. So I trained and took my father's name, position, and sword. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find happiness in what I did."
"After one really bloody battle, where I had taken the lives of over a dozen men, I decided that enough was enough."
"I knew it wasn't right, but I went to my master and told him that I wanted to relinquish my title. It–" He clenched his stained hands, "--didn't go well. After he and his guards were dead I fled."
"It wasn't long before I was hunted down and killed, too. Strung up as an example of what happens to those like me."
A hand returned the cloth to the liquid in front of him, submerged into the dark depths until it disappeared, "What I am trying to say is that I don't want Bosque Santuario to become like the society I died trying to escape."
"Do you believe this place to be the same?"
"No." He answered without hesitation, "I just don't want it to be."
"Then there is no reason not to speak your mind."
"I know," He trailed off and hung the clutch above his head "I mean, of course I know. But–"
He looked to Aizen for guidance as he fell back to his knees, "You're right. I'll talk to Koukou. I've been avoiding it for too long already. Thanks."
Aizen turned to leave, with parting words "For what it's worth, I don't think you did anything wrong. You were looking to follow your own desires and that is something none should be afraid to do, regardless of what others may expect."
Purple stained the ram-mask as Soujimaru wiped tears from his mask. As Aizen exited, he found Bylosse at the other side of the door, unwilling to meet his gaze. Bylosse entered the building without so much as a word towards the departing Shinigami.