The Convergence

The black camo uniform fit her like a second skin, nevertheless keeping her warm as the newly cold morning air gathered into Blysthe's northern training yard. Adaline stood apart from the clusters of younger students in red, receiving glances every once and a while from a few of her friends who were a year under her. Her hands clapsed loosely behind her back, as though Professor Black himself might appear at any moment to judge the angle of her shoulders.

Her hazel eyes flicked over the gathered Wielders-- some wide-eyed, others burning with ambition, and she measured each one in silence. She wasn't going to let these fall. Not after last year. Not after the devastating loss that almost pushed her to quit war college and everything she'd worked for in the last five years.

"Sloppy stance. Too much weight on your left foot," her words came out flat as a boy attempted to ground a sparring rune in the dirt. When he looked up, startled, Addie only arched a brow, lips curving into a halfway smirk, "Fix it. Unless you want your opponent to take your knee in the first strike."

She didn't linger to see if he connected it, she already knew he would. Instead, she turned her head to the southern-most Spike of Amon on the horizon, the silhouette of it reminding her of what today really meant. Today was the grouping for the Annual Convergence.

Adaline had been picked to participate in every single war game since she was a second-year, but she'd never been picked for the Convergence. That was saved for the best of the best-- the ones that'd earn a spot in Junai's military...if they survived their remaining years at Blysthe, that is. Now, she's earned her title of Lieutenant as a fifth year.

She remembered what Professor Black taught her during her first year: "The Channel is not merciful, Cadet. It rewards those who seize it, not those who wait to be chosen."

She was bound to seize it.

The students around her still muttered, still testing sigils in the dirt or flexed sparks of their power. She sensed that some of them wouldn't make it past their third year. She could see it in the way their hands shook, the way their gaze flicked nervously to their peers instead of forward.

"Eyes up," she snapped at another student, "if you can't stand still without wavering, you'll never last in the field."

One of the youngest girls straightened. Good. Better to learn defiance now than crumble later.

A horn sounded from the far end of the yard. Every conversation broke at once, every head turned towards the large black archway where the professors began to gather. It was time.

Slowly, her area of black uniforms began to move, followed by the red. She followed along with her group through the northern yard and onto the cobblestone avenues of Blysthe Academy. Addie's boots clicked against the stone, and her eyes swept over the familiar paths. Blysthe was beautiful, a world wonder in Addie's book.

The spires of the academy's buildings reached into the pale morning sky. Younger students whispered as they passed the gargoyles perched on the dormitory rooftops, the wind whoooshed, and a dragon flew overhead, the beast's wingspan casting a shadow over the group of students as they walked. Old wards shimmered faintly against the outer barriers as the horn sounded once more. During Adaline's first year, she spent hours a day studying them. Now, she barely even glances at them and sometimes even forgets they're real and present.



Adaline grew more impatient the closer they got to the center of campus, where the Great Arena stood-- just waiting to test them, waiting to split them up into teams and determine their fate and worthiness of Junai's magic. Before students died, just trying to prove to the Council members that they're ready to move on to the next step. Before the innocent ones die, because the weakest always go first. The council tells the participants' families that the competition is safe-- but every year, there are always casualties.

Right beyond the hillside, the arena began to rise like a crown of stone. The wide gates stood open, and students piled in-- a mixture of both black and red military uniforms. Adaline's gaze flicked upwards as they passed the threshold. The stands swelled with spectators, professors cloaked in academic robes, senior officers from Junai's military, and students who hadn't been considered, all leaning forward as if they might put some bets on who would excel. Adaline wasn't surprised. This was the season of war games.

She took her place in the stands with the rest of her class. The hum of voices dulled as the professors descended from the upper tier of the arena.

Adaline's eyes tracked them automatically, cataloging them each way a soldier would. She'd been studying these people for years. The first to step into the ring was Professor Nirvana Emeraude. She cut a sharp figure in dark green robes and braided hair that rested against he shoulder. Addie always wondered about the snake tattoo that traveled up her neck, but it was Professor Emeraude's eyes that scared away the cadets. They were relentless, piercing, and extremely intimidating-- as if she knew your every secret. Adaline had never seen Professor Emeraude fooled, not by false courage, not by excuses, not by anything.

Adaline sat a little straighter, instinctively tightening her posture under that gaze. Emeraude's attention passed over her without pause. She'd been under that scrutiny enough times to know that Emeraude saw everything, whether she stopped to acknowledge it or not.

Then came the silence. Even the circling dragons overhead seemed to falter in their flight as a figure cloaked in rich violet emerged from the gates: The Commandant of Arms and the Headmistress of Blysthe Academy... Porscha Virellian. She was tall, ageless, with hair as black as obsidian falling loose on her back.

Adaline's jaw tightened. She'd only talked to the Commandant of Arms once, during her third year, after the incident with the collapsed wardline that nearly tore apart the barracks. Virellian never punished her for messing with the wards. She simply said Adaline's full name along with a simple question. Adaline had left that meeting with her knees trembling and her pride shattered.

Now, as the Headmistress lifted one hand, the entire Academy braced itself in anticipation.

"Soldiers," her voice rolled over them, "you have spent years learning to call magic to your will, to bend it, to temper it, to command it. And yet..." she let the word linger, "...it has never truly been yours."

Adaline felt like she was going to throw up.

"This test is a reckoning of worth. Each of you carries the ability to shape this Academy's future, to protect Junai-- to squander that gift. Some of you," her gaze lingers on the crowd, "will falter. Some will discover courage they did not know they possessed. Some will fail spectacularly, and some will seize power beyond imagination, and beyond your reckoning. Remember, magic only answers to those who are willing to endure it."

The Headmistress lowered her hand slightly, "Today the soldiers you picked will be announced and divided into their Convergence teams. Not only will they need to channel their magic, but they will need to channel bonds-- connections. Remember, those who do not respect their Core, or the Core of others, do not survive. Those who falter... will not be remembered, except as cautionary tales for those who follow. Shall we get started?"

The crowd bursts into unanimous cheers. The horn sounded again, reverberating through the stone of the arena, and the Sorting began. One by one, in no particular order, her classmates were assigned to either Team Comet, Team Nova, Team Horizon, or...

"Now, for a member of Team Eclipse," The Headmistress announced, "Adaline Westfall, School of Natural Arcana. Congratulations, take your place in the center of the Arena."

She froze internally but forced her legs to move as she descended the steep stairs of the Arena. She took her place at the end of the line, the other participants eyeing her down like prey.

She forced herself to be strong when she realized she was the first one to be picked for Team Eclipse; she was standing alone. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to remember why she came here. All she needed were some strong teammates.

The horn sounded once more as Headmistress Virellian began to announce the next name.

Indeed. Blysthe Academy is a place that only accepts those who show promise to be taught how to fully master their connection with the Channel. What a truly brilliant idea. The care in which the academy must put into nurturing each and every one of their students was hardly something Ichigo could fathom existed, yet he found himself dreaming of it his entire life up until now. Words cannot describe how much I appreciate a place where the pursuit of magic is encouraged no matter where you hail from. As wondrous as the idea is on its own, I believe I can learn much more during my stay at the academy. Maybe I, too, can be that softly-guiding hand for someone else… Yes, at last I can be—

The tip of Ichigo's pencil ground forcefully against the rough skin of charcoal paper, leaving a gory, black mess splotched next to his once pristine handwriting. Down rolled the lopsided shard of charcoal, sliding off the diary held delicately between his thumbs and fingers at a slight tilt toward his chest. He held it close like it was a Bible, even as he idly watched the shard hit the wooden floorboard with a silent clutter. There was an old, flickering oil lamp dangling from the ceiling that drew Ichigo's attention. The shackles on his arms jangled and clanked as he placed his diary on his lap and lifted his chin, watching the withered light rake across the walls, permeating the dark room in a dull, yellowish pallor.

How long had he been here? He wondered. He could feel the ship creak with each sway, the muffled caress of waves crashing against the brig's keel in his ears. The quiet backdrop, once a comforting breeze, was now an unsettling constant. It felt as though the waves were crawling up the length of his spine, reaching just far enough to dampen his ears before the brig swayed backward as it ramped over the next wave.

For the first time in a long while, Ichigo's stomach churned with an unsettling uncertainty. He could feel the sting of a thousand needles festering inside, until his knotted stomach burned with a gut-wrenching agony all over. What was it this time? He asked himself. Regret, perhaps? He looked down at his diary, past the charcoal stain, at the faded words of all his ramblings, his deepest innermost thoughts, dates marked whence he complained about being hungry, yet refused to eat whatever was in front of him at that time. Truthfully, he'd rather spend more time journaling, in his own little world, than eating, but alas, his pencil was broken, so he'd have to wait to do that some other time.

He slammed his diary shut, jolting the shackles' chains, which jangled in tandem from his wrists to the draping link that held it all together. "Well then, I suppose that's enough for today."

A familiar rhythm approached Ichigo from behind, softly in his ears. The floor grunted in protest under the weight of a weary, uneven gait shuffling down the length of the upper deck from the cabin above. Ichigo looked up with a soft, patient smile, following the figure through the little crannies between the rickety floorboards. Its shadow spilled over the soft streaks of daylight one gap at a time, one step and one limp in tandem---then it stopped. Ichigo's neck straightened stiffly; across from his cell was a staircase that led up to the main deck. He smiled wider, painfully so, as the hatch creaked open. The rapid gunfire of unoiled chains seemed to resonate through the entire vessel as they lifted the hatch back with a grueling effort. Then with one final pull, the chains clanked still, and the white light of the grey, afternoon sky poured in.

Ichigo looked up. Standing at the top of the stairs, his grandfather teetered forward with a shaky expression, careful not to hover too meticulously on any particular aspect of the room. After a brief sigh, he waddled his way down, hunched over the railing as much as his pride would allow him without tarnishing his regal image. Immediately the stench of mould wafted up the stairs, a foul odor that even his deteriorating sense of smell could not escape. Without so much as a grunt in spite of the rotting smell, he stifled his breath, seamlessly proceeding down the stairs one step at a time, with as much self considerate grace as his body could muster without collapsing. Upon reaching the bottom stair he leaned his pudgy frame on his staff to complete his descent with one final assured step. His old joints creaked in protest as he forced himself to look straight. Lying still before him was his grandson, the son of his greatest disappointment. He nearly retched at the sight of the boy as he cocked his head to one side, his squinting eyes watching with unsettling assiduity, almost obsessively so. It was like he hadn't moved since their departure, waiting patiently in his cell with nothing but his diary to keep him company.

“Ah, what a patient young man you are,” Sōji rejoiced mournfully, wearing a mask of pleasantness. He swallowed hard, face twitching as Ichigo silently beckoned him deeper into the dankness of the unkempt tween deck, from within his cell.

"Master Sōji," chirped Ichigo, eager to disguise himself as well. And so, with practiced etiquette he straightened himself and bowed his head slightly, a weightless gesture of his own returned to Sōji's remark in kind.

Sōji covered his mouth to let out a muffled hawk, realizing he'd been quiet---much longer than he should have been. He couldn't help but divert his eyes, and he could onlyq hold out hope that it made him appear twice as susceptible to witnessing his own grandson in such a pitiful state than he was disturbed by simply watching him blatantly craft together his usual demeanor in real time.

"Ichigo." The answer was curt and short, his gaze even shorter as he turned away, though his head still nodded up and down.

The lantern dangled above him, it drowned him under its insipid light, completely lacking the fiery intensity one would imagine could make a man squirm. As he finally lifted his gaze his pudgy form swayed forward, but he found that his feet were planked to the floor the moment he saw the boy's face again. How utterly humiliating, being reduced to a stuttering mess---a dear under headlights---because of one measly Blood Wielder; all the more reason to dispose of him.

"I apologize for the... lack of accommodations," Sōji spoke gruffly, the words rasping out from his blubbery throat. "It pains me to see you like this."

Ichigo's smile vanished. His thick lashes frayed apart, revealing the snake-like swaths of piercing white. His neck bent further sideways as his eyes continued grow wider and farther, as if he was challenging the elder, and yet he looked almost confused at the same time.

"Is something wrong?" Sōji asked warily. "You appear... distracted. Perhaps you're eager to arrive?"

Ichigo scoffed, then righted himself, shaking his head. "It's nothing," he murmured, smiling that same smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Sōji turned away so he could swallow the cold lump of guilt in his throat. Of course the boy was eager! He scolded himself. It was the second best option… next to something even Sōji didn't want to believe Ichigo was capable of imagining. He found himself thinking of ways to distract the boy, searched around for a while, sauntering over to the empty table in the middle of the room, finding only the reality of bleak circumstances in every dank corner. He wished he could say he wouldn't wish this upon his worst enemy, but here he was.

“I'm fine master Sōji, really,” Ichigo said without missing a beat. The words sent shivers down the old master's spine.

"O-Of course. Forgive an old man's concern,” he apologized for the second time—cleared his throat for the second time—then pulled his gaze all the way back, and the thick leathery book caught his eye again. The account of Ichigo’s turmoil and misfortunes, each one of them, over the course of six years. His eyes sparked with opportunity as they flicked up at the teenager again.

"It's just that, we've had our fair share of adventures, haven't we?" His voice carried a practiced cadence of fond reminiscence, though his eyes remained fixed on Ichigo's face, searching. "I'm glad I gave you that diary. I never would have expected you'd hold onto it for as long as you did."

“I suppose,” was the response Ichigo uttered, with barely the same inflection in his voice the old man cared to fabricate. It was hardly the play-along response the man had hoped would alleviate the oppressive tension between them… or rather against him. And that infuriating flatness, the shared notion that their bond was founded solely on the basis of mutual agreement—all the while, Ichigo pretended to fuss with his dry, tangled locks.

The boy had always been impossible to read when he wanted to be. Even as a child, he'd possessed this unnerving ability to simply... observe and respond accordingly like a machine, or simply be still. But he wasn't looking at Sōji—not for anything of interest at least.

The elder could feel the skin from every rigid contour of his weathered face stretching toward one point, all in a struggle to sustain his ever fading smile. "I'm saying this because—"

The words caught in his throat before he had finished. He'd rehearsed this moment, planned for each word to have its own stroke of sentimentality, until it scraped away Ichigo’s mask: it wasn't his choice of words that he was concerned with precisely, however, but the anger in his voice. Each day leading up to this moment he felt as if every triumph over Ichigo earned not his blind devotion toward his kind, patient grandfather, but the slow, inconceivable realization that being weaponized was something Ichigo accepted for his own gain.

What little hope the man still had left his mouth with these last words: "Because this is where our time finally comes to an end, Ichigo." It already felt grueling just to utter those words one after the other, knowing what would come next, but he held onto whatever his version of hope was; patience perhaps, something he learned to be far more valuable than hope.

But what came next struck the elder like lightning; Ichigo trembled with quiet laughter that bordered the line between mockery and scorn, covering his expression with a twisting hold sprawled across his face. He relished in watching the old man squirm behind his fragile smile. Never once did he give the man the satisfaction of being anything more than a spectator, or a student. It was what was expected of him for so long, anyway---and still, he found a newfound purpose for doing so, beyond just fearing for his survival behind the stifling, oppressive walls of the Kagemori Estate. For six years he was forced to chore among the servants of the branch family and train rigorously to hone his magic, and for six years he wondered what the point of it all was, why Sōji had kept him alive for so long. As much as the geezer's presence had always infuriated him, the long winded lectures and halfhearted displays of what a loving parent would have looked like, he still found some amusement in the tormented scowl on Sōji's face when he made it clear he was not going to be moved by a coward's endless jawing; a meaningless dialogue with the very man who wanted him dead---but this was something entirely different.

“Oh? How sad that I won’t be seeing you again,” Ichigo deadpanned, retaliatory indifference dripping from his tongue as he slowly regained his composure. “If only we had spent more time together.”

Ichigo shook his head again, not quite knowing if it was fury or laughter he felt in that moment. His master must've felt the same way, that much had to be true. It was the one thing Sōji wouldn't outright say, after all. However, the question Ichigo wanted answered the most was how long he'd continue to put up this ridiculous front. As the man droned on for the last time, he was beginning to realize that it was driving him to a new level of insanity even he didn't expect.

"Well, you're a man now," Sōji pressed on, doing his best to ignore the clear signs of danger. “Even so, you still have much to learn, Ichigo. I hope your time at the academy helps you realize that."

The lantern above them swayed with the ship, casting an audience of erratic silhouettes up and down Ichigo's cheshire smile. The deep, unfathomable hatred behind his squinting gaze glared at the fat, pudgy man standing before him. There, for a dreadful heartbeat, those shadows seemed to move of their own volition, lashing at the elder's feet. Sōji refused to budge, but he couldn't very well leave on bad terms with his own grandson. But trying to get to the part where he uplifted the boy proved to be a challenge when facing Ichigo's combative attitude. Perhaps the stench of rotting wood at gnawed at the boy's composure quicker than he expected. He had to placate him somehow. He was human enough to listen to reason, wasn't he? After all he'd put the boy through, he was surely human still, albeit in his own twisted definition of the word. He clenched his staff tighter, as if holding onto it would somehow make him trust the conviction of his own voice, a futile gesture of faith unfaithful.

"B-believe me, I would know,” he blurted out suddenly, "I've lost many things from simply trying to hold onto them. I used to think bonds were unseverable, that my resolve was enough to transcend this finite existence, but you can only hold on for so long."

"You understand this deep down, I know," Pressed Sōji, idly tapping his finger against his staff. "And yet I feel as though you also resent me for some reason."

Anger jolted Ichigo’s fingers clenched. His arms would’ve careened through the floor had he not clutched his hair so violently. One wrong word and I will tear you apart. He sang the words in his head over and over like a broken record, his twitching. One wrong word, and I'll show you what it really feels like to lose everything.

Sōji suddenly lurched forward without moving his feet, the one thing he dared not do, but he saw Ichigo's face twitch and he knew what it meant. His eyes narrowed into slits, but the bulging whites only seemed to expand, bloated with red fury and desperation, as his pupils dilated. "Can't you see that, now, you too are slipping out of my grasp, Ichigo?"

"Y-yes, part of me feels immense pride toward what you've become, but part of me also feels like I've failed you… as a parent---"

Ichigo threw himself against the cell his head striking the metal bars like a meteor. His body hardly recoiled from the impact, the full weight of his skull resonating through the whole length of each bar, his blood seeping onto the deck floor.

He just glared at the elder, face up against the now-warped cell door, his eyes opening wide, for the second time now. Minutes blurred into nothing, as if the room had suddenly froze in time. Still, the room swelled with a deafening silence, a piercing ache still lingering in the room. When the ringing had finally subsided, it was if a thick cloud above the elder's head had been washed away, and a prickling, unwelcome keenness of his surroundings returned, one by one: the stench of mold and decay, the floorboards that'd been eaten away, stuck loosely between cavities that peaked downward through, to the the bottom deck underneath.

Then, softly, as if nothing had happened, he straightened himself again, smiling that overtly sweet, squinting smile he wore like a second skin, only this time it wasn't a mask; it was a visibly angry exression. Then, lifting his cuffed hands, he placed one of them over his mouth to clear his throat, still not uttering a single word. He was sick and tired of Sōji's ramblings, his tormented grimace as he stuttered mechanically, all in an attempt to make Ichigo see reason and he knew that Sōji understood this from the very moment they exchanged their first words.

Shadows became indistinguishable from the dull edges of the lanterns glare as the chains that held it aloft rattled and jerked around in a circle. Another wave crashed against the helm of the ship, lifting it momentarily. In that same instant, Sōji took a rasping breath and growled under his sighing breath. It was hopeless, Ichigo was hopeless. He had proven time and time again that it wasn't possible to make a Blood Wielder see reason, and this time was no different. The boy was a cold, calculating monster, infatuated with parodies of pure, innocent thoughts. Now more than ever, as they approached the shores of Blysthe Academy, those thoughts

"Very well then. If this is truly what you want then I will not stop you." He walked toward the stairwell, stopped halfway, and waited: waited for some sign of the frightened boy who'd once begged for his father's approval. Nothing.

He reached out anyway, reached toward the nothingness, the darkness behind Ichigo's eyes whenever their eyes met. Perhaps he was right to do so, but then again, so was his master. "However, there is one small favor I'd like to ask of you."

Ichigo's smile darkened, not with anger, but as he leaned forward the shadows seemed to peel off his face, and his true sinister nature was brought into the dull, flickering light, as he decided to challenge Sōji one last time.

"Hm?"

"Try not to die," Sōji said, glaring down at the boy in kind, as he stepped out from under the lantern's scrutiny."Most of them do."

The silence that followed was tense to say the least. The two stared at one another, long and hard, almost as though they were trying to see who would blink first. Then Ichigo smiled that same sweet expression that had once charmed servants and tutors alike, only now it twisted into something that made Sōji's blood freeze still.

**"Oh, but Master Sōji..." Ichigo's voice carried the same gentle cadence it always had, but underneath lay something sharp and knowing. "Most soldiers who enroll in the academy aren't Blood Wielders, are they?"**

At that, Sōji almost smiled. His lip slanted halfway, a sneer that didn't quite reach the disgust, the horror, and the hatred in his eyes. Then he faced forward, waddled his way back up the staircase. The sun above urged him to emerge with haste from the swampy trenches of the rickety tween deck, offering a final solace away from the stifling air of the wretched Blood Wielder's temporary confinement.

Ichigo Kagemori, perhaps I have failed you after all. Even so, Sōji couldn't help but sneer to himself. Soon, Ichigo would have to wake up and face the cruel reality of his plight, and then fall into a deep, deep slumber. Permanently.

.Ichigo looked up an saw for just a glimpse that the sky had cleared. Bright yellow beams raced across the gradient blue sky and there wasn't a single cloud in sight, ans framed in the center, the fat and pudgy silhouette of his wretched grandfather stood just a little bit clearer, a stranger to the sun no more. Meanwhile, the hatch lowered again, like a beast's maw, swallowing Ichigo back into the darkness, and he he was left alone with with nothing but his diary to keep him company once again.

All the anger and resentment, and fury seemed to vanish when Ichigo turned to his diary. Even during the most miserable points of his existence, the pages never left, nor the blood of his thoughts permanently stained on the blank canvases of reflection prior. He opened the book to the page he was jotting down his thoughts previously. Stained or blank, the pages themselves never blackened, as though absent throughout each and every change Ichigo went through over the years. He couldn't help but smile a sad smile as he thought to himself, such is the nature of a mere piece of paper, I suppose, and sighed. The leather groaned as he dug his finger nails into the cover, arms trembling, as he read over what he had written down. He meant it. With every fiber of his being he meant it.



Ichigo could feel the passage of time with each crashing wave. The sensation was one of perpetual continuation, each wave lapping as though the sea itself were tracing the same stroke again. Like a drunken sailor, he slumped against the far end of his cell, looking up at the lantern, still dangling idly from the ceiling. But just when every thought in his mind was beginning to feel like an echo of a million more to come, the ship open its maw, revealing the outside world to him once again. Ichigo's eyes rolled from the ceiling to the blue sky like a dead corpse's, his smile ever present albeit faintly. A man peered down from the upper deck adorned with handwoven pauldrons, comprised of several smaller metal plates stitched together, a breastplate, and a kabuto resembling a fearsome, humanoid creature with horns, face frozen in anger. It was a samurai, one of many assigned to accompanying the head of the Kagemori and his grandson, on the ship.

The guard's armor jangled and clanked with each step down the staircase, until finally, he reached Ichigo.

"Get up, Ichigo Kagemori." he ordered. "We have arrived."

Ichigo's face went blank. They had arrived that quick? Slowly he peeled himself off the wall starting from the back of his head to his bottom. He found himself chuckling all of a sudden, as though part of him was still skeptical, shaking his head as if to say "I can't believe it!" Maybe he didn't. He figured he'd just have to see for himself. That's exactly what he did the instant he heard metal shifting out of place, ramming the guard aside with the door as he dashed toward the sun's warmth, desperate to feel the wind's cool embrace with his arms opened as wide as they could chained together.

The guard had been staggered, the lingering numbness of having a barred door imprinted into his entire frontside aching throughout his entire body. He fell to his knee, cursing himself for not being just a hair's breadth quicker. Maybe then he'd only suffer a pang to the forehead. His vision swam up to the ceiling, then back down to the floor, then to his left, and he vaguely make out the weirdly-shifting black splotch winding up the stairs to be the escaped captive who nearly knocked him out cold just seconds ago.

"Why, you---!" The guard hissed, lurching to his feet. "Stop this instant! The master has not permitted that you may roam freely!"

The air sprang to life with the fragrance of salt and burnt asparagus when Ichigo leapt out of the hatch and onto the deck, wafting against the powdery flesh of his brow, howling through the gaps of his jaw and eye sockets. For but a moment, he cracked his lips open to taste the faint smell of decay and wonder intertwined in equilibrium.

Finally, after another breeze passed Ichigo by, he opened his eyes, straining against the light of the sun so he could see it with his own eyes at last---and there it was, laying over the horizon with mountains piercing through the clouds. Qurtassaw called to Ichigo from afar, and yet Ichigo couldn't shake the sensation of closeness that seemed to pull him closer and closer. His gaze followed his heart and in a matter of seconds, he could just barely make out the port, the threshold from Ichigo's claustrophobic mind to the prestigious Blysthe Academy---the gateway to the outside world. Although now that he thought about it, perhaps he'd fare better as a professor, carrying out his selfish obligations on the academy grounds, not beyond them. Yes, he'd see to it that once he graduates, he himself would become a symbol of encouragement, acceptance, and learning, right here in this very country.

The guard barely managed to stagger up the stairs, alerting the other samurai nearby with his breathless cries. But Ichigo couldn't hear them over the muffled sound of the wind gently hollowing out his ears, one stroke after the other, from every direction.

The guard closest shrieked as he attempted to apprehend the boy with a quick slash of his blade. "I've got you now!"

Ichigo abruptly made a mad dash toward the very front of the ship, climbing up all three sets of stairs and ramping up the length of the narrow bowsprit. He stopped suddenly, and the three guards froze with him, hesitant to pursue while he tip-toed on the ship's narrowest margin like a directionally challenged maniac.

"Damn it all, this is foolishness!" The samurai on the right jumped up and down in a fit of rage. "Why keep the brat alive to begin with? He's one of them is he not!?"

"That's enough!" The one on the left barked, shooting a biting glare at the other. "Master's orders. Leave him be for now. He doesn't seem willing to cause anyone any harm at the moment, and I'd rather keep it that way."

All together, the guards returned to the deck with mopey sighs, their steps heavy with the weight of uncertainty, among several other things.

"Ugh, my head!" the one on the right continued. "If it weren't against the master's orders I'd have already cut him up before we'd even set sail!"



The ship had long since breached the border of the eddying winds, the academy growing closer with each overlapping stride, yet Ichigo stood against it, indifferent to the backdrop of constant motion, solitary and unchanging. Ever since the wind had passed he was straining his eyes, leaning into his gaze, all in an attempt to makeout the sheer magnificence of the peninsula. Up until now, all he saw was a giant shadow under a shroud of haze---and it was indeed beautiful to gaze upon, but this? This was magnificient beauty. He could see the icy peaks of the mountain tops, their ribbing valleys webbed in between, various structures grand and small sprawled across the forest-heavy piedmont... and yet, something felt off.

"So, this is the campus in its entirety, hm? Well, I suppose it is marvellous to look at" Ichigo murmured, his voice carrying undertones of vaguely critical lilts, "but it's definitely not what I expected."

It was as if the tall and imposing image of the Kagemori estate was projecting from the land. Ichigo frowned, his arms drooping, shaking up the chains ever so slightly with a gradual, somber movement. He sighed, peering over the tip of the bowsprit at the sea below. He still remembered that fateful day, what he'd done, and what it'd cost him.

"No, none of that matters anymore. I've already made up my mind!" Ichigo scolded himself, shaking his head. Then he looked ahead once more, at the supposedly prestigious academy, where only the best of the best honed their skills to become some of Junai's greatest mages. "It doesn't matter what they take away from me, or how they do it... as long as I stand to gain something."

He chuckled to himself, clasping his hands together, the shackles flopping around as he raised them next to his cheek and cocked his head to the side. "After all, I don't necessarily intend on playing by the rules, if it means I can get what I want."



It wasn't long before the ship eased into the port. The captain barked orders, commanding the crew to furl the heavy canvas sails to allow the vessel to drift the final distance into berth. But Ichigo had other plans. It was a mere dozen yards away when Ichigo splayed his arms apart rendering his shackles useless in an instant. Then he carefully lifted himself so that he could position himselfin a way that was balanced as his legs bent forward.

Meanwhile, as one of the guards from earlier was tugging idly on the halyard nearby, he gazed around, searching for anything that might satiate his agonizing boredom as he continuously heaved and huffed, furling up the sail one tug at a time. The sound of something akin to breaking glass jolted his gaze in the direction of the vessel's bow, and lo, there was Ichigo, crouched down on the bowsprit, one foot in front of the other. His wrists were free from their binding shackles and he was preparing to leap.

The guard let the rope go slack as he spun around to alert the others. His bruised eyes twitched at the sight of them, laying around the ship like victims of a crime scene, tired and exhausted, their sweat bleeding into the floorboards.

He ground his teeth and clenched his fists, his body shaking more and more violent with each passing second.

"Imbeciles" He winced. "This is no time to be lazing around! Alert the master immediately, Ichigo Kagemori has esca---"

"Ichigo!" A familiar voice rose above the others as they frantically scrambled to their feet.

At the bellowing squawk, the guards went static, their gazes pulled away from the Blood Wielder as they frantically searched for the source of the voice, none daring to move from where they each stood, akin to pawns standing obediently on a chessboard. Ichigo himself was dumbfounded, turning around to find Soji ascending from the depths of the lower deck.

As he composed himself, his vision became clearer and he was almost sure that his mind was not playing tricks on him. He was being approached by the very same man who had merely observed him with such distant and wary eyes for as long as he could remember. And yet even now, as he lumbered toward him, the diary in his hand, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Ichigo's eyes continued to watched skeptically as they dragged along the elder's pudgy profile from his hand to his face. Reluctantly, he turned facing the elder, his legs straightening as he walked across the bowsprit with practiced ease.

"Have you forgotten? I imagine you'll be needing this," said Sōji.

"Thank you," Ichigo murmured, tucking in his chin to smother a chuckle, "but I doubt it'll be of any use now."

"Oh?"

Ichigo nodded, then continued. "Yes, but I'd like for you to hold onto it until the day I return."

At that, Sōji's facade crumbled. The taste of sourness leaked from the corners of his lips and pulled his half smile down into a crooked sneer. He watches as Ichigo turned away, but not without one last remark: "It was never mine to keep, anyway."

The ship jerked under his weight as his legs contracted, launching him into the air with a quaking release. The impact kicked the waves upward as the ship sank lower, then violently rose back up in a frenzy of swaying motion. Up and away he went, soaring over the port through a series of acrobatic somersaults and landing perfectly on the soles of his feet with an agility that could only be described as... vivacious in nature. Such was the assumption made by the three approaching figures, at least.

As Soji made his way back to the cabin, the crew's captain began barking orders to prepare for their departure. Ichigo didn't look back, not even for a second. His attention was already drawn to the three lone figures. They whispered amongst themselves before ultimately deciding to approach Ichigo. One of the three figures was a tall, fair-skinned woman wrapped in silky dark-grey robes, the kind that would belong to a mage, or perhaps a weary professor. The other two flanking her looked miserable in stiff black uniforms, their scowls trying too hard to be menacing, like actors cast as thugs.

The two assistants snuck glances at the other, expressing their shared interest in the long-haired brat in front of them. As they returned their attention to Ichigo, their faces warped into two sickening leers. Meanwhile, the woman adjusted her square glasses with the poise of someone who’d already judged him and found him lacking.

“How quaint,” she said. “A girl who fancies herself an acrobat in a school for mages. Do try to remember what you’re here for. Obedience and discipline are how Blysthe Academy measures its students, especially the first years.”

This is a place to strengthen your connection with the Channel through magic, not some traveling circus. Is that clear, young lady?” She spoke as if she were interrogating Ichigo, adjusting her classes as she leaned right up against his face, adjusting her glasses yet again. He stiffened at the words "young lady", the confusion settling like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. Why would she say such a thing?

The professor carried on regardless, her assistants looming impatiently behind her with hungry eyes. “First things first, let’s get you in uniform. Your appearance is… careless, especially for a girl. Whatever habits you've carried from home won’t be tolerated here.”

Ichigo had picked up whatever he could find with what little time he had before his departure. For the entire journey he was essentially wearing a torn kimono and some tattered robes to keep himself warm; rags, more or less.

“Uhh—” Ichigo managed, before one of the uniforms seized his arm with mock authority.

“What’s that?” the assistant sneered. “Disobeying already? You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“When you’re given orders, you reply,” the other chimed in, his smile oily. “Basic courtesy. Don’t make this difficult. Just come with us.”

Ichigo blinked, still catching on. “Pardon me, sir… did you just say “young lady”?”

The first assistant did a double take, then he just... stared.

"Uhm... excuse me, is everything alright?" Ichigo asked tentatively, taking a step closer.

All it took was one last glance and the assistant snatched his hand back like he’d been scorched, stumbling back into his partner. The two looked utterly horrified, along with the professor, lips pressed tight as though she’d swallowed something sour.

“W-wait,” the standing assistant stammered, pointing an accusing finger. “You tricked us! You’re not a girl at all! Who the hell do you think you are, mocking two upper-classmen of the prestigious Blysthe Academy? Have you no shame!?”

“Y-yeah!” the other blurted from the ground, as if that sealed the accusation.

The professor glanced back at the two with a look of disgust before sighing wearily. She shook her head, which only caused her glasses to slide out of place again.

“Idiots,” she hissed under her breath, sliding her glasses back in place for the last time.

Ichigo straightened, brushing the fuss aside with a calm apology. “Ah, my sincerest apologies---and for the entrance as well. I admit it was a bit much, but I couldn't contain my excitement! The wait was longer than expected, you see?” His tone softened, oddly sincere as he turned and looked down toward the pale-faced assistant.

From where the boy sat on the ground, Ichigo looked almost ethereal---the sunlight cresting over his shoulder, catching in the loose strands of hair that the wind tossed across his face. With a casual sweep, Ichigo tucked them back behind his ear, his expression gentle, his voice light as ever.

“You’re not hurt, are you? Goodness, you’ve gone pale as an undead. I didn’t mean to deceive you, honestly. If it makes things any better… I’d be more than glad to hold your hand.”

Heat pricked the assistant’s cheeks before he realized it, an embarrassing flush that he smothered at once with a scowl. He scrambled upright, puffing his chest to hide the stumble.

“D-don’t mock me!” he barked, voice cracking more than he intended. “Y-you think you can smoothtalk your way through Blysthe Academy? We’ll see about that!”

"That's enough. On your feet," the professor scolded, shooting the two upper classmen a fierce glare from the corner of her eyes.

Ichigo couldn't help but giggle as one of them scrambled to his feet, righting himself, his hands uneasy as he dusted himself off in a manner that was almost dignified. The other straighted unceremoniously and abruptly, he went stiff so quick that his fists hammered into his sides. The professor just groaned at their incompetent.

"In any case," she continued, clearing her throat, "your role here is not to be taken lightly. Especially not today."

"Oh? Why's that?" Ichigo tilted his head ever so slightly, his tousled locks swinging in tandem as though they had a mind of their own.

"The council will be keeping a close on this year's contingent of students as some of you may be a potential candidate to partake in the Convergence," said the professor. "Additionally, if the potential candidates in question do get selected, they'll be met with the prospect of graduating regardless of their rank."

Ichigo could envision the prospect vividly. It seemed to stir a great deal of consideration around in his head, judging by the way he nodded and tapped his finger to his chin. The professor smiled in an almost-wicked but approving, delighted that he understood his place, lest his silly stunts only serve to make him appear a bumbling fool to his peers and professors alike---and should he garner such a... distinction that could threaten the reputation of Blysthe Academy, he'd be expelled without question; effective immediately.

Although, she doubted that the boy was anything special. He seemed to at least be able to follow instructions but what did that say about his intellect? Or his ambition? After all if the boy wants to become a mage he has to---

"I see," Ichigo perked up, his face ignited with a brilliant ideapointing at the sky. "Right! In that case, I shall partake in the Convergence as well!"

Never mind, she thought, watching as Ichigo skipped across the port onto the cobblestone pathway. He's a complete idiot.

"Fool! Weren't you listening to a word I said?" The professor lashed out, throwing her arms into the air. "It is the council's decision, not yours!"

Ichigo rarely found himself terrified, puzzled or taken aback, but whenever confusion crept its way onto his face it always went for his ankles next. And that's exactly what happened; he stopped in his tracks, quick as a deer under headlights. His voice cracked as he uttered a "huh" in the woman's direction, a dallying smile lingering on his face.

"And just where did you plan on going in the first place?" The women sighed, following loosely behind with her assistants dashing next to her side.

"Uhhhh---"

"We have yet to rid you of those filthy rags!" She snapped, flicking Ichigo's nose. "Did you listen to anything I've said at all?"

"Ah, yes, my uniform!" Ichigo held out his left hand, his other, balled into a fist, hammering against it. He barely flinched when her finger struck his nose, his smile eerily resilient.

"Once again I ask that you forgive me. I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, but I'm a bit lost... and nervous," Ichigo sighed, bowing his head sincerely. "Thank you for taking the time to introduce me to the academy. I don't know where I'd be without you three."

The professor adjusted her glasses once more as she looked at Ichigo, stunned and speechless, while her two assistants merely looked at each other in disgust, their tongues hanging from their mouths. Their eyes, however, betrayed a shared jealousy.

"Hmph!" Said the professor, trying not to smile. "We're only doing what was asked of us, as should you. We like to think that all students that attend Blysthe Academy are responsible for each other one way or another."

As they started down the pathway Ichigo could see glimpses of light shining on a field through the trees on his right. There appeared to be two students sparring there. Ichigo smirked to himself, seeing just how much experience they both lacked in combat, firing deadly spell after deadly spell all in an attempt to over power.

A school for mages, hmm? He thought to himself. Poor souls, they seem more like brutes to me. I wonder if I'll have the chance to meet them... show them what a real battle would look like.

As they passed the training grounds, the professor reached under her robes and took out a quill and clipboard.

"Speaking of being responsible for our students, I need your name. We can't have you simply register as "boy", can we?" She said, her voice cutting through the silence.

Ichigo pulled his gaze away from the sparring match, still registering the professor's words.

"Goodness, where are my manners!" He finally let out a chuckle after a brief moment of awkward silence, smiling sheepishly. "My name is Ichigo Kagemori."

The professor had been shocked, disgusted, and flustered all within one single interaction, but she had never felt fear like this before, not with any other student and especially not with Ichigo... that was until she learned his name. Ichigo was the first to notice her odd behavior. The two assistants, preoccupied with their one-sided staring contest against him, stopped next to him and followed his gaze suspiciously, but their glares slacked with concern at the sight of their professor frozen on the spot. The woman had been so utterly paralyzed, so numb, that the one time her glasses needed to he adjusted, she couldn't even see that they were sliding off her nose.
They hit the ground. The sound jerked every nerve in her body and in the same instant those same nerves screamed at her to wake. She looked down in a daze, bending over to pick up her glasses. She struggled, her arms weak and restless, fingers tapping against the temples uncontrollably. When she did manage to pick them up, her expression darkened, chin lowered so that her face was half concealed behind the clipboard.

She cleared her throat. "Y-you two, take him to have his uniform tailored quickly... and don't let him out of your sights!"

"But---"

She was already dashing in the opposite direction before any of them could relief their minds, heavy with confusion and questions unanswered. Ichigo, however, didn't linger on it for too long.

"What a strange yet kind woman," he said aloud to himself as he continued down the pathway.

The two upperclassmen reluctantly took Ichigo to visit the academy's tailor's quarters, but then they stopped just outside of the building before letting him enter on his own, still seeming quite upset over the whole misgendering incident.



He wasn't sure how but only moments later the tailor walked out of their workroom with a beaming smile, holding his uniform stretched out between their fingers. It was identical to the upper classmens' in a lot of ways, only it wasn't pure black. It was tinted with red and something else perhaps. Whatever the dyes were, together, they formed the catalyst that made this deep burgundy sort of shade. Ichigo looked up at the tailor with a passionless smile and nodded in approval, which the tailor reacted by snatching Ichigo by the shoulders and promptly shoving him into one of the changing rooms. With a hefty sigh he tossed out his rags, then started with the pants, then buttoned up the top but left the collar open so at the very least it would merely chafe his skin a little, which he greatly prefered over choking and suffering a rash at the same time. He took one good look at himself in the mirror, his body itching all over. In that moment, Ichigo looked into the mirror and a phantom of who he was stared back. He just smiled through the discomfort. This was what he wanted after all.

He thanked the tailor one last time before sprinting out the door. At least, now that he was by himself, he could explore without any restrictions. His excitement returned as he wondered about all the places he'd find, the people he'd meet, when suddenly the sound of a horn blared in the distance.