arts and crafts [o]

Nabill was tired. He was tired to the point of passing out at any moment. Yet, despite the fatigue that had set into his bones, he moved one foot past the next. His boots left no imprints in the sand, and each movement was as graceful as it was calculated. Hundreds of years of swordsmanship had bled into every aspect of Nabill’s life. Even his breath, which was a subconscious action for most, had become something he consciously regulated. 

“...?” Something in the distance caught his eye. His pesquisa reached out and then returned to him, and the information it gave was odd at best. 

Like a shadow on the dunes, Nabill moved over the crest of the sandy mountains and slowly approached the Octava Espada. She was as white as the ash she stood on, though her red eyes were as bright as torches in the eternal night. A night which, oddly enough, lacked a moon. It was in between cycles, and so Hueco Mundo had turned from a world of yin and yang to only yang.. 

Without so much as a shuffle to announce his arrival, Nabill appeared ten yards off the side of the cat arrancar and his assumed master. Both hands were hidden with a pair of bellowing sleeves, though that wouldn’t prevent him from drawing his swords before an eye could blink. The Primera did not think he needed too, though. The Octava had been tamed long ago. 

“It is odd for an Espada to be outside their kingdom,” Nabill said. He blinked and almost didn’t open his eyes due to the exhaustion blanketed over him. “What brings you so far out of your lands, Octava?” 

Nabill wrinkled his nose as the cat known as Gato did his performance. He couldn’t find himself to care too much about it, so instead he turned back to face the Octava. Her speech was interesting but it was clear to him by her tone and choice of words that she was no closer to reaching his level then the Septima or Quinta. 

“Evolution comes to hollow easily. Evolution comes to arrancar with . . . difficulties.” Nabill turned on his heel and began walking again. “Follow me, Octava.” 

The Primera lead the albino to the top of the nearest dune, which stood a solid two hundred feet above their last position. Up here, they could properly see across the vast expanse of Hueco Mundo. In the distance, the various kingdoms in Las Noches were visible. A red star on the horizon denoted the Quinta’s lands. The tall towers that burned with neon light was the capital. 

Yet Nabill looked at none of these. Instead he looked into the sky, focusing on the blackest piece of the blackness. “For most arrancar, growth is no longer possible. For ones who were once Vasto Lordes, this tale changes.” Nabill’s eyes turned towards Carrla, though his head did not. “What do you represent, Octava?”