Snippet #1785862

From within the courtyard of the massive palace like structure that towered over the 43rd district of the Rukon came the distinct melody of a flute playing old songs from forgotten eras and weaving through the air to the world beyond. This place was a Dojo, a place of learning and mastering, a massive complex where the greatest fighters in the Rukongai gathered and trained to protect the shinigami world from the amassing threat of the Arrancar. The structure was home to many great masters and was often the place of refuge were citizens of the surrounding Rukon would flock for safety during hollow raids. Without a truly defined military of any size the Soul Society had been a much more savage place. It was only made worse by the death of the Soul King and now this fort stood as the first line of defence for the vast majority of the unaligned masses. To that end the Grand Master of this place was like their general, their protector, their regent. One Ichiro Akihiko, the most ancient of the masters in the Dojo, took threat honour though he would never do so openly. He would stand at the defence of the people, to his dying breath.

That man sat calmly playing his flute in meditation on the stone at the center of his prayer garden. The fortress around him was abuzz with activity as the students moved about trying to accomplish various goals. The town below was the most normal of the Rukon as it was were the people were safe from the Hollow that plagued the rest of the world. At the rear of the fort a platoon of Shinigami moved into a large Senkaimon to continue their duty to the living. Their teacher had said that if they abandoned the world and their duty then the Hollow would have already won. To that end the fortress had managed to retain a sense of normalcy to that day. A few minor skirmishes had taken place a distance away in the mountains but only once had the school been attacked. That Hollow was still on the grounds, a Vasto Lodre whose silhouette was burned into the back wall, the remains of a foolish demon of hubris that had stood before the Grand Master and his pupils thinking he alone could topple them.

At the top of the central tower a young man stepped into the garden and came to rest before the middle aged gentlemen on the stone in the lake, “Master Akihiko, there was another group of refugees who have arrived today., however there are no more beds in the city below.” He reported.

The master ceased his playing and sighed as he opened his eyes and looked to the youth, “I see, a persistent problem, has there been any response from the Nobles in the Seireitei ?” he asked the youth.

“Unfortunately they have refused to open the gates at all, Master, despite our pleading. They say it would weaken their defences to their rivals and the gate guards refuse to allow us in to speak directly to the lords…” the youth bowed his head as though he was at fault.

“Sit up, Kujo, you have done nothing wrong… it was my fault, I should have known they wouldn’t listen to a messenger. The Nobles are usually reasonable enough but their guards are power mad and foolish…” he thought for a moment and then stood, coughing a bit as he did, making the youth stand to try and aid him. But Akihiko waved him off. “I’m fine, send word to the Nobles that I request their presence for a meeting here… if they ask why tell them that I request such due to my poor health. If their guards try to stop you burn the words into their gate. We MUST be heard.”

Kujo nodded and left, leaving Akihiko looking out over the balcony at the distant storm clouds where the Hollows had begun to gather. A young woman brought him some tea before bowing out and he took a large gulp, breathing in relief at the warming effect it had on his weakened lungs. “The storm is gathering… and so must we…” he thought out loud, “I wonder what you’re up to now…” his eyes sharpened to points that pierced the horizon, “Varick Roux…”