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⠀ A hero’s journey traverses several cycles, however long it lasts ; a hero’s journey is linear, a fine threaded framework except, Ichigo was no hero. Hero’s aren’t selfish protectors, as they are routinely dedicated to foiling evil.
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⠀ Darkness engulfs the conversing opposites, enveloping the duo in it's cold endless expanse. One a savior, renowned and regaled by all in Soul Society. The other? Cursed and rejected by all, cast into the deepest pit of solitude, branded a traitor by all of the Reiō's —
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⠀ “Is the charade over now? I’m not stupid, this prison won’t hold you forever and you let it.
You spent your entire life scheming on ways to become the end all be all, and this is what you make of it …”
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⠀ “And I’d be a hypocrite to fight alongside someone I wanna cut down.
Try and look past yourself for a minute, Aizen.”
If only his eyes could narrow a bit further.
“I wanna ask ya’ something. . . ⠀
⠀ Was it 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑻𝑯 𝑰𝑻 ? ”
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⠀ The silence has no form of
illustration. By now, the doors had began to shut themselves; the raw drag of their stone shakes memories from the bowels of his mind, best summing up the silence — decrepit, and like all decrepit things, drifting into time.
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⠀ Unflinching, a cold gaze returned to the one whom embodies the essence of courage. Hazel hues versus singular mocha orb, a silent battle. Unspoken will's collide with unseen force, probing the intention of one another.
⠀ Silence stretched until the sempiternal —
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⠀ Even in moments of affection, that sharp gleam confesses promise. Aizen’s words did not reach, wrought by the depth of a stare that had saw through him —his games. His will. His heart.
“Tch. . .Clueless.
nah. I gave up hating you the moment we clashed swords.”
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⠀ Before the great gates could rend themselves — or dust descends from their dilapidated epidermis — a hazel eye, possessing a brazen sheen, stares unflinchingly at the first man who dared defy the written word.
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⠀ “We haven’t seen each other for awhile; but If you wanted me out of your hair, you could’ve said that.”
Woven fingers now a canopy, lay flat atop a head of strawberry.
“Catch ya’ later . . .
𝓑ig mouth. Don’t be a stranger, yeah?”
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⠀ it’s been relatively peaceful.
He still sets out at twilight, in pursuit of the damned. In search of the lambent souls, lost. Today, he was just a soon to be English major.
“Ya’ really gonna blame me for us runnin’ into each other?”
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⠀⠀𝓪 pause of her own follows soon after; thankful for the fact that she's not wearing contacts, it's easier to glare at him when his features are fuzzy.
⠀⠀❛ don't you have a world to go save or someone to go bother .ᐣ i'm sure your friends are already worried. ❜
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⠀ The hard part of the day had concluded itself, examining the American dialect and forming a praxis. Riruka’s brazen miff, was coincidental.
He’s been meaning to speak with her though, check in after all that’s happened in the passing months.
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