World of the Living | Karakura Town
The night hung still above Karakura, the silence broken only by the rhythmic ripple of water against the stone supports of the bridge. The circular portal, embedded like a wound in the center of the river, pulsed with an otherworldly green glow that painted the water in ghostly hues. Each pulse shimmered outward, sending faint waves of light across the surface.
Orihime shifted restlessly, her hands clasped against her chest, her brows knitted in worry. Chad stood silent beside her, his eyes locked on the portal with the same unwavering patience he always carried, though his clenched fists betrayed the tension beneath his calm. Tatsuki, however, stared with unusual intensity, her sharp gaze unblinking. Unlike the others, she felt it—not just the light or the waiting, but a rhythm, a pulse that resonated deep inside her chest.
She parted her lips to speak, but before the words could escape, Urahara's quiet chuckle filled the night. Standing with Tessai at his side, flanked by tJinta and Ururu, he tilted his striped hat downward, a sly grin tugging at his lips.
"Here they come." he said lightly, as though announcing the arrival of old friends rather than survivors of a collapsing dimension.
The river responded at once. The water churned, spiraling into violent whirlpools that glowed with the emerald light of the portal. The air quivered with spiritual pressure, thick enough that even the untrained would have felt its weight pressing on their skin.
And then—an eruption.
A burst of brilliance tore through the depths, blinding for a heartbeat. From the light, shadows surged upward at breakneck speed. The surface of the river exploded outward as though struck by cannon fire, water erupting in massive columns that shot toward the sky. The impact resounded like thunder, waves crashing against the riverbanks in concentric blasts, spraying the entire bridge in a cold mist.
The first silhouettes broke free, soaring high above the spray. Crystalline towers of water collapsed behind them, scattering into countless droplets that glittered like diamonds against the moonlit sky. Suspended in that storm of silver and green, the figures of the Shinigami emerged—captains Soi Fon, Byakuya Kuchiki, Tōshirō Hitsugaya, and Kenpachi Zaraki, followed by the lieutenants Kira, Hinamori, Abarai, Hisagi, Matsumoto, and the ever-grinning Yachiru, with Ikkaku and Yumichika close behind. Their black shihakushō fluttered in the night air as they steadied themselves mid-flight, an imposing line illuminated by the fractured starlight.
But the water stirred again.
This time, the burst was even sharper, and from it shot Ichigo, his Zangetsu clutched in his left hand, his right arm holding Senna protectively against his chest. He looked toward his friends standing on the bridge and gave them a confident smile to show that everything was fine.
And beside him, emerging slower, but no less striking, came Yato. Supported by Rukia on one side and Nemu on the other, his frame looked battered, his body marked by burns crawling up his arms and legs, patches of darkened skin stretching across even part of his face. The contrast was jarring. The once-fiery figure of overwhelming power now reduced to a boy leaning on his allies to keep standing.
The scene was tense, almost reverent. And then Yato shattered it completely.
With a sheepish grunt, he disentangled himself from Rukia and Nemu, wobbling a little before planting his foot on thin air. A spark of Bringer Light flared, and he hopped downward as if descending invisible steps. Each "step" made him wince, muttering an exaggerated "Ouch… ouch…" under his breath, his voice caught somewhere between a groan and a complaint.
Step by step, he made his way toward the bridge, until at last his feet touched solid ground. He landed directly in front of Orihime, Tatsuki, and Chad, his shoulders sagging with dramatic relief. "Help me out here, Inoue," he said, his tone a perfect mix of genuine pain and ridiculous theatrics, as though begging for sympathy and teasing for a laugh all at once.
"Yato!" Tatsuki's voice cracked with emotion as she hurried toward him. Her relief at seeing him alive clashed with the worry that immediately darkened her eyes when she caught sight of the burns lacing his arms, legs, and even the side of his face. Before she could scold him further, Orihime's shield.flared into existence around him.
<< Sōten Kisshun. >> • 双天帰盾, Twin Sacred Return Shield •
The gentle glow enveloped his body, knitting away at the charred skin and damaged flesh.
"What the hell happened to you?" Tatsuki demanded, her hands clenched into fists, though the tremor in her voice betrayed more fear than anger.
Yato scratched the back of his neck with a sheepish grin, his usual tactic to disarm her worry."I might've… gotten a little carried away with the fun," he said, tone deliberately light, brushing the matter aside as though his burns weren't the aftermath of hellfire.
Ichigo arrived a second later, descending swiftly with Senna in his arms. His landing was much steadier, his expression sharp yet softening the moment Senna's feet touched solid ground. He lingered at her side even after letting her go, as if unwilling to break the protective stance he had maintained since entering the Valley of Screams. Behind him came Rukia, Nemu, and Renji. Unlike them, the other Shinigami who had returned from the Valley wasted no time—they had already opened a Senkaimon, slipping back to the Soul Society to assess the aftermath and stabilize the situation there.
"Welcome back!" Orihime's smile lit up the night as she focused her healing power on Yato. The golden shimmer reflected in her eyes, hope brimming in her voice.
"At least you pulled it off," Tatsuki added, her lips curving into a smirk despite the heaviness in her chest. Chad, towering silently beside her, gave the group a firm thumbs-up, his small but genuine smile carrying more weight than any words he could have spoken.
"Well done, everyone." Urahara chimed in with his usual casualness, tipping the brim of his striped hat as if greeting them after a routine errand rather than a life-or-death battle.
"Splendid," Tessai rumbled in agreement, his voice a deep.
"I'm so glad you're all safe," Orihime said softly, her gaze flicking toward Ichigo for a fleeting moment, her eyes warm and relieved before she forced herself back to concentrate on Yato's healing.
"Yasakani-sama." Nemu's quiet voice cut through the air. She stood just outside Orihime's shield, her hands clasped at her sides, her eyes steady yet shadowed by an emotion Yato rarely saw in her—discomfort. She had called him by the formal title like she used to, but the tension in her tone betrayed something far more personal.
Yato met her gaze briefly, then looked away. Despite her stoic mask, he could feel the weight of her unease, and Rukia's as well. Both of them had seen it—the side of him he usually kept hidden, the burning cruelty of his Bankai. And they hadn't forgotten.
Drawing in a slow breath, Yato leaned back slightly within the golden barrier, allowing the warmth of Orihime's power to wash over him. He forced his expression into one of quiet reassurance, softening his voice. "It's going to be fine. I'm fine."
He said it simply, as if those words alone could ease their concerns, as if the calm veneer he wore could patch over the truth of what they had witnessed. And perhaps, more than anything, he spoke it because he refused to let the subject linger any longer.
Nemu's eyes lingered on Yato, her gaze unblinking, analytical, yet shadowed by something deeper—a quiet unease that she could not voice outright. For several long seconds she studied him, the faint golden shimmer of Orihime's shield reflecting in her pupils, before at last she turned her head toward Rukia. The petite shinigami stood only a short distance away, her own eyes fixed on Yato with a look that was far more personal, far less clinical than Nemu's. It wasn't fear—but it was close. A quiet disturbance, the kind that gnawed at the back of one's mind after witnessing something impossible to forget.
"Kuchiki-san," Nemu addressed her softly, her voice carrying a precise weight that ensured Rukia heard her, even though the younger Shinigami never turned her eyes away from Yato. "Please… keep me informed."
"Yes," Rukia replied with solemn brevity, her tone giving nothing away, though her clenched jaw betrayed her conflicted thoughts.
Nemu inclined her head in a brief bow, her dark hair falling like a curtain before she straightened again. Without another word, she turned, her hands moving with quiet efficiency as she summoned the pale glow of a Senkaimon with her zanpakutō. The gates cracked open with their familiar hum, and with a final glance toward the group, she stepped through, vanishing back into the Soul Society.
The silence left in her absence felt heavier than before.
From the corner of the group, Tatsuki had been watching silently, her brows furrowed. First she looked at Rukia, her expression caught between worry and suspicion, then back at Yato, who sat calmly within Orihime's shield. She didn't understand the details—how could she?—but even from the outside she could tell something dark had taken place inside the Valley of Screams. Something that had left both Rukia and Nemu visibly unsettled. Her fists tightened at her sides, a frustrated knot forming in her chest. 'What happened there, Yato?' she wondered, though she didn't dare ask aloud.
Ichigo, perhaps sensing the tension as well, tried to break it before it could grow. He shifted his weight, glancing quickly in Yato's direction before deliberately turning to face Rukia and Renji. His voice cut through the silence, sharp but casual enough to diffuse the air. "Thanks for the backup, you two," he said, his tone carrying both sincerity and an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
Renji scoffed immediately, crossing his arms. "Don't get the wrong idea, idiot. I wasn't doing this for you." His words were sharp, but the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind of remark meant as much to distract from the tension as it was to jab at Ichigo.
The brief exchange drew a small smirk from Tatsuki, though it did little to ease the heaviness still clinging to the bridge. The banter gave the group something to cling to, however brief, a momentary illusion of normalcy.
But Yato didn't join in. While the others exchanged words, his eyes found Senna. She had wandered quietly toward the edge of the bridge, her small figure outlined against the soft shimmer of the portal below. She stood there alone, her gaze lost in the swirling green glow on the water's surface. A sudden breeze rolled across the night, tugging at her hair.
Yato's chest tightened at the sight.
'Now all that's left… is to wait. For her to disappear.' The thought echoed in his mind, heavy and merciless. His inner voice a whisper far heavier than his outward expression. He felt Orihime's healing warmth steadily knitting away the last of his burns, the pain fading from his arms and face. Yet none of that relief reached the hollow ache settling in his heart as he watched Senna, alone against the night.
'Just wait until she's gone completely…' He repeated it in his mind, almost chanting, as if repetition could make it easier. As if convincing himself that her inevitable end was necessary, even when every fiber of his being resisted the thought.
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Meanwhile - Soul Society | Seireitei
The tense, suffocating air that had hung over Seireitei for hours had finally given way to something far brighter—celebration. For so long, uncertainty had weighed on every division, every street, every corridor of the court of pure souls. None had known whether the Kidō Cannon's massive discharge would stabilize the situation or shatter it beyond repair. Yet the moment the message reached them—that the Substitute Shinigami Ichigo Kurosaki and Yato Yasakani had succeeded in rescuing the Shinenju, that the support team was on their way back, and that the Valley of Screams itself had begun to collapse—the Seireitei erupted.
The news swept through Seireitei like wildfire. Relief surged through every barracks, every patrol line, every district wall. Shinigami who had been standing rigid at their posts laughed aloud; others dropped to their knees in relief or embraced their comrades with uncharacteristic abandon. Cheers rose in waves, echoing through the labyrinth of white walls and polished stone streets. A chorus of thousands thundered across the night, joy spilling into every corner of the city. For once, the endless wariness of Soul Society gave way to a rare, unifying triumph.
But not everywhere shared in the jubilation.
Deep within the sterile halls of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute, the atmosphere was starkly different. The white walls glowed faintly under the dim lighting, the air buzzing with the hum of monitors and the frantic tapping of keys. Here, there was no laughter, no cheers—only the relentless rhythm of machines and the sharp voices of scientists barking updates across the room.
At the center of it all, Mayuri Kurotsuchi loomed, his painted face twisted into its usual grotesque grin—but beneath that grin was the unmistakable twitch of irritation. His golden eyes darted between the streams of data flashing across the massive main display, fingers curling and uncurling with growing impatience.
"Strange…" he muttered, the word low but sharp, cutting through the frantic air. "The Valley collapses, the mission concludes… yet the alarm persists." His head tilted, almost birdlike as he turned toward his subordinates. His grin widened into something more unnerving. "Why," he asked, each syllable dragged with deliberate weight, "has the alarm not been silenced?"
A low chime pulsed through the room again—the unyielding warning tone that refused to fade.
Then, from one of the far consoles, a voice rang out, shaky but urgent. "Captain! This is bad!" The young researcher's face was pale as his hands scrambled across the controls, projecting data into the air for all to see. His voice wasn't just confined to the lab either—through the transmission system, it carried outward, relayed to the divisions stationed across Seireitei. The celebration faltered as voices froze mid-cheer, straining to hear.
"The dimension—" the scientist continued, his words tumbling over themselves in alarm, "—it has expanded beyond the final critical point! The Valley of Screams's gravitational pull hasn't just collapsed inward—it's linked outward! It has chained itself to both the World of the Living and the Soul Society! The three dimensions… they've already started to merge!"
The monitors flared crimson with warning symbols, streams of numbers cascading down the screens as spatial charts warped grotesquely, showing the once-stable boundaries between realms twisting and cracking.
For a moment, even the research lab fell into stunned silence, broken only by the unrelenting drone of the alarm that echoed across Seireitei.
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World of the Living | Karakura Town
A sudden gale tore across the bridge, whipping hair, robes, and loose debris into the air. The wind didn't just blow—it pulled, dragging everything toward the shimmering portal on the water's surface. The glow from within the vortex pulsed with unnatural rhythm, and the spiraling current below churned so violently it seemed a whirlpool might soon devour the entire river.
Rukia's eyes widened, her hand instinctively reaching for Sode no Shirayuki at her side. "What is the meaning of this…?" she asked, her voice tight with alarm.
Renji stepped forward, his expression grim, jaw set as if bracing for impact. "I thought the fusion of the worlds had already stopped! Why does it feel like it's starting again?!"
Orihime's shield of golden light—the delicate petals of her Sōten Kisshun—flickered once and dissolved as she released it, realizing Yato's burns had already been healed. She glanced anxiously at the portal, her voice soft but shaking. "Then… what's going to happen to us now?"
Urahara's striped hat shadowed his eyes as the corners of his mouth dipped, his usually playful demeanor subdued into something darker. His fan snapped shut with a muted clack as he muttered, almost to himself, "This isn't good."
From the distance, Fujimaru sprinted back toward the group while holding Shiyo with his left arm, his blade still dripping faint traces of reishi from the last Hollow he struck down. Close behind, the three mod-souls arrived as well.
"Urahara-san, what's happening?!" Fujimaru demanded, his voice laced with both exhaustion and alarm.
"This is chaos! Utter chaos!" Ririn shouted, flailing her tiny arms, eyes wide with panic.
Kurōdo wrung his hands dramatically. "Ahhh, I knew it, I knew something like this would happen!"
Only Noba remained silent, his eyes fixed coldly on the swirling light below.
Urahara exhaled slowly, his voice dropping to a tone that carried far more weight than his casual manner usually betrayed. "The worlds are… merging. The Valley's collapse hasn't ended the process."
A ripple of tension passed through the group. Before anyone could respond, a small figure leapt gracefully onto the edge of the bridge. Yoruichi, in her sleek black feline form, narrowed her golden eyes at the portal, her tail swishing once in agitation. "So the situation is even worse than expected…"
"What do we do?!" Tatsuki blurted, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. Though she tried to keep her voice steady, fear bled through every syllable. The silence that followed was heavy—nobody had an answer.
And then, breaking that silence, Senna moved.
Her amber eyes burned with a strange determination as she suddenly sprinted forward and vaulted into the air, soaring upward until she hovered high above the bridge. Suspended in the night sky, her gaze locked firmly on the violent glow of the portal below. Her hair whipped around her face in the rushing wind, and her small frame looked both fragile and unyielding against the turbulence.
"Hey! Wait!" Ichigo shouted, instantly pushing off the ground with a burst of Shunpō. He shot upward until he leveled with her.
And then—before he even realized what he was doing—Yato moved. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, Bringer Light flickering beneath his feet as he leapt into the air. A streak of emerald and white, he cut through the sky, rising to meet Ichigo and Senna above the vortex.
'Why?' The thought hammered in his mind as the howling winds roared past his ears. 'I already decided… it would be better to let her disappear.'
Yet his body betrayed him. Instinct, impulse—something deeper than reason had carried him here. Against his own decision, against his own logic, he was standing in the night sky above the portal, shoulder to shoulder with Ichigo, his gaze locked on Senna as though drawn to her by fate itself.
Suspended high above Karakura's night sky, Senna's gaze remained fixed on the swirling, emerald-lit portal below. Her expression was torn, a battlefield of fear and resolve painted across her delicate features. It was as though she had already realized what had to be done, yet every fiber of her being still resisted the inevitable. Her lips pressed into a trembling line, her amber-colored eyes shimmering with unshed tears that reflected the churning light of the vortex.
Slowly, her small hands moved. With her right hand, she clutched the sleeve of Yato's shirt, her fingers trembling yet firm, anchoring herself to him. With her left, she gripped the black fabric of Ichigo's shihakushō. The fabric wrinkled under the pressure of her hold as though she was desperately afraid of slipping away from them. Her eyes closed tight.
"Yato… Ichigo…" Her voice cracked, fragile like glass under strain. "I'm… I'm scared."
Both young men stiffened at her words. Ichigo blinked, confusion etching into his face. "Senna?" he asked, as if unsure what she truly meant.
But Yato knew. The truth stabbed into him with merciless clarity. He understood her intentions perfectly, and the realization twisted inside him like a knife. Here he was, convincing himself it was better to let her fade away—better to accept her disappearance—only to find that she was about to give up everything. To sacrifice her very existence for him, for Ichigo, for the World of the Living. The thought made him sick with guilt.
Senna's eyes fluttered open again, brimming with a fragile light. She looked at them both, her grip tightening as though drawing strength directly from their presence. "But… I can't just walk away!" she cried, her voice trembling but fierce. "A world like this… a world that's so fun." She tried to smile, but her lips quivered, betraying the storm in her chest.
Flashes of memory surged in her mind, moments with Yato and Ichigo, brief yet vivid. Their first chaotic meeting, the battles in the Valley of Screams, the laughter and bickering. A single day, and yet, she felt as if she had known them all her life. "A world where so many people live… a world where you two live."
At last, she let go. Her hands slipped from their sleeves, leaving behind the warmth of their presence. She pressed her right hand against her chest, her expression soft yet resolute. "I'll be fine. The Blanks are still here… within me." She glanced back at them, her eyes wet but determined, as though she wanted to lend them strength instead of borrowing it. "If I use their energy, I can restore the balance. I can bring the worlds back to normal."
"Senna…" Ichigo whispered, his throat tight, his eyes never leaving her.
Beside him, Yato's hands curled into fists. His jaw clenched, his body trembling violently. Every word from Senna weighed on him like a hammer, breaking through every wall of indifference he had tried to build. His hand gripped his opposite arm, nails digging into flesh as though the pain might somehow keep him from breaking apart.
"If the worlds collapse," Senna continued, her voice louder now, cracking with desperation, "then you'll disappear too. Both of you." Her lips curved into a broken smile, one filled with sorrow yet undeniable love. "I won't let that happen!"
Her body suddenly ignited with light—a radiant golden aura that flared outward like a beacon in the night. It spread across her form until she seemed almost transparent, ethereal, as if her body was nothing but a vessel for the Blanks' power.
"Stop this!" Ichigo shouted, trying to reach for her. His voice was desperate, raw, straining against the howl of the winds. "If you do this—"
"I'd rather sacrifice myself… than watch you die!!" Senna screamed, her tears finally spilling free, trailing down her cheeks as the golden light intensified.
'Damn it! Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT!! ' Yato's mind roared, his entire body shuddering as he stood paralyzed between rage and despair.
The air exploded around them. A violent gale surged from Senna's form, whipping through the sky like a storm unleashed. Her golden aura expanded outward in waves, mixing with the roaring wind until it became a blinding storm of light.
"Senna!!!" Ichigo's voice tore through the maelstrom as he reached out with everything he had—but the gale shoved him back, the force too much even for him to resist. His outstretched fingers brushed only air.
The radiance consumed everything—the portal, the sky, the bridge, the two substitute shinigami, the people watching below. All was swallowed by the expanding brilliance.
And just before the world vanished into the golden storm, Ichigo's cry rang out once more, desperate and unyielding:
"SEEEEENNNAAAAAAA!!!"
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[ "We've got confirmation of countless spiritual explosions in the Dangai. The World of the Living and Soul Society are both stabilizing. The fusion has stopped." ]
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"Yato... Ichigo... I have a favour to ask..."
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***
The night was fading, surrendering slowly to the promise of dawn. The horizon was beginning to pale, the inky black sky softening into shades of gray and violet, though the sun itself had yet to rise. The streets of Karakura were quiet, bathed in that still, fragile calm that lingers just before morning fully awakens.
Down one of those empty streets, Ichigo Kurosaki walked with steady, deliberate steps. His shihakushō was gone, replaced once more by the casual clothes of his human body. On his back, leaning against him with her arms faintly wrapped around his neck, was Senna. She was quiet, her cheek resting lightly against his shoulder, her small frame carried with care.
Trailing several paces behind was Yato. His gait was slower, heavier, almost dragging. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled low, hiding his expression in shadows, though the dampness glimmering at the corners of his eyes betrayed him. His gaze remained fixed on the ground, every step weighed down by thoughts he could barely hold together. His chest felt tight, his throat raw, as if the smallest word might break him open and release all the grief he was desperately trying to cage inside.
"…Yato," Senna's voice came softly, breaking the silence. It was faint, almost carried away by the cool morning breeze.
He froze inside, his pulse quickening with dread. Even the smallest exchange of words felt dangerous—like if he let his voice slip, the grief would come spilling out in front of her. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to respond with the smallest, safest sound he could muster.
"Hm?"
Senna shifted faintly on Ichigo's back, her voice carrying a fragile warmth, hesitant yet filled with sincerity. "Can I… ask you for a favor? Just while we're walking…?"
Yato's heart thudded harder, a lump rising in his throat. "…What is it?" he asked, though his voice was almost inaudible.
She hesitated, then whispered, "Could you… sing?"
For a moment, Yato stopped walking, blinking beneath his hood. His brow furrowed, the request hitting him like something entirely out of place. Of all things, he had expected anything but that. Slowly, he looked up toward her, caught between surprise and confusion.
"…Sing?"
Senna nodded weakly against Ichigo's shoulder, her voice trembling with a wistful honesty. "I know it sounds strange… but… for some reason… I remember that you liked to sing."
Her words struck him like a blade he hadn't seen coming. His expression faltered. Deep inside, Yato understood immediately what this meant—these weren't her memories, not really. They were fragments, faint echoes of the true Yato Yasakani, or perhaps pieces of some forgotten connection she had brushed against. Either way, they dug cruelly into the guilt already eating him alive.
He clenched his fists inside the sleeves of his hoodie, his mind swirling. He hated himself for even hesitating, for considering silence. To deny her now, when every breath of hers might be one of her last, felt unbearable. And yet the idea terrified him. His voice was unsteady, tangled with shame and sorrow. He wasn't a singer—he never had been—and right now, in this state, he feared that if he tried, his voice would break completely, exposing just how shattered he really was.
Yato drew in a shaky breath, his hood shadowing most of his face. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, as if searching for the strength to do something he hadn't done in years—not like this, not for anyone. His throat felt tight, a knot of guilt and sorrow threatening to choke him, but he couldn't bring himself to deny her.
His voice came out low at first, unsteady and fragile, like porcelain threatening to crack.
"...Aisaretai… demo aisou to shinai…~"
[I want to be loved… but I don't even try to love in return… ]
The words trembled, catching slightly as though each one weighed more than he could bear. Yet he pushed forward, letting the melody escape him despite the roughness, despite the way his voice threatened to break.
"...Sono kurikaeshi no naka wo… samayotte…~"
[Lost, wandering through that endless cycle…]
Ichigo, still walking steadily with Senna on his back, glanced over his shoulder. He didn't say anything, didn't interrupt. His expression softened, solemn, almost protective.
Senna, meanwhile, tightened her arms slightly around Ichigo's shoulders. Her head tilted just enough for her amber eyes to find Yato's shadowed figure behind them. Despite her weakened state, a small smile touched her lips.
"...Boku ga mitsuketa… kotae wa hitotsu…~"
[And the answer I finally found… there's only one…]
His voice faltered on the word hitotsu, cracking under the strain. He stopped for half a second, biting his lip hard, fighting the burn in his throat. For a moment, he almost gave up. But then—he caught Senna's gaze. She was watching him, her expression full of warmth and gratitude, as though even his broken, imperfect voice was the most beautiful sound she could hear.
So he sang again, pushing through the cracks and weakness.
"...Kowaku tatte… kizutsuitatte…~"
[Even if I'm afraid… even if I get hurt…]
Senna closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her like a gentle lullaby. Her smile widened faintly, tears welling in the corners of her eyes, though they never fell.
"...Suki na hito ni wa… suki tte… tsutaerunda…~"
[To the one I love… I'll still say that I love them…]
The last note lingered unevenly, wavering in the cool morning air before fading into silence. Yato's shoulders trembled; he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from breaking completely.
Even so, despite the cracks in his voice, despite the ache threatening to tear him apart, Yato continued to sing in a soft, almost whisper-like tone as they walked. His song carried them down the quiet streets of Karakura, echoing faintly against the sleeping houses, until finally, they reached the place Senna wished to see.
The cemetery.
The gates stood before them, simple but heavy with an air of solemnity. A faint mist clung to the ground, curling around the stone steps that led inside. Rows of weathered gravestones stretched ahead, standing like silent sentinels as the group passed through. The hush of the wind stirred the paper talismans tied to the trees, rustling faintly as if even nature itself was whispering reverence.
Senna, still resting on Ichigo's back, stirred weakly. Her arms draped loosely around his neck, her voice coming faint, fragile, almost as though every word cost her strength. "I want… to check my family's grave…" she murmured. "I said they were here yesterday, didn't I?" She paused, breathing unevenly, then forced the words out again, as if speaking them kept her tethered. "I was alive once… I lived in this town… I know I did."
Ichigo's reply was quiet, steady, but carried a weight of empathy. "I know."
Senna's lips quivered into a faint smile, though her voice trembled. "If I was alive once… if I had a family… then… my name should be there. On the grave."
Yato trailed a few steps behind, his hood shadowing his eyes. Each word pierced him like a blade. He knew that the fragments of memory Senna clung to weren't truly her own, but the echoes of countless memories that had merged within her. Yet despite everything she had endured, despite understanding what she was… Senna still fought to prove she had existed. That she was real.
Ichigo slowed to a halt, scanning the line of gravestones. "Here, right?" he asked quietly.
Senna's voice grew faint, her eyelids fluttering. "Four stones… from the end," she whispered, recalling the spot from memory.
Ichigo and Yato stepped forward together, their footsteps muffled by the damp grass. They stopped before the grave Senna had spoken of, kneeling down to read the inscription carved into the weathered stone.
Behind them, Senna's voice broke the silence again. "Is there… is there a name written there?" she asked, her tone light, almost joking. "I think… something's wrong with my eyes…"
But Yato knew the truth. Her vision was fading—not because of fatigue, but because her very existence was unraveling. She was slipping away.
He lowered his gaze to the inscription. The names etched into the gravestone read: Kazuo Satou and Manabi Satou—a couple who had passed away many years ago, the dates worn but clear.
Yato's chest clenched. His throat closed around the words he wanted to speak, but he knew if he answered, if he even tried, his voice would betray him. So instead, silently, he reached out.
With a trembling finger, he touched the surface of the stone. Red threads of spiritual energy curled outward from his fingertip, winding delicately across the surface of the grave. A faint green glow shimmered briefly—and when it faded, another name had been carved into the stone. Senna Satou.
It was a lie, an intrusion into the record of the dead. Yato knew he was tampering with something sacred, something he had no right to alter. But the Satous were long gone, their spirits most likely in Soul Society. They would not complain. And Senna… Senna needed this.
Noticing the silence, she spoke again, her voice breaking softly. "My name… is it there?"
Ichigo glanced briefly at Yato, who remained silent, his shoulders trembling. Then Ichigo turned his gaze back to Senna, his voice calm and steady. "Yes. It's here. You really lived in this world… and you had a family."
Senna's breath caught, her amber eyes glistening as tears slipped down her cheeks. She let out a trembling laugh, half sob, half relief. "I'm so happy."
The first light of dawn crept slowly across the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pale gold and rose. The darkness of night was lifting, and as the sun began its ascent, its rays spilled gently into the cemetery. The morning light bathed the place in a quiet, ethereal glow, illuminating Ichigo, Yato, and Senna where they stood among the weathered gravestones.
Senna's body began to shimmer faintly, a soft radiance blooming from her like the glow of fireflies caught in the morning mist. Her edges blurred, as though the world itself was struggling to hold her shape. She smiled faintly, though her voice quivered when she spoke."I… I feel so warm." Her words trembled, but there was happiness in them, fragile yet pure. She turned her gaze to Ichigo, then to Yato, her eyes filled with both sadness and gratitude. "I'll see you both again someday… won't I?"
Ichigo's throat tightened. Normally blunt, rough, always with a hint of defiance in his voice, this time his reply came softer, steadier, almost uncharacteristically gentle. "Don't be ridiculous," he said with a faint, reassuring smile. "Of course we'll see each other again."
Behind him, Yato exhaled shakily, as though he were about to regret every decision he had ever made. His hood cast a shadow over his face, but his trembling shoulders betrayed him. For a moment, he let himself slip back into that strange perception his Fullbring sometimes granted him—an ability not of combat, but of connection. He could see them.
Threads
Threads of light stretched between people, fragile and luminous, each color representing the bond they carried. Yato had glimpsed them before, long ago, even before his trip to Soul Society. But he had always avoided using this ability, as if seeing such bonds only made the world heavier to bear.
Now, however, he couldn't look away.
The thread between himself and Senna was unlike anything he had seen before. It began at his chest as a soft yellow—friendship. Yet as it wound its way toward Senna, the glow deepened, shifting into a vivid orange, pulsing with warmth. Yellow for friendship… red for love. And this—this luminous orange—was the bridge between them. Something forming, something unspoken, yet undeniable.
It struck Yato as absurd—how someone who had known him for so little time could forge such a powerful connection. And yet, when he shifted his focus, seeing the threads between Senna and Ichigo, the same glow shone there too. Bonds made not by years, but by moments that burned brighter than a lifetime.
Senna's form flickered. The light surrounding her grew stronger, swallowing the edges of her silhouette. Slowly, she began to fade within Ichigo's arms. Yato's chest tightened as he stepped forward, quiet, hesitant. He stood behind her, watching the thread between them thin, unraveling, beginning to vanish with her.
With a small, almost awkward motion, Yato reached into his pocket. His fingers closed around a piece of cloth—the red ribbon. The one he had made for her just the day before. For a moment, he stared at it, his throat burning, then leaned forward and gently tied it into her hair.
It was a simple gesture, seemingly meaningless. But as the ribbon settled against her, it became part of her, and as her body dissolved into light, the ribbon too began to fade, threads of crimson dispersing into golden sparkles. Until at last… it was gone.
Ichigo stood frozen, cradling empty air as the glow dispersed like dust in the wind. For a long moment, he did not move. Then the weight of it struck him. His arms dropped heavily to his sides, and his knees buckled. Slowly, he sank to the ground, kneeling before the gravestone that now bore Senna's name. His head lowered, his expression lost between grief and numb disbelief.
Beside him, Yato lowered himself to the ground as well. He sat with his legs pulled tight to his chest, arms wrapped around them, his face buried as if to hide from the morning light. He didn't cry—not fully. Instead, he trembled, unable to name what he was feeling. The silence of the cemetery wrapped around them, heavy and unyielding, as the sun rose higher in the sky.
The cemetery lay in silence, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves stirred by the morning breeze. Ichigo and Yato remained where they were—one kneeling before the grave, the other curled into himself—when the sound of approaching footsteps echoed softly against the stone path. Neither boy moved. They didn't need to look. The spiritual pressure that accompanied those quiet steps was familiar.
Rukia.
She stopped just a few paces away, her gigai blending her into the mortal world. Her eyes flickered between Ichigo and Yato, lingering on their grief-stricken forms. Conflict played openly on her face—hesitation, sympathy, but also the burden of truths she could not soften. Her voice, steady but tinged with something unspoken, broke the silence. "The Blank's energy is almost gone… and with it, everything tied to Senna will disappear from our memories."
Her words seemed to hang in the air like a verdict. Rukia wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but the weight of the situation pinned her down. She searched for words, any words, but none seemed right. Finally, she added, softer: "One cannot remember something that… wasn't meant to exist in the first place."
Ichigo stirred. Slowly, he rose from his knees, his movements heavy as if each motion required conscious effort. He turned toward her, his gaze calm—eerily calm, considering the storm that should have been there. He looked nothing like the hotheaded boy who so often fought against the world. His eyes carried resignation, but also defiance, as though refusing to let grief erase what little he still had. "It might only last for a few more seconds," he said quietly, his voice low but steady, "but right now… I can still hear her voice."
Rukia's lips parted slightly, caught between protest and silence. But before she could respond, another voice came, rough and subdued.
Yato hadn't moved from where he sat, knees drawn close, his hood shadowing his face. His tone was flat, almost dismissive, yet it carried something sharp enough to make both Ichigo and Rukia glance at him in surprise. "That's because… she didn't die."
The quiet conviction in his tone pulled Rukia and Ichigo's full attention toward him. He didn't look up, didn't meet their eyes. He simply spoke, as though explaining something to himself more than to them.
"Even if Senna vanished from this place… it doesn't mean she's gone. Not in the way you're thinking." His words trailed into the morning air like mist, vague and elusive, yet carrying a weight that neither Ichigo nor Rukia could dismiss.
Ichigo's brow furrowed, ready to ask, but Yato continued before he could."Disappearance isn't death. Death is… different. Final. What happened to her—" He exhaled sharply, biting back something he didn't want to voice. "…it's not the same."
Rukia tilted her head slightly, studying him, her usual sharpness tempered with uncertainty. "Then what are you saying?"
Yato finally unclenched the fists that had been gripping his sleeves. His hands trembled faintly, but his voice, though quiet, had steadied. "A person doesn't really die… until they're forgotten."
The words lingered in the still air, heavy with a bittersweet truth. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against his knees. "And right now… I know for certain that none of us could ever forget her. Not me. Not Ichigo. Not anyone she touched."
Rukia's eyes widened at Yato's words. "A person doesn't really die until they're forgotten."
The phrase struck her like a blade through still water, sending ripples deep into the core of her being. Her breath caught in her throat, her chest tightening as if some long-buried memory had been dragged back into the light. She had heard something like this before—long ago, from someone whose absence had carved a scar in her soul that had never truly healed.
Kaien Shiba.
Her heart pounded, painfully loud in her ears. She could still see his face in her mind—gentle, patient, yet unyielding in conviction. She remembered standing with him when he asked her quietly: "Rukia, do you know where the heart is?"
Her younger self had faltered, unsure how to answer. And then Kaien had given her that smile—the one that felt like warmth and gravity all at once."The heart isn't something inside of you. But whenever you think of someone… whenever you remember them… that's where the heart is born."
Her throat tightened as those words overlapped with Yato's voice. It was almost unbearable how much they echoed each other. Her gaze fell on the boy, sitting motionless with his head bowed, and a strange heaviness pressed against her chest.
'Even now… Senna lives in their hearts. In his. In Ichigo's. In mine.'
Rukia's gaze lingered on Yato. He sat slumped, head bowed, his body curved in on itself as though trying to contain a weight too great to bear. His silence wasn't empty—she could feel it reverberating with grief, regret, and an almost desperate sincerity.
Her vision blurred. At first she thought it was fatigue, but then the warmth on her cheeks betrayed her. She was crying.
Her mind drifted, unbidden, to words spoken long ago. Byakuya's words—so cold then, so distant. Words that had shaped her, even when she wanted to reject them.
"We should not shed tears
That is a surrender of the body to the heart
It is only proof
That we are beings that do not know
What to do with our hearts"
She had once believed him, once allowed herself to think that suppressing her heart was the only way to survive—especially as a Kuchiki. But now, staring at Yato, she realized how wrong she had been to cling to that belief so tightly.
Because Yato was nothing like that.
He was raw, unpolished, unrestrained. When anger seized him, he burned with it, reckless and fierce. When joy found him, he smiled so openly it was impossible not to feel lighter in his presence. And when sorrow crushed him, he cried without shame, letting the world see his pain.
Tears did not make him weak. If anything, they proved the strength it took to bear his own heart so honestly.
Rukia wiped at her cheek quickly, frustrated with herself for letting the tears fall yet unable to stop them. For so long, she had been afraid of emotion—afraid of what it might take from her, afraid of what it might expose. And yet, here was Yato, embodying everything she had been told to fear, and he stood stronger for it.
The unease she had once felt when witnessing his Bankai—the fear that such destructive power could only come from darkness—now seemed foolish. That wasn't what defined him. What defined him was this: his heart, vast and untamed, capable of connecting to others with a brilliance that no sword could match.
In that moment, Rukia felt something shift deep within her chest.
Meanwhile, Yato kept his eyes closed, still sunk in silence. Yet within him, the vision of threads flickered again. The one that bound him to Senna should have vanished with her disappearance. But it hadn't.
Instead, it stretched on—thin, luminous, but undeniably present. A golden-orange thread that shimmered faintly, tugging at something far beyond the cemetery, beyond Karakura, beyond even the world they stood in.
It didn't fray. It didn't dim.
It simply reached outward, as though Senna herself still existed—somewhere distant, unseen, yet real.
Yato's chest tightened, his breath shuddering. He didn't dare speak of what he saw. Not yet. But deep inside, he knew—Senna's story wasn't over.
'You've finally made your decision...' Cheshire's voice echoed in Yato's mind. 'Now... you just need to face the consequences of my actions.'