[Echoes of the Absent Sovereign]
The vision held Kokutō captive, a tantalizing glimpse of a life he had once brushed against but could never truly grasp. Ichigo Kurosaki's home shone with the golden light of daybreak, casting long, soft shadows across the walls. The gentle hum of life surrounded him: Orihime's laughter, sweet and lilting, like a song long forgotten, mingled with Kazui's carefree chatter. The warmth that radiated from the scene seeped into Kokutō's chest, stirring memories that had lain dormant beneath layers of regret and loss.
Kokutō stood frozen, eyes wide, as the illusion tightened around him like a snare. His breath caught as the scene sharpened, every detail etched into his mind—the wooden table, adorned with simple breakfast dishes, a pair of slippers half-tucked beneath a chair, and the faint aroma of tea. For a fleeting moment, he felt a crack in the ice that encased his heart.
But the vision began to shift, its edges darkening as if touched by an unseen force. The warmth ebbed away, replaced by a cold that crept up Kokutō's spine. The sounds of life distorted, the laughter turning hollow, replaced by silence so deep it resonated in his bones.
Then, Aarowan's voice slithered into the void, coiling around Kokutō's thoughts like a serpent.
"A change?" The question was smooth, almost teasing, carrying a hint of challenge that set Kokutō's nerves on edge.
D - Gm - Cm - Am
"What?" Kokutō's voice was rough, strained with the effort of pulling himself from the remnants of the vision. The icy wind of Judecca whispered around them, carrying with it the ghosts of the damned.
Quid arma odii tibi essent?
[A question steeped in malice, pressing as the frost itself.]
"What type of weapon would you rather have hate be to you?" Aarowan's eyes narrowed as he spoke, their dark depths reflecting the crystalline sheen of the ice around them. The inquiry hung in the air, unanswered, echoing through the cold expanse as if daring Kokutō to find an answer.
Before he could respond, the scene changed with a snap of Aarowan's fingers. The fragile vision of warmth shattered, and the reality of Judecca rushed back in, biting and merciless. The ice beneath their feet groaned in protest, shifting like the restless dead beneath a frozen sea.
Kokutō staggered, the shock of the transition seeping into his muscles. He clenched his jaw against the frustration that threatened to spill over. "What was that?" he managed, his voice a hoarse whisper filled with anger.
"Simple," Aarowan said, his tone as nonchalant as if discussing the weather. His cloak flared behind him, caught by the cruel wind that twisted through the jagged pillars of ice. "A glimpse into the present and a demonstration of a sliver of my Auctoritas."
The world seemed to draw in a breath as Aarowan's gaze grew sharper, shadows stretching around them as though seeking to listen. He tilted his head, a small, condescending smile playing on his lips. "It is something you, my discipulus, will come to understand."
Kokutō's defiance flared, melting a fraction of the chill that gripped his soul. "Pupil? I didn't sign up for this." The wind, as if emboldened by his words, whipped around them, carrying the faint echoes of wailing souls trapped in their icy purgatory.
Sed tu signasti libertatem. Aarowan's smile widened, cold and humorless. "But you did sign in for freedom, didn't you? And in doing so, you caused a ripple that sent shockwaves through Hell itself, all for a moment's grasp at liberation. For that, they sent me. Or more accurately, they wish me to probare—to test you."
Kokutō's eyes narrowed, his pulse pounding in his ears. The heavy silence around them seemed to intensify, pressing on his chest until his breath came in shallow, frosty bursts. "Test for what?"
Probatio Daemonis. Aarowan's voice was silk laced with venom. "To see if you can become a Daemon under the Diaboli," he said, his eyes catching the pale light and burning with a dark fire that mirrored the frozen landscape.
The notion was absurd. Kokutō had been in Hell longer than he could remember, and not once had he encountered beings like Aarowan. He drew a deep breath, the icy air slicing down his throat. "I've never seen anyone like you. Not in all my time here. You don't exist. This... this is something else."
Aarowan's cloak rustled as he turned slightly, his gaze sweeping over the jagged horizon of ice and shadow. "Normally, we don't interfere with what transpires in Hell or the realms beyond. But when something stirs—something as seismic as your encounter with Kurosaki Ichigo—we pay attention." He paused, eyes gleaming with a wicked light. "Though it takes ages to act upon such things... wait, is this a test for me, I wonder?"
Ego absens. Aarowan's shrug was almost careless, but there was tension in the way he held himself. "Regardless, I don't have exact instructions on how to deal with you, so my actions are... let's say... aptus—befitting."
The wind around them swirled, carrying whispers that skittered across the frozen plain like phantoms. Kokutō's fists clenched, the memory of the vision still burning in his mind. Ichigo's home. The fleeting warmth. The feeling of belonging, now extinguished by the cold reality around him.
"If I'm part of this," Kokutō said, his voice low but resolute, "I need you to guarantee me the safety of Kurosaki."
Aarowan's grin stretched wide, sharp and feral. "Fine, but which Kurosaki? Dealer's choice?" His voice coiled around the question, mocking and filled with dark amusement.
"Don't play games. You know exactly who I mean. Ichigo Kurosaki's family," Kokutō said, each word vibrating with conviction. The ice beneath them cracked, a jagged fissure spreading like a wound. "Swear they shall not be harmed."
The wind faltered, dropping into an unnatural silence. Aarowan's eyes met Kokutō's, the mocking glint fading into something unreadable. The air thickened with a tension that seemed to watch them, an unseen audience holding its breath.
Certus. "Certainly," Aarowan finally said, the word slipping out as a soft promise, its edges gilded with ambiguity.
D - Am - Bb - Fm
A chill settled over Kokutō that had nothing to do with the ice. He felt the weight of eyes he couldn't see, assessing, probing. Aarowan's posture eased, his gaze lifting as if to pierce the abyss above them.
"Would you like to know something that might ease your troubled mind, discipulus?" Aarowan's voice was quieter now, almost contemplative.
"I don't trust you," Kokutō replied, a snarl twisting his lips. The air around them shifted again, the whispering wind carrying voices too faint to decipher.
Fidem raro habemus. Aarowan nodded, a shadow of agreement flickering across his face. "Trust is a rare thing indeed." His eyes found Kokutō's, deep and enigmatic. "But hear me out this once. My Auctoritas—my authority—is instabilis, unstable. Its origins are as uncertain as the shifting ice beneath our feet. It can manifest as omne or nihil, a paradox bound by rules even I do not fully understand. That is why I wield not one, but two Zanpakutō. One craves societas, while the other commands omnes."
The wind lashed through the ice formations, making them groan and creak, as if the very bones of Judecca were straining to listen. Kokutō felt the weight of Aarowan's words settle heavily on him. "And what do you call this Auctoritas?" he asked, the question pulled from him by a mix of dread and curiosity.
Aarowan's smile faded, replaced by a look of profound stillness. His eyes narrowed as he spoke, each word carrying the echo of an ancient, resonant truth.
"Absentious."
G - Cm - F - Am
The name lingered in the frigid air, vibrating like a note struck from the deepest recesses of the abyss. Kokutō's breath stilled, the final echo of Ichigo's home slipping away as he stood on the edge of something vast and unknowable.