The battlefield was wrecked, the valley filled with corpses — bodies riddled with arrows, faces frozen in their final moments.
The stench of blood made Renji uneasy — a feeling he hated more than the blood itself.
It had been a long time since he last felt this sick.
This smell… he used to know it well.
Now it made his stomach twist.
The ambush had ended only an hour earlier.
Now the silence felt heavier than the bodies left behind.
"Renji? Are you okay?"
Hayato's voice drifted in from behind — calm, but edged with concern.
"You didn't have to push so hard. Just stalling them would've been enough."
He always tried to sound composed.
Tried to stay steady.
Tried to look unbothered.
Even now.
Renji had never seen him cry. Not once.
Not when they mocked him in camp.
Not when the twins tormented him for hours.
Not even when the pain became too much to stand.
He never cracked.
He just kept building walls.
And Renji often wondered — would those walls protect him?
Or crush him from within?
Reisou, he thought, gaze falling to the blood-soaked earth.
You must still be carving. But this time… I want to forget too.
He looked toward Hayato — the boy standing firm despite everything.
There was something in his eye.
Something that reminded Renji of the ones they'd lost.
He drew in a breath.
His vision shimmered — the battlefield dissolving into an older, quieter darkness.
(Nine years ago)
At the mouth of a cave swallowed in silence, someone knelt in the dirt — slowly, meticulously carving the same shape into a block of wood.
Dozens of worn symbols covered the stone floor.
Renji approached, footsteps quiet, sake bottle in hand.
"You're still carving the same one," he said, lowering himself nearby. "How many times has it been now?"
The man didn't look up.
"…I keep thinking I'll remember something if I do. But honestly… I don't even know what I'm carving anymore."
Renji nodded faintly.
"I get that. I've burned my power out more times than I can count. Thought maybe I could erase the worst parts of the past."
He paused.
"But some memories… I don't want to lose."
The man didn't answer.
Just kept carving — with the precision of someone who had carved the same shape a thousand times and still didn't understand why.
A fake smile hung on Renji's face — the kind he always wore.
Reisou let out a tired laugh.
"That same damn expression… You wear it every time I see you."
"Smiling," Renji said quietly, "became how I survive."
Saying it aloud felt strangely heavy.
He looked down at the sake in his hand.
"But someone saw through it. Not long ago."
The carving stopped. The cave held its breath.
"…Who?"
"A boy," Renji replied. "Name's Hayato."
There was a pause. Then a quiet mutter:
"Strange name."
Renji tilted his head.
"Strange eye too. Just one of them. But it was enough."
He looked away, then back.
"He looked at me… and saw what was behind the grin. Saw the weight I was hiding. And he didn't even know me."
Finally, the carver turned his head — just enough to glance at Renji.
"We've met hundreds of people… friends and enemies. No one's ever read you like that. How'd this kid do it?"
"He's broken," Renji said.
"Not the kind you fix… the kind you learn to live beside."
He took a slow drink and let the silence settle.
"He's loyal. Truly loyal. But sometimes I wonder… did I save him?
Or did I drag him into the same pain I'm trying to escape?"
The carving was left behind.
Reisou's eyes no longer focused on anything.
"…I don't know," he said, voice distant. "My memories feel like fog."
"But this coming rebellion," he added, a bit steadier, "this one's going to be different. Isn't it?"
Renji's eyes narrowed.
"This time… I can't afford mistakes."