XCIV. Sublime
Kurosaki steps away from the table and turns his back to you. For a moment, there is silence thick as mud hanging over all of you. He takes a step towards the door.
"Have you ever been alone?" Lilynette asks, and her voice has none of its usual childishness; it freezes him in his tracks. The Shinigami turns back to the table, frowning. You look down at your cup, pull your reiatsu inwards, so that you are more easily overlooked, your cutting words more easily forgotten, if only for a moment. You've made a mess of things. Let someone else fix it.
"What do you mean?" Ichigo says, and Lilynette stares at him with one sad violet eye, the other covered by her heavy horned mask.
"I mean alone, like, really alone. No friends. No family. Not…" She smiles without cheer. "Not even enemies. Just
alone. Not 'cause everyone else was far away, but 'cause they didn't, like,
exist. Nobody. Just you, wherever you go."
"...no," Ichigo says, his defensive look relaxing slightly.
Everyone else is staring at her now, puzzled by her uncharacteristically serious tone.
"You ever felt…" She frowns, snapping a biscuit in half in her teeth. "Like your power pushed everyone away. Nah, not pushed. 'cause you never wanted it, and they weren't afraid of your strength, it wasn't like that. More, like you were so strong, people you used to know, people who used to matter to you, just sorta… Faded. Disappeared from your life. Like you're running, and they're walking, and neither of you can stop, so eventually you see them growing smaller and smaller in the distance until…" She makes a blowing gesture with her hand. "Gone."
Ichigo stares at her wordlessly.
"Didja?" she asks, before finishing the rest of her biscuit.
"You're a creepy kid," he says finally.
"Sit down," she says, waving to one of the Calaveras who moved to pick up the chair Ichigo tossed aside and bring it back to the table. After a moment of reluctance, the Shinigami pulls the chair and falls into it, the gesture almost amusing in its surliness. It's easy to forget how young he is.
"There used to be wolves," Lilynette says as a Calavera refills her cup. The dog-skulled servants move around the table in perfect silence and coordination, unobtrusive and meticulous. It feels so strange to be attended to, rather than to attend. "They were strong 'cause they were together. They had a garden. Hueco Mundo has those, you know? Just, here and there. Little places where there is life, like the Salar de Luna used to be. It takes a lot of work to keep them like that, and the wolves made sure their garden didn't go the way the Salar did. Although maybe that was before the Salar happened? I dunno. Anywho, they worked together. They went out looking for water. For seeds. They killed bigger Hollows together, and they used their blood to water the plants."
Kurosaki looks vaguely sickened at this, and she shrugs. Sung-Sun chuckles.
"It's Hueco Mundo. Even pretty things have to be fed with ugly things. And the garden was pretty - so pretty. I remember it like it was yesterday, even after everything else I forgot. I would lie down under the branches and the moon would go through the silver leaves and… What's the word… Cascade. Like a rainbow, but pale. Beautiful. And so other Hollows wanted it. Wanted its beauty. Its shade. Its fruits. And they wanted to eat the wolves, 'cause the wolves were strong and eating them would make the other Hollows stronger. So the wolves had to keep fighting them off. And one of the wolves was stronger than all the others, and knew it had to be even stronger if it wanted to protect its friends. So it fought harder than all of 'em. And it would leave 'em, sometimes, to go out on great hunts and find strong Hollows and eat them. Every time it did, it was afraid it'd come back and find its friends dead because it hadn't been there to protect them. But it still had to leave, 'cause it was the only one could grow strong enough to protect them all. And you know what happened?"
Ichigo stares at her, and you see doubt and defiance in his eyes. As if he feared that by answering her, he would buy into her game, let his guard down. But she's a child speaking sadly and solemnly and he can't just push her away. You couldn't either.
He finally takes his cup and starts drinking the tea, then pauses for a moment. You smile to yourself. No amount of anger and bitterness will change the fact that your tea is
perfect.
"He left one too many times," Ichigo says, "and he came back and found them all dead, as you said. Because he wasn't there to protect them."
"No…" It's Gantenbainne who speaks up this time, to everyone's surprise. "One day he didn't come back. Because he had grown so strong, the other wolves didn't matter to him anymore. He'd made himself different. Left them behind."
You look at him sadly, but he is not looking back at you. He is looking at the walls of the Red Chamber, Cirucci's domain.
"He came back," Ilforte says, his playful tone showing he doesn't expect his answer to be right, only that this is now a little game, "and found that everyone had grown so weak, his love turned to contempt. And so he was no longer one of them, but set himself as their king, and they had no choice but to bow and obey.
"You're all wrong," Lilynette says. "And you keep saying 'he.' It wasn't a 'he.' Or a 'she.' It might have been, once, or a 'them,' but when it came back the last time it wasn't any of these. It was a thing. An 'it.' Because people got friends and homes and dreams. Things just got themselves. It came back, and it had finally become all it wanted to be. Stronger than any threat. Stronger than anything else in the world. Strong enough to protect its garden and its friends forever."
She smiles a distant, lost smile, and pauses to bite into a soft cake. No one says anything in that silence. Everyone just looks at her, enthralled by a tale they never expected from one so child-like and so excitable. Tea and cakes slowly fill the room with nostalgic scent the longer they linger in the plates, a memory of how simple a thing a meal is in the world of the living, and so rare and precious here.
"The thing came back. And the grass went black where it stepped. And the silver leaves… What's the word? Tanned? Tarnished. They got tarnished. Green and black and they fell. And the trees became quartz. And the wolves looked at the garden dying, and asked the thing why, and it did not understand. It tried to explain. It tried to apologize. But the wolves just cried. They cried and cried and cried and with their tears went everything inside them. And when they stopped crying they were just hollow pelts on jumbled bones. And they were dead. And the thing was alone. So it started crying too. And in crying, it changed. Its transformation was complete: it had the power it had wished for, and nothing to protect with it. So it left the ruins of the garden, still crying, and every tear burned a hole in the sand where it fell, 'cause even its tears killed, even its sadness was murder. It wandered and looked for another home, another place, other friends. And when it found some, they died. They all died. It was alone. Forever."
She stops, then, leaving a leaden silence hanging over the room. You want to say something, and can't. Sung-Sun seems as if she's trying to bore through the girl's skull with her eyes to see what secrets lie within, her long sleeves joined together and her neck tense like a predator bracing for the pounce, but she makes no motion or sound.
You feel something, and look up. There on one of the higher platforms is Ren, the old historian, staring down at your small gathering, and his eyes are dark. Did he hear a story of the past was told, and come out to hear it and record it in his mind? Or does it hold some meaning to him?
"This is a… powerful story, Lilynette," Ilforte says softly, "but you said earlier that you remembered that garden. That you were there."
Lilynette smiles.
"I remember the garden, yeah. Clear as crystal. Not much else, though. It's all blurry. Shadow-play. The wolves were real, I think. I don't know. I learned the story from the way other Hollows told it. Because me? I did all I could to forget. And after a while, whoever was in that garden, they were just more friends that had died. And there were so many, it's hard to keep track."
"One half of the Primera," Sung-Sun says, echoing Lilynette's earlier words, her eyes wide.
"Imagine your entire life, you've been alone," Lilynette continues, looking straight at Ichigo. "Now multiply that by ten times, by a hundred times, 'cause Hollows live long. You can't, can you? It's impossible to picture. After so long, all the names and faces you knew just… blur and fade away. And when that happens, you're no longer just alone right now. 'cause you look back at the past, and there's nothing. You've been alone forever. You don't remember anything else."
You hadn't noticed it before, not until she stopped talking, but Lilynette's reiatsu can be felt now even over that of Ichigo. Not that it overpowers his - it's still weak, still being drained away to that yawning abyss halfway across Las Noches. But the flavor of it tinges the air with the sense of that sucking chasm: of one's thoughts and emotions being confronted with a vast and looming dread. The shadows seem starker, the tea has gone cold, the table larger, the chairs more spread out. Everyone out of arm's reach of everyone else.
You swallow nervously, and motion the Calaveras to take the teapot away and make a new one.
"You're talking as if this were your story," Ichigo says frowning, "and the others are looking at you like it is. But you're… I mean, you're weak."
"We did a good job, didn't we?" Lilynette says.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"It's the first day I remember," Lilynette says, tapping her fingers on the tabletop, looking at the sky above, whose azure now seems cold and washed-out. "Mountains of skulls and pelts and bones. How many Hollows must have died there? I think… I think the thing had tried to sit down, and close its eyes, and suppress its power. That it sat there a very, very long time, and eventually curious Hollows came to it… Yes. That was another story I heard. They had come from far and wide to bask in its power. And after long enough, the thing found the focus to open its eyes and its mouth, and to talk to them, though it had to whisper. It couldn't move one inch, but now there were friends who came to it, and they spoke, they exchanged, they learned from each other. The stories say they… Worshipped it. Like some kind of god-thing whose power they revered. I don't know; seems weird. I wouldn't want anyone worshipping me, and neither would he. But the point is they did come, and they stayed, and they formed a community together. And then, one day, a fight broke between two of the friends, over something silly and inconsequential, and it hurt the thing to see its friends fight. So it raised its hand as if to reach out to them and make them stop, and shouted a plea."
Lilynette lifts the cold tea to her lips and takes another sip, staring at the wall above Ichigo's head.
"Some time later, when the Hollows had all finished dying and the thing had ran out of tears, it cried out at the moon and took its hands to its own face, and it tore its mask in half. It died then, and we were born, Starrk and I: and the first thing we saw with our own eyes were the skulls in the sands."
Another silence. Finally, the Calaveras bring more tea. It fails to distract the other Arrancars from staring at Lilynette with a strange mix of dread, fascination and awe.
"Why are you telling me this?" Ichigo says slowly. His reiatsu has guttered out now, no longer pulsing with anger.
Lilynette shrugs.
"Dunno. I figured maybe you'd understand. You're strong, right? Strong enough it was worth taking you away for some kind of big war plan. And none of your pals could stop it. 'You hurt my friends,' you keep saying. You're stronger than them, and they can't fight the same battles as you, and they see you fly away, and they try to keep up. You're running and they're all walking and neither of you can stop. Do you see the loneliness that awaits you?"
"No," Ichigo says, shaking his head. "My friends are strong, determined. I know they'll…"
"You
need them," Lilynette says, her uncovered eye gleaming. "You need them so bad. What are you without them? Well we're all like this. We all need it. We all need companionship. A place. A society. But Hollows can't have it, 'cause they're always so hungry. Arrancars can, except what's there to build it around? This world is only sand. But Aizen gave us a way. He brought us all together. When we'd broken ourselves and become two just so we could have some company, he came to us, and offered us friends. It doesn't matter that he did it to get an army for his big war. Without him, all there'd be here would be Barragan's crazy court of cannibals. We owe him more than you can imagine."
"You're saying you'll fight anyone, an entire realm, just to stand by your friends," Ichigo says. "I can't… Goddammit. I can't disagree. I'd do the same. I've
done the same. But it doesn't change anything. It still makes us enemies, because
my people are on the other side of that war, and… It's stupid. You're following a monster."
"A god," Tesla says in a low voice.
"Aizen's not a god," Ichigo says scornfully. "He's a man with too much power and delusions of grandeur."
"It's not about power," Gantenbainne says firmly, his knuckles tightly clenches, his face carefully neutral. "We Privarons broke our own masks, or had them broken for us, the only way we knew to be free of the hunger. Many Hollows I've known… didn't make it. Crippled themselves. Or worse. Out in the wastes, when a Hollow seeks freedom and becomes Arrancar, they are left weak and alone, easy prey. But Aizen holds the wish-stone; we saw him before our eyes raise a new generation of warriors, one that supplanted us, one that cast us out. Any Hollow can now be freed, made stronger even than they were before, by his grace. That is what God is: a creator. He who brings about a new world. That world meant our exile. But that does not make him any less divine."
"A magic rock doesn't make you a divinity," Ichigo spits. "The guy is a sociopath. He's using you. You could rise up, take it from him, make your own world, by your own rules."
Ilforte chuckles. "And then what? We throw ourselves at the mercy of the Shinigami, having beheaded our own leadership? We trust Barragan not to restore the old order in which murder was a celebration and the meals of each feast were our own kin?"
"I don't know!" Ichigo yells, slamming his hands on the table, pressure rising again, flickering shadows under the dishes. "I don't care! It's not my problem! My problem is that you are waging a war against people who matter to me for the sake of a megalomaniac dickbag, and you don't have to!"
You look at Ichigo, and your reiatsu shifts, pulling at his awareness, drawing his eyes. He stares at you, remembering your presence, remembering his anger at you - but it is faded now. So is yours.
You're sorry.
"What?"
You're sorry you hurt his friends. You didn't want to, but that doesn't matter at all, does it? You were on opposite sides of a fight and their goals and yours were incompatible. You might have been able to talk this out, but you didn't. So you hurt three children, who were his friends. He has all the rights to be angry at you. And he has the right to be angry that you don't intend to stop fighting.
Because no, he's wrong. You can't stop. The last time you went into the living world, you found one of the same people who fought in Karakura Town a few days ago. The man with the feather-eyes, Yumichika of the Eleven. And he tried to kill you just for being who you are.
You could all survive in this world of endless nights, far from the Shinigami's grasp. But only survive. You couldn't
live. Everything you've ever had that has made you feel
alive, everything that has brought you some small measure of happiness, save for other people - Cirucci today, a friend long ago - all of it had to be stolen in the night from the living world. Food. Entertainment. Clothes. Decoration. Even art. You have brought music to the Hollow world, and you could only do it by imitating what the living had done before.
One cannot live in Hueco Mundo. One can only survive. And the Shinigami have locked you in. Doesn't he remember what Tesla said? That he is free to roam, because there is nowhere to go? You spread out your arms.
This whole world is a prison.
Ichigo does not answer at first. He just looks at you for a long while, until you lower your arms and meekly take another snack.
"When the Shinigami first came…" He says at last, his voice softer than before, "they called me a freak too, a thief, someone who had stolen powers not meant for him, who had trampled their honor. When me and my friends invaded Soul Society, they treated us with contempt and tried to kill us all. Yet today, they fight at our side. We laugh and go out together, and all is forgotten. It's not too late for you to…"
Sung-Sun breaks out into laughter, and Ichigo breaks off mid-sentence, staring at her in confusion and vague offense. The Bestia's chuckle dies in her sleeve, but she remains smiling, though there is a sharp edge to it.
"I'm sorry. No, it is too late. It was too late long ago." You look at her, vaguely puzzled, unsure what she's talking about. You cross eyes with Ilforte who seems to share your confusion, and Sung-Sun gives you a wink before turning again to Ichigo. "Do you know why?"
"What, because you've all done horrible things and are beyond redemption?" Ichigo snaps, voice thick with sarcasm.
"Virgin no, that'd be easy," she says, still smiling. "No, you see, all of us here at this table are Menos Grande."
Ichigo frowns.
"I mean, I know the term, but…"
"We were not merely soul-devouring Hollows. We were, one and all, Hollows born of a great interdevouring between hundreds of masked ones, who then went on to devour more of our own kind, each full of just as many souls, until our minds surfaced and we shed our great black cloaks… And then went on to devour each other still. For decades. Centuries. Millenia, maybe, for the oldest of the Espada."
Ichigo blinks. You see him at first not understanding, and then the sinking realization.
"It's not about the
sin of all these souls devoured," Sung-Sun says. "As Arrancars, we have changed, we grow ever closer to humanity. But we still contain all these souls.
Thousands of them. Tens of thousands! Hundreds, perhaps, for the Vasto Lorde! They are the source of our power. Nemo, cute little thing that she is, might think it's just about hate, that the Shinigami don't care, she might be swayed to believe they could be talked into peace. But I am wise in the mysteries. I understand. We will never be granted mercy because it doesn't matter who we are as persons.
What we are is thousands of broken souls trapped outside the cycle of reincarnation. To them, purifying us? Is a moral imperative."
The Shinigami shakes his head, feebly.
"It doesn't have to be that way. You're just… You're trying to convince yourselves that you have to fight this war, but…"
His sentence falters. You sigh. So does Sung-Sun, reclining in her seat.
"I apologize," she says airily, "for ruining the mood quite irreparably. It was bad before, but… Sorry, everyone."
You shrug. It's late, anyway.
Perhaps this tea party was not a good idea after all.
No. You steel yourself and straighten in your seat.
If you managed to reach out to Kurosaki… To make him understand why you fight… Maybe it makes up for your failure to speak to the girls on that stormy day.
The Calaveras can clean up the table. You just want to say your goodbyes and go lie down.
"I think it is time to leave, yes," Tesla says, finishing his cup and standing up. "Unless you wish to stay longer," he adds with a look at Ichigo. The Shinigami shakes his head, his face somber, and stands up as well. Polite words are exchanged as everyone does the same, but Ichigo is the first to leave. Tesla lingers for a moment and turns to you.
"Do not be misled by the sour note on which we ended. I enjoyed this," he says with a respectful nod. "I would like to do it again."
You smile weakly and nod in turn, and he is gone. Sung-Sun approaches Lilynette and whispers to her, and the girl looks curious; she turns to you, thanks you for the tea and snacks, and they leave together. Sung-Sun turns on the way, smiling.
"Don't forget," she says, "my offer still stands, and you yourself have more lessons to give me."
And then it's only you, Ilforte and Gantenbainne left.
"What she said," Gantenbainne says frowning, looking at Sung-Sun as she disappears through the entrance. "Was it right?"
You don't know. Who among Hollows understands the motives of the Shinigami? Who knows what the 'balance of the worlds' that they purport to uphold actually means to them? You turn to Ilforte, curious - he has actually fought a Shinigami in person. The blond man scratches his hair, looking uneasy.
"I don't know," he finally says with a shrug. "The Kuchiki woman was not fighting me because my existence was abhorrent to her; she was fighting me because I had hurt someone she cared about. It was a personal vendetta. As for the other one, Abarai Renji… We didn't really talk about such weighty matters. Just boasted, as warriors do."
You chew your lip unconsciously as you consider the matter. It would be easy to dismiss Sung-Sun's statements as ravings of someone obsessed with strange metaphysical matter. Ichigo certainly didn't seem to see it this way, but then he is not a true Shinigami. All the fights against Shinigami that you have been part of or heard about are solely about the war…
...except when you fought Yumichika, who would have destroyed you simply for existing, and who regarded it as a mercy.
Maybe individual Shinigami care about personal feuds, vengeance for fallen friends, and loathing of Aizen. But the institution as a whole? Everyone you can't meet in person and talk to and get to see you as a person? The faceless army of thousands that is the Gotei Thirteen, and its thirteen god-like Captains?
You're afraid Sung-Sun is right about them.
"Then," Gantenbainne says, "I suppose I must be glad that I am now part of the new Exequias. I have never found the depths of new power that Cirucci did - I cannot dwell at these heights, against soldiers for whom my existence is abomination. No raids in the living world for me - I will stay here, and protect our mutual friend." He gives you a respectful nod, which you return.
You really are thankful for the Calaveras. You needed the help.
"Think nothing of it - it was Jackeltone's idea." He nods. "Good day to you, Nemo."
"Well," Ilforte says with a sigh once you're alone, "the next time you set up a tea party, maybe don't invite one of our sworn enemies, hm?"
You smile. You'll take that under consideration. And you are sorry for ruining his opportunity.
"My what?" he asks with false incredulity, and you giggle. You can certainly see Sung-Sun's appeal, and she is probably the classiest of the Tres Bestias, which suits him, but does he
really want to walk into the hell that is the Tres Bestias as a whole? One cannot get close to one of them without having to somehow engage with the other two, and they are called
beasts for a reason.
"Sister," Ilforte says with a smirk, "you vastly underestimate me. There was a time when I would have been scared, yes - but ever since we survived our fight against that sorcerer, why, but I've felt like a new man. And I intend to live life more fully than I used to."
You bow playfully, and wish him the best of lucks.
"There is one last thing," he asks suddenly, looking a little uncomfortable. "The reason why I waited for everyone to leave."
You look at him curiously.
"The wounds I suffered during our fight healed well. I wanted to thank you for this, again. But the others, Nakeem, Shawlong, even the Sexta… They fared less well, once that renegade Captain appeared. Some of their injuries aren't healing well. I have borrowed materials from my…" He cringes slightly. "...my brother Szayel. But I am not a doctor, and since that medic disappeared weeks ago... You seemed to know your way around at least first aid. Could I ask you to lend me your assistance? They would all owe you a great debt - even if the boss will insist it's a waste of time. He'll know it mattered."
You look at him and feel a sudden pang of guilt. Back when all you had was Cirucci, rescuing Esmeralda seemed so obviously right, and you don't regret sending her away to safety. But now that Cirucci is working on building ties, now that you're inviting other Fraccions for tea, you realize that you took from Las Noches its only healer.
And you picked up her skills. It was only meant to help the ones close to you, but that circle has been widening. If Grimmjow's pack suffers lasting consequences from their fight, it'll be partly your fault.
You give Ilforte a nod, but warn him that you can't make any promises. You have many duties to tend to, and your time is limited.
"That is all I can ask for," he adds, and bows. "Thank you for considering it, and for this gathering. It was truly fascinating. Good bye, Elcorbuzier."
And then he's gone, and you're alone. You sigh. At last you can relax - for a little while.
You have other preparations to make today.
***
"...we have Calaveras now?" Cirucci says, staring wide-eyed at the servants going to and fro, sweeping the floor and washing the dishes in the kitchen.
You bow and smile, explaining that they are gifts from Jackelton. Your lover stands in the middle of the grand hall and beholds it more pristine than it's ever been - and in the state her trip across the sand has left her, she comes off the less well-kept of the two. This must be fixed, you think to yourself.
"Nemo, you have the most amazing friends. This is exactly what we needed. It kills me to see you spend so much time doing chores."
You raise an eyebrow. It's true that it is a lot of work, but it would be less so if she did help… Cirucci flusters immediately.
"That's not… I'm an Espada! I don't do chores!"
You chuckle and apologize. The truth is that the division of tasks in the Red Chamber has never actually bothered you, at least not since Luppi has joined in to help. The simple idea of Cirucci with a broom throws you off - you like her as the Quinta, standing far above such things. Taking care of the household is relaxing in its way, you just don't have
time these days.
"This is revenge for this morning, isn't it."
Maybe. You wave your hands evasively. Really, you know you can tease her, because she'll forgive you everything in a few moments.
"Oh, really?" she says, putting her hands on her hips and looking at you dubiously.
She should go clean up first, though. It's clear she's spent most of the day outside, getting sand in her clothes and everything, and she looks a bit… Ruffled.
"I-You-This is outrageous, Nemo!" she exclaims. "You kicked me out for your little get-together! It's
your fault I am 'ruffled,' and you are being entirely too bossy for a
Fraccion."
You grin and bow again, and Cirucci stares at you as if picturing some terrible punishment to put you in your place. But at last she sighs, and disappears off to the bedroom.
When she comes back, all ready to huff and puff about all this, she sees you and pause. Your smile is demure now; you took advantage of her absence to go into your workshop and put on a dark purple gown. You offer her your hand.
"Nemo, what are we doing?" Cirucci asks softly.
She wanted a candlelit dinner, didn't she?
"But there is no dinner anywhere," she says with a frown. "The Calaveras arent' cooking anything, the table isn't set, and, the candlelit part was a
joke. I mean…" She waves at the sunwell.
You nod. It would be exceedingly difficult to set up an intimate, candlelit, two-persons dinner in the Red Chamber, without going to great lengths to cover all the openings through which pours the endless sunlight. And you haven't seen Luppi all day, so you couldn't send him off and he could drop in at any moment, ruining the mood.
"So…" Cirucci says, lifting an eyebrow. You just smile again.
Then you close your eyes and sink in. The whispers welcome you. They have seen your true self, and they remember. But today you do not let that bother you. You do not linger on this acceptance.
You just whisper back, and pluck a thread from the world. You move your hand and pull that thread, unraveling the air.
You offer your other hand, and Cirucci takes it, staring at the Garganta. You gently pull her in, and you both cross the darkness, until you reach the end of your thread and snip it, opening the second portal.
Cold wind caresses your face. Starless night skies stretch on forever. The tilted moon grins down at you. And as Cirucci steps besides you and looks around with wide eyes, she can see
everything. The white sands of Hueco Mundo flowing in wave-like dunes to a horizon far more distant than it ought to be. From here, even the Seat of the Ten Masked Kings can be seen, half-buried in the sands.
You are standing on one of the top-most pillars of Las Noches, those which rise above the gigantic dome at the top of the fortress. And at the center of this perfect flat circle, you have laid…
Candles, and glasses, and food and wine.
You pull on Cirucci's hand and gently lead her to sit down, and do so yourself, on the cushions you have placed to make the cold stone more comfortable. You take out a match and light it, and then each of the candles in turn; the flames sway softly in the wind, but do not falter.
"Nemo, I…" Cirucci begins to say. Her eyes are still fixed on the horizon; after a moment, she says: "I've never been here before."
Never had you, until a few hours ago. You didn't even know if this Garganta would work the first time you tried it on an impulse. But it did, and hopping through three portals one after the other, you managed to get close enough to stare at the highest pillars, and then it was only one jump. And now you can do it any time you want… And so you prepared for her a surprise.
"Do you remember," Cirucci says, her curls of hair softly blowing in the wind, "when we talked about art?"
You tilt your head, puzzled. You talked about art many times and in many different ways.
"You understand music, and have made such beautiful work of it. The clothes you make are perfect. But I could never get you to grasp the point of a painting."
You nod. It is not that you dislike paintings; but when you look at your works of weaving, you see all the work, all the purpose that went into them, and it shines through the clothes' superficial beauty. When you watch someone dance, you see all the strength and skill and grace that goes into each motion. You do not know how to paint. For you a portrait is only what it shows. You admire it for a second, and move on.
"There is something called the sublime," Cirucci muses. You look at her curiously. You know the word, but she speaks of it as if it meant more than you know.
She turns away from the horizon, a longing smile on her lips. You take the bottle, taken from the mortal world weeks ago, when you went about freely stealing things, without so much to keep you tied to Las Noches. You kept it for such an occasion; its fragrance is heady, almost intoxicating on its own as you pour dark red wine into the glasses. Cirucci takes her own glass, and you touch the rims with a crystalline sound.
"The sublime is not beauty. Beauty is what it is, pleasing to look at, and only what it shows. The sublime is… Power and terror and awe. It is something which you look upon, and which makes you feel how small you are in the front of forces so far beyond you, you might as well not exist to them. You look upon something which cannot be measured, grasped, nor conquered. It only exists for itself, and before it you are naught."
She takes one small sip of her glass and turns away again. You follow her eyes and see Hueco Mundo laid out before you, and for a briefest of moments you see
more.
"We are at the top of a fortress so mind-boggingly vast, its walls cannot be seen from its center, so vast it contains its own sky, its own sun. And here we are sitting at the top of its highest towers, at the peak of a world in itself, and…"
And still around you the lone and level sands stretch far away. Limitless and barren and uncaring. Even here, where your eye can grasp the monumental totality of Las Noches, you cannot see the black sea or the Salar de Luna or the distant forest where Alphonse met his mentor.
Is this why Aizen built walls around Barragan's fortress? To create a world small enough that he could hold it in his palm? To not see, every time he looks at the horizon, how vast and uncaring of his strength is the desert?
Cirucci smiles.
"Do you see now?" she asks.
You do. But then, you realize, you already did. For you have seen the sublime; you have seen her ascension, felt the breath of her storm on your lips. She is your storm, too vast for you to grasp and conquer, and yet still…
Not uncaring. The storm loves you, and you love it back.
Perhaps one day the desert can learn to love as well.
Cirucci looks back at you, and wipes the corner of her eye.
"I don't deserve you," she says.
You shrug and smile. You don't deserve her either. You'll just have to both be thankful for your luck in finding each other anyway.
You reach for the basket you set aside, and take out the cloth-warped spiced bread and the mushroom salad. The soft warmth of the candles sheds a circle of light on the cold white stone, a little world of your own carved away from the moonlit emptiness.
A world you can grasp.
The time ahead of you is limited, and you have picked up many obligations. Now comes the moment to choose which you can fulfill over the next few days.
[ ] Complete Sung-Sun's training to master the Gran Rey. She helped save your life, and more than this, she has much to teach you in return - a simple gift of La Marana, and a sacrifice of time, and she might reveal to you some secrets of witchcraft.
[Unlock Advanced Skill: Brujeria]
[ ] Assist Szayel as he finishes crafting his terrible Sarcophagus. You have worked to make it less of an atrocity, but this is your chance to shape its final design, and to make the ever-necessary madman more fond of you.
[Upgrade Advanced Skill: La Marana to Fourth Weave]
[ ] Bring your medical skills to Grimmjow and his pack. It is your fault that there is no more medic in Las Noches, and they could be powerful allies to both you and Cirucci, if they owed you this debt.
[Leftover medical supplies will allow you to heal your lungs, once you find the time to get someone to operate on you.]
There is a moratorium of two hours on this vote.
