A flickering light. A warm, wavering glow barely illuminating the modest interior of the small home.
The darkness here was gentle. Not suffocating. Not empty. Just… quiet.
The subtle rustling of fabric filled the air—a delicate sound as a woman leaned forward over a small wooden table in front of the couch, carefully adjusting the wick of a candle. The flame hesitated before steadying, its golden light spilling over her face, casting it in soft, warm hues.
She looked young, though something in her eyes betrayed a wisdom born not of age, but of experience. Her features were striking yet gentle—sharply defined cheekbones softened by the candlelight, long, dark curls gathered into a loose bun at the back of her head. A few tendrils had slipped free, framing her face in casual elegance.
But it was her eyes that held the room. Deep, dark eyes that seemed to carry the weight of a hundred sleepless nights. They were tired… but they hadn't dimmed. Not fully.
Somewhere inside them, something still burned. A strong willpower.
She exhaled slowly, brushing a stray curl behind her ear as she turned her head slightly. Her voice broke the silence with quiet strength. "Son."
Seated beside her, legs crossed, was a young man—his posture both tense and grounded, as though he were bracing for a storm he didn't quite believe in. His tousled hair caught the candlelight, glowing faintly in hues of auburn and gold. His face was unreadable, a mask of calm hiding the small tension in his hands, clenched gently over his knees.
He looked at her silently. Watching. Waiting.
She smiled. But it was a distant sort of smile, one that hovered at the edges of warmth but never fully settled in her eyes. "You really do take after me, don't you?"
He blinked. "Huh?"
A low, breathy laugh escaped her as she shook her head slowly.
"Not in looks…" her fingers idly traced the seam along the arm of the couch. "You're your father's mirror image." She grimaced playfully.
He shifted in place, visibly uncomfortable.
He knew the comparison was inevitable, but he hated being compared to his father, even though he knew that in appearance, in mannerisms, in the way he spoke—he was nearly an exact copy. And though he loved his father, deeply… there was a part of him that bristled every time someone said it aloud.
His father, though not a cruel man, had not been a faithful one. The burden of his mistakes had fallen hardest on the woman beside him. And while she had never once spoken ill of him—always telling her son to respect him, to remember that their issues were theirs alone—the echoes of that pain still haunted the house.
He'd grown up trying not to add to it.
"In what way, then?" he asked softly.
"You care too much. More than you should."
His brow furrowed. "Is that a bad thing?"
She studied him for a long moment before shaking her head. "No." Her voice was soft. "It's not bad." A pause. Then a sigh. "But… it is painful."
He said nothing.
The candle's flame flickered again, and in the shifting light, her face seemed older—worn by burdens unseen. "I spent my whole life like this," she murmured, gaze unfocused. "Placing others first. Thinking of them before myself. And even when I knew it would hurt me, I still did it." A rueful smile ghosted across her lips. "It's just… who I am. My nature."
The young man shifted, his fingers curling into fists. His chest felt heavy.
His mother sighed again, slower this time, as if trying to shake off something too deeply ingrained. Then, finally, she looked at him again, her gaze firm.
"But I don't want that for you."
His breath caught.
Her eyes never wavered from his. "You shouldn't live just for others. You shouldn't carry burdens that aren't yours." She leaned forward slightly, her voice quieter now—more intimate. "Because I see it in you. That same tendency. That same path." A pause. "And I know where it leads."
For a moment, his gaze flickered to the candle, his mind drifting. He thought of all the times she had told him how she had never truly chased her own desires, how responsibility had weighed on her since childhood. The eldest sister. The one who had to grow up too fast.
His uncle and aunt weren't bad people. He loved them dearly. But when things got truly serious… they were not the kind of people one could rely on.
The candle flickered once more.
"I don't want that for you," she repeated, softer this time. "Not you."
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. His fingers dug into the fabric of his pants.
He had no words.
His mother watched him for a moment longer before leaning back, tilting her head slightly as she regarded him. Then, after a beat, her lips curved into something almost amused. "But I suppose… you're too stubborn to listen, aren't you?"
He flinched. "I—" He hesitated.
The truth was, he had spent years trying not to be a burden. Always insisting he needed nothing, that he felt nothing, that he was fine—because if he couldn't help, at the very least, he wouldn't make things worse.
And over time, he had fallen into a routine, moving through life automatically. Few friends. No real risks. Always staying close, just in case his mother needed him.
He never considered himself a perfect son. But at the same time, he had never allowed himself to truly live. Mistakes were avoided. Risks never taken. And slowly, inevitably, complacency had settled into his bones.
"What do you want for your future?" His mother asked suddenly, her voice gentler now.
He hesitated.
There were so many things. He wanted to practice martial arts, to become a voice actor, a singer, an artist, to travel. His mind was filled with dreams, with possibilities, with ideas—yet it always circled back to the same thought. His mother needed someone nearby. So his answer was always the same.
"Get a job. Help out at home."
"And after that?" She smiled.
Silence.
He looked at her eyes. He did not avoid her gaze, but he did not respond.
The quiet stretched between them, and after a few minutes, his gaze dropped back to the candle. "Mom…" He hesitated.
"You need to take more initiative. Be more ambitious… You tell me that, don't you? When you see me struggling?" She sighed, shaking her head. "I still have my dreams, and I'll reach them someday, even if it takes time. But you need to have your own, too. There's nothing wrong with chasing after what you want." Her laughter was soft, almost wistful. "If you want to take after me, let it not be because of my karma."
The warmth in her voice cut through something deep in his chest. A pressure he hadn't realized was there.
The candle's flame steadied once more.
And for a brief, fleeting moment… the weight of the world felt just a little lighter.
Then—
Darkness.
——————————————————
Hours later – Karakura Town, Urahara Shop
A soft golden light pulsed gently in one of the back rooms of Urahara's shop. It glowed steadily from the half-dome barrier formed by Orihime Inoue's Sōten Kisshun, casting warm reflections across the wooden floor and the worried faces gathered in a circle around it.
Within the shimmering barrier, two figures lay unconscious—Ichigo Kurosaki and Yato Yasakani. Their forms were still, save for the gentle rise and fall of their breathing, gradually becoming more even under the healing power of Orihime's technique.
Orihime knelt at the center, her hands steady and eyes narrowed in focused concentration. Her lips were pressed into a tight line, brows furrowed with worry.
Around her, the room was unusually quiet. Rukia sat cross-legged, her arms resting over her knees, eyes fixed on the barrier. Beside her, Sado leaned silently against the wall, his arms folded. Ururu stood near Tessai, both watching in solemn stillness, while Jinta sat on the floor with his back to the wall, his head tilted lazily.
Near the doorway, Tatsuki Arisawa stood with her shoulders slightly hunched, hands buried deep in her jacket pockets. Her gaze was cast downward, hidden beneath the fall of her dark bangs, her expression unreadable.
Then, at last, Orihime released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She exhaled slowly, the golden barrier flickering one last time before dissolving. Her hands lowered into her lap, and she glanced toward the others with tired relief.
"They're going to be okay." she said softly.
A collective sigh of relief swept through the room, quiet but palpable.
Rukia offered a faint smile, her shoulders relaxing. "I'm glad you made it in time."
Tessai took a step forward, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "What happened out there? To leave both of them in such condition?"
Rukia's eyes darkened as she looked down at her lap, her voice quiet.
"It was a trap. Even though their main target was Senna… It seems they were focused on taking down Yato first... They used the Blanks to take hostages—civilians, dozens of them..."
Tessai frowned, murmuring under his breath. "So they can control the Blanks…"
Rukia nodded. "Yes. And Yato…" her hands clenched tightly into fists. "…he pushed himself too far. Protected everyone he could, even when it was clearly what the enemy wanted—to wear him down. When I arrived, he was already unconscious. His spiritual pressure was collapsing… I was too late." She took a breath before continuing, recalling the moment she saw Yato unconscious in a pool of his own blood.
Orihime's voice cut in gently, as if trying to ease the heaviness. "Senna-chan felt something strange and followed after Kuchiki-san and Kurosaki-kun followed her. Then… all the Blanks surrounding us suddenly pulled back."
"The shinigamis were already fighting those guys. When Tatsuki woke up, we headed after them." Chad added in his usual quiet tone.
"Senna appeared shortly after." Rukia said softly. "She tried to hold Ganryū off while I stabilized Yato, but she was defeated. And then… he used her as bait. When Ichigo arrived, Ganryū used Senna's body as a distraction to strike him down too."
Jinta huffed from his place against the wall.
"Those two are always charging into messes…" he muttered, though there was no real bite in his tone.
Tatsuki said nothing.
Her gaze shifted toward the floor, her jaw tightening. She hadn't helped. Not really. In fact, she'd been a liability throughout most of the ordeal—powerless, unconscious, and needing to be protected.
"If they wanted Senna so badly… then why go through all that trouble to take down Yato?"
Everyone turned to look at her. Her eyes were still hidden, but her voice betrayed the guilt and confusion twisting inside her.
Before anyone could respond, the door slid open with a soft clack, revealing a familiar figure.
Kisuke Urahara stepped into the room, his signature striped bucket hat casting a shadow over his sharp eyes, though the usual playful smirk on his lips was absent. The air seemed to shift with his presence—subtle, but undeniable. He closed the door behind him with deliberate care and made his way into the group's circle, sitting down cross-legged with a sigh of resignation.
"Now, now," he began in a calm voice, laced with just enough gravity to silence the room. "They weren't just ambushed… even four captains struggled to hold the enemy at bay. This… was inevitable."
"Manager…" Tessai murmured from his place near the wall, his voice heavy with concern.
"How did the others fare?" Rukia asked, straight to the point, her violet gaze sharpened with worry.
Urahara's eyes flicked toward her before shifting to the floor, his tone grim.
"They lost the enemy's trail. Completely."
A sharp breath escaped Tatsuki's lips as she clenched her fists. "So they took Senna…" she muttered. "What the hell do they even want?"
Urahara looked toward her, his expression now tinged with unease.
"From what I can gather… they intend to use the Shinenju's power to trigger a collapse—merging the world of the living with Soul Society itself."
Tatsuki's eyes widened in disbelief. "What?! But how—"
"I know it sounds absurd," Urahara cut in, voice lower, more serious than usual, "but after analyzing everything we've seen… it's the only theory that fits."
"What's Soul Society doing about it?" Chad asked, his voice calm but intense.
Urahara adjusted his hat slightly. "Most likely, they're formulating a counterstrategy. But here's the real problem... Is the Valley of Screams. They can't infiltrate it from Soul Society's end. There's no official gateway. No structured path. They can't mount an assault on a place they can't even reach."
The air in the room grew colder with that revelation.
"Isn't there any other way to get there?" Chad pressed.
Urahara tilted his head slightly, as if mentally flipping through blueprints.
"There may be. A hidden entrance... somewhere in the living world. Near where the Shinenju was first detected. If we can locate it, we might just have a shot."
A quiet, hoarse voice spoke from the far side of the room.
"Is that so…?"
All eyes turned toward Ichigo.
He was stirring, pushing himself upright with slow, deliberate movements. Orihime rushed to his side, supporting his shoulder as he struggled to sit up. Despite the fatigue, there was fire in his eyes.
"If we find that passage, we can enter the Valley… right, Urahara-san?" Ichigo asked, steadying his breath.
Urahara nodded. "Correct."
Without another word, Ichigo forced himself to his feet. He staggered at first, but gathered his strength. Walking with purpose, he crossed the room and retrieved Zangetsu, leaning in the corner. He slung it across his back with familiar ease, his eyes narrowing.
"Then I'm going now."
Chad stood immediately, stepping in behind him without hesitation. Orihime followed suit, her gaze both anxious and resolved.
Urahara sighed as the trio exited the room. Then he turned to the remaining group, his tone shifting once more.
"There's no time to waste. We should help search too."
"Right," Rukia and Tatsuki echoed in unison, already preparing to move.
But before anyone could rise, a voice rasped from behind them—
"No need to search…"
Everyone turned.
Yato was awake, slowly pushing himself upright, rubbing his eyes as if waking from a long and bitter dream.
"Yato." Rukia breathed surprised and visibly relieved to see him conscious.
"You feeling okay?" Tatsuki asked, taking a step forward. She tried to sound casual, but the concern in her voice betrayed her.
But then something strange happened—everyone could feel it. A faint shimmer in the air. Heat. Not a metaphorical one, but real, tangible warmth radiating off Yato's body. Wisps of steam rose from his skin like he'd been overheated from within, and his eyes—dark, intense—held a simmering fury beneath their surface.
"Not yet," he muttered in response to Tatsuki, his voice low and gravelly. "But I will be… after I pay that bastard back."
He stood fully, releasing a long exhale. The breath visibly misted in the air like vapor, giving the room an eerie chill despite the warmth coming from him. He walked toward the door with purposeful strides, his eyes burning with unwavering intent.
"Senna said she woke up by the riverbank three days ago." His voice was steady but cold. "That's where the passage should be. That's where I'm going. Someone tell Ichigo."
"Wait, Yato—" Rukia reached for him, but it was too late. With a sharp crackle of spiritual energy, Yato vanished in a burst of Bringer Light, leaving only the faint shimmer of his departure behind.
"Damn it…" Rukia clenched her jaw, about to chase after him—but a hand gently caught her shoulder.
Tatsuki.
Her grip was firm, steady.
Tatsuki's voice was sharper than before, a mix of anger and reluctant acceptance.
"I'll tell Ichigo. You contact Soul Society. Maybe... just maybe... they'll finally get off their asses and actually do something useful for once."
There was bitterness in her tone, but not without reason. She didn't trust the Shinigami. Not really. Not after everything. And right now, after losing control of her own powers and nearly jeopardizing everyone, she didn't trust herself either.
Maybe… letting the Gotei 13 handle it—for once—was the safest path.
At least for now.
# Above the Skies of Karakura Town — Night #
The sky was a tapestry of deep indigo, stars drowned out by the faint orange haze of city lights below. A gust of wind swept over the rooftops as a sudden burst of energy tore through the quiet night.
In an instant, Yato shot through the sky like a streak of lightning, propelled by his Bringer Light, the green-tinted aura crackling around his feet as he launched himself higher above Karakura Town. He didn't care about the noise or the flare of spiritual pressure he left in his wake. He didn't care if someone sensed him. Let them.
His breath came out in heavy bursts, still steaming in the cold night air. His eyes, narrowed and sharp, remained fixed ahead—though his thoughts were elsewhere. Swirling.
"How the hell did Ganryū know...?" The question clawed at the inside of his skull like a storm trying to escape.
He clenched his teeth as the wind rushed past him, the buildings below turning into blurs of color and shape. Rage had turned to something deeper now—doubt. Fear disguised behind frustration. He hated the feeling.
A ripple of spiritual energy shimmered near his shoulder, curling like mist, until a figure began to materialize beside him from the red threads.
"Oi, oi," the red cat spirit purred, stretching dramatically. His voice slithered between sarcasm and amusement. "You're gonna melt the clouds with that temper, hot stuff."
Yato didn't respond at first. He didn't look at him either—his jaw just tightened.
Cheshire grinned wider, clearly not offended. "Awfully quiet up here. Thought you'd be screaming vengeance or swearing on someone's grave by now. But no... just a silent, brooding little storm cloud." He tapped Yato's cheek with a claw-like fingertip. "Careful, you're starting to look like Ichigo when he tries to 'process emotions.'"
Still nothing.
Cheshire sighed theatrically, flopping onto Yato's back like a bored cat."So, what's chewing you up more? The fact that Ganryū beat you?" He paused, voice lowering just slightly. "Or the fact he knew he could?"
That did it.
Yato's eyes narrowed even further, the air around him pulsing with a sharp jolt of pressure. He halted mid-air, suddenly frozen in place above the rooftops, spiritual energy swirling like a storm cloud held together only by sheer force of will.
His voice came low, bitter—rough around the edges like glass chewed down to dust."Gee, maybe it's because he literally knows I'm not from this world?" He didn't look at Cheshire. His eyes stared forward, hollow with rage. "Or maybe because he somehow knows exactly how my powers work… or the small fact that he nearly killed me."
Yato's breath caught in his throat as he remembered it. The moment. That instant where everything should've ended. "We literally rewound time to save the civilians. He was on the other side of the battlefield—and yet, he still managed to strike me down right after. Like he'd been waiting for it."
Cheshire chuckled softly, a sound both mocking and playful as he swung his legs like a child on a swing. "Well, I did try to tell you it wasn't the brightest idea, didn't I?" he teased, his grin widening. "But tell me... how can you be so certain he knows about your powers?"
Yato gave him a sidelong glare. "Do I really have to answer that?" he asked.
"Hmm, humor me," Cheshire purred, tilting his head. "Did you even bother to pay attention to what Ganryū said?"
For a moment, silence fell between them, broken only by the distant sound of wind whistling through the city. Yato's mind churned, replaying the confrontation. Ganryū's words resurfaced with uncomfortable clarity—his declaration that Yato was an anomaly akin to the Shinenju, someone pretending to be the real Yato Yasakani. The memory gnawed at him like a persistent thorn, sending a fresh wave of irritation and unease coursing through him.
The realization left a sour taste in Yato's mouth. Fear flickered briefly in his stormy eyes—a crack in his otherwise impenetrable armor. He had always thought his secret was impenetrable, something no one would ever suspect. But if someone like Ganryū, a character he deemed a mere footnote in the grander narrative, had unraveled the truth, what was stopping someone far more cunning, like Aizen or Urahara, from doing the same?
"I see the gears turning," Cheshire chimed, his voice lilting as he observed Yato's brooding expression with wicked delight. "Ah, so you do remember~"
His grin stretched impossibly wide as he leaned closer, the feline-like mischief in his scarlet eyes intensifying. "Now then," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "do you recall what Ganryū said after you pulled that little stunt with rewinding time? You know, to save those poor people from the Blanks?"
A low, frustrated growl rumbled in Yato's throat. "Ganryū just said the same crap." he snapped, the words biting.
"Now why, do you think, would someone say the same thing..." Cheshire's grin didn't falter. Instead, his form began to dissipate, his body unraveling into threads of crimson light that spiraled into the air. The shimmering strands coalesced into a ring, settling snugly on Yato's finger. His voice lingered in the air, a teasing echo that seemed to wrap around Yato's thoughts.
"Think carefully about his words~"
Irritation etched across Yato's face as he let out a sharp sigh, his breath audible even against the rush of air around him. He propelled himself through the night sky using his Bringer Light, the emerald streaks trailing behind him painting a faint glow against the darkness. Yet, unlike before, his movements were restrained, slower—a clear reflection of the weight pressing down on his mind.
He was still furious. Furious at Ganryū. Furious at himself. But now… he was trying to think.
Yato clicked his tongue and slowed his pace even further. He took a deep breath, letting the cold air clear his thoughts.
He inhaled deeply, letting the crisp air fill his lungs, attempting to force clarity through the haze of stress clouding his mind. 'He just kept repeating the same thing…' Yato thought, his brow furrowing before his eyes narrowed in sudden realization. 'Wait… he repeated the same thing… Could it be that rewinding time… Ganryū was affected by it, too?' The idea clicked, but it wasn't without contradiction. 'But it makes no sense for him to know exactly what I was going to do,' he reflected, grinding his teeth in frustration.
Unless Ganryū had planned for it.
'Ganryū didn't know about my ability to reverse time… He just set two traps... I rewound time to avoid the first... and walked right into the second.' His fists clenched at the bitter truth. Ganryū had triumphed from preparation, a trait that had caught Yato completely off guard.
But then came the real question. The one that made his gut twist.
'How the hell does he know I'm not from this world?'
That knowledge should've been impossible. The only person Yato had ever told—even partially—was Rukia. And he trusted her. She wouldn't tell anyone. Not even Ichigo or Chad knew the story. Hell, Yato barely understood it all himself.
The only allies Ganryū had were the Dark Ones—former shinigami cast aside by Soul Society. And their only weapon...
'The Blanks...'
He looked down. In the distance, where the river cut through the town like a gleaming thread of silver and saw a faint, spherical shimmer on the water's surface. Like a mirror with ripples, the air there glowed unnaturally.
The entrance to the Valley of Screams.
But he didn't rush toward it. He hovered there, staring at the glow, his body completely still while his mind raced.
"Blanks don't have memories…" he whispered.
Disconnected fragments. Lost souls. Echoes of lives once lived. 'What if…' The idea formed like a whisper in the dark. '...one of those Blanks had something—anything—from me… or Yato Yasakani?'
It sounded ridiculous at first. But the longer he hovered there, the more sense it made.
He came to a halt in mid-air, suspended above the river as the portal's glow danced beneath him. Yet he didn't advance. Instead, another idea surfaced—a chilling thought, one steeped in selfish fear. 'If Ganryū was able to uncover something about me through the Blanks… then what about Senna...?' His eyes narrowed as the thought cut deeper.
Senna, the Shinenju—a being formed entirely from a fusion of memories. A walking paradox. A soul composed of scattered thoughts and forgotten fragments from countless others.
What if… some of his truth was hidden within her?
His breath caught at the realization. Self-doubt pressed against his chest. 'And that means… if Senna remains alive, she could become a problem for me.
The thought hit him like a betrayal—of himself. He'd risked his life for her. Fought to keep her safe. Believed in her humanity. And now… here he was, wondering if she could one day expose what he truly was.
His fists trembled. He hated the thought. Hated himself for thinking it. But once it entered his mind, it wouldn't leave.
"Yato!!"
The shout pierced the night like a sudden crack of thunder, jolting Yato from his spiraling thoughts. His eyes snapped up, mind still tangled in doubts and guilt, as he turned toward the familiar voice.
There, darting across the moonlit sky with swift bursts of Shunpo, was Ichigo, his signature orange hair nearly glowing under the pale glow of the stars. His determined expression softened into brief relief as he halted midair beside Yato.
"I made it in time, huh?" Ichigo said, slightly winded but smiling. "Tatsuki told me you stormed off right after I left. Figured you were already charging after Senna."
But that grin didn't last.
As Ichigo got a closer look at Yato's face—his stormy, unreadable gaze, his jaw tight with some unspoken burden—the smile faded into something more somber. "Hey… you good?"
Yato didn't answer right away. He lowered his eyes, gaze falling to the swirling glow of the portal below. His voice came out quieter than expected, touched by a hint of shame.
"...Not yet."
There was a pause. The kind that lingered in the air like unspoken weight.
"Yeah," Ichigo finally said, nodding in understanding. "Same here. But…" He took a step forward, eyes locking on the ethereal shimmer rising off the surface of the river. "…we'll be okay. Once we get Senna back."
The entrance to the Valley of Screams pulsed gently. Mist curled upward from the water's surface, the spherical glow of the portal shimmering with soft hues of violet and blue. It was haunting. Silent.
Yato's gaze shifted, and that's when he noticed it—a red ribbon, fluttering softly in Ichigo's hand. The very same ribbon Yato had tied for Senna.
"I found it in the exact same place where Ganryū and his followers ambushed us. It slipped from Senna's hair just as I tried to reach her... but before I could, Ganryū struck me down." Ichigo said without looking back. "Figured she might want it again when we find her."
Yato swallowed hard. The weight in his chest shifted—still heavy, but different now. Grounded.
"Let's go," Ichigo said, a fire flickering behind his eyes. "Let's bring her back."
With that, Ichigo leapt, plunging from the sky like a streak of falling light, drawing Zangetsu as he descended. The blade caught the moonlight, a gleam of silver flashing in the darkness as he sliced through the air toward the portal below.
Yato remained still for a moment longer, his hair rustling softly in the cold breeze that now swept over the city. The river shimmered like glass beneath him, the portal awaiting.
His heart was still conflicted. The doubts hadn't vanished.
Yato clenched his fists, the faint spark of Bringer Light gathering at his feet.
With a final breath, Yato hurled himself after Ichigo, diving straight toward the entrance of the Valley of Screams.