Seven years ago, Hisana moved into the manor, causing the seemingly rock-solid foundation of the Kuchiki Clan tremble in her wake. The silence, then, had been in motion, tittering precatiously between the past and the future. Two years ago, the oscillations came to a stop. One year ago, the girl moved in.
And now, the Sixth has a new captain. The silence around him seems deeper somehow, more encompassing, from how the members of his division go quiet, proper and restrained whenever he's near to the way the emptiness of the hallways, in the barracks or here in the manor, echoes from the sounds of his own footsteps. It's never-ending. Even now, as Byakuya works his way through yet another set of kata with Senbonzakura, each movement automatized and fluent from decades of repetition, he senses it. How the world around him remains steadfastly unmoved by everything he does, every movement, every flicker of his blade.
Indeed, the silence, such as it is now, the thing it has become - it has taken root in this new reality where he's the head of his clan, the leader of his division and the brother of a living ghost, a walking and talking echo of the life that has passed into stillness.
So he trains, his bangs clinging to his forehead and the side of his face, his hands damp, the thick calluses of his palms vital at this point in securing Senbonzakura in his grip. It's something he needs to grow past. He reaches his physical limitations much too easily still.
If nothing else, his harsh breathing certainly disturbs the quiet ]
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Seven years ago, Hisana moved into the manor, causing the seemingly rock-solid foundation of the Kuchiki Clan tremble in her wake. The silence, then, had been in motion, tittering precatiously between the past and the future. Two years ago, the oscillations came to a stop. One year ago, the girl moved in.
And now, the Sixth has a new captain. The silence around him seems deeper somehow, more encompassing, from how the members of his division go quiet, proper and restrained whenever he's near to the way the emptiness of the hallways, in the barracks or here in the manor, echoes from the sounds of his own footsteps. It's never-ending. Even now, as Byakuya works his way through yet another set of kata with Senbonzakura, each movement automatized and fluent from decades of repetition, he senses it. How the world around him remains steadfastly unmoved by everything he does, every movement, every flicker of his blade.
Indeed, the silence, such as it is now, the thing it has become - it has taken root in this new reality where he's the head of his clan, the leader of his division and the brother of a living ghost, a walking and talking echo of the life that has passed into stillness.
So he trains, his bangs clinging to his forehead and the side of his face, his hands damp, the thick calluses of his palms vital at this point in securing Senbonzakura in his grip. It's something he needs to grow past. He reaches his physical limitations much too easily still.
If nothing else, his harsh breathing certainly disturbs the quiet ]