That night, Ichigo couldn't sleep. His mind replayed the events over and over, analyzing every detail, every sensation he'd felt in the heat of battle. Something about it felt right, almost familiar. And yet, he didn't fully understand why. As he lay in bed, he felt a presence, a deep, dormant power within him that felt like an old friend, or maybe a part of himself that had been asleep.
When sleep finally claimed him, his dreams were filled with strange, fragmented visions. He saw himself wielding a massive sword, a Zanpakuto, slashing through creatures with hollowed masks. He saw faces of friends—Chad, Orihime, Ishida—and a tall man in black robes, smiling at him through wisps of white hair. And a voice echoed in his mind, one he hadn't heard in what felt like an eternity.
"Get up, Ichigo," it said, rough and stern, yet filled with a strange warmth. "You're not done yet."
He jolted awake, a faint throbbing in his hand. He looked down and blinked in shock as faint lines appeared across his palm, almost as if his skin was momentarily tattooed with the symbol of his old Shinigami badge. But just as quickly as it appeared, the mark faded, leaving him wondering if he'd only imagined it.
But the dreams continued. Each night, he saw more glimpses—of friends, enemies, battles, and powers beyond mortal comprehension. Each morning, he woke up with a stronger sense of purpose, though he still didn't fully understand it.
He felt like a stranger in his own skin, someone who had once been powerful, strong, and had a duty. But now, he was… human.