BLACK DRAGON RISING

Sasuga couldn’t tell if the stinging in his eyes was from the salt water or his tears. A fresh wave broke over him as he left the hands of the ocean, sending shivers over his body and raising goosebumps along his skin. His hair was wet and matted to his face, his hands were wrapped in bandages, and he felt as if his palms were on fire. 

“What do you hope to gain by drowning yourself, Sasuga?” Kyoutoryuu asked. When Sasuga looked up, he could see the dragon was coiled atop a dune. The villagers knew to stay away from nobility, but the appearance of a dragon as black as night was considered an ill omen by them. Sasuga’s blue eyes met Kyoutoryuu’s gold ones, and forced his hands to curl into fists. 

“Who are you to lecture me? A sword that can’t even cut--” 

“--Is as useful as a shinigami who can’t fight. But if you don’t want to emulate me, why continue to submerge yourself into the water? Do you hope to learn a graceful way to drown away your shame?” 

“Silence!” Sasuga shouted. He ripped his zanpakutou from the ground and pointed it at the spirit. Even holding a weapon caused his hands to scream in pain, but emotions had an odd way of being able to ignore inconveniences. “Return to your world, Kyoutoryuu. I summoned you to see if I could, and now I know I can. Leave.” 

True to his name, Koutoryuu did not leave...at first. Then his body began to break up into blue embers, and an invisible wind pushed them back into the blade that they were birthed from. With a sneer, Sasuga thrust the blade back into the sand and sat on the ground with crossed knees. 

There was a chilled wind blowing up from the sea today, but through meditation he found that he was able to ignore it. Meditation of that caliber only came to those who could trust in their own abilities, and Sasuga knew that was not the case now. He had left his uniform back in the Seireitei to symbolize that. For now he’d be the nameless swordsman, wandering the Rukongai like the Kenpachi of old. Or at least he wanted to, had his hair and eyes and graceful way of movement not given him away. 

“If only I was common,” Sasuga heard himself say. Sometimes he’d catch himself doing things without realizing it. Dark bags had taken root under his eyes, and a weariness clung to his muscles like a tick to a dog. Sleep had come uneasily to him over the last few days. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his father, and with that image came that same line of words over and over again. “I grow tired of having to fight your battles.” Sasuga sometimes said it to himself, one of those things he did without notice, but it always turned a knife in his heart. 

Sasuga watched as the sun set over the horizon, turning the sky from a pale blue to a bruised purple. As it hit the halfway point, long fingers of gold and pink and brown cast themselves over the clouds, creating a painting no soul could ever rightfully capture. For the last three days, Sasuga had watched in captivation. Nothing was more serene than dusk or dawn, as each one birthed something totally unique in that short hour of time. There was a longing in his eyes as he watched; a longing that he had thought disappeared when his father clapped for him at his promotion.  

“If only…” 

“...You were your father.” 

The voice caused Sasuga to slowly turn his head over his shoulder. Standing there in the pre-dusk light was an old man wrapped in dark blue, green, and brown. Long strips of fabric of those same colors wrapped around his face and head, leaving only a pair of sapphire eyes bare. Sasuga’s eyes narrowed. He knew the clan that color of sapphire belonged to. 

“We are related,” he said, hoping to sound as cold as his father. 

If he did, the hunched-back soul was undeterred. “Indeed we are. You may know me as Seiryuu Shinraimaru.” 

Sasuga reeled his emotions back in when he noticed that his eyes had gone wide and his jaw slack. “Shinraimaru-dono...I didn’t…” Without another word Sasuga was on his knees and touching his forehead to the sand. 

“Rise, boy. There is no need to bow to me.” There was ice in that voice, Sasuga realized. He rose slowly and felt his cheeks warm when he realized he was only wearing his small-clothes. If Shinraimaru cared, he once again failed to show it. “Come with me, boy. We have a discussion that must be held.” 

“A discussion…? What about?” 

Shinraimaru answered by turning and beginning the long trek through the dunes back towards what Sasuga thought to be the Seireitei. He motioned to stand and follow, but when he looked back to the sun he noticed that his ancestor wasn’t heading towards the Shinigami city. A conflict of emotion bloomed within him: he was happy not to have to deal with his father, but just where was he being taken to?