Even in wake of the new morrow,
A thousand years of blood shall follow.
***
Jugram stared at a file, scaped with black ink, and professionally written in terminologies filled with engineering jargon. Systems, devices, weapons—all of them were compressed in small-pointed text to save as much paper as possible. Reiryoku pulse module to cycle life into it, Reishi absorption heart to access Quincy techniques, hollowed frame to distribute opposing force, foldable contraptions to hide missiles underneath, and so on.
For a normal human being, reading the piece of paper would be impossible, but for spiritual beings such as the Quincy, processing the entire paper within a millisecond was an arbitrary task, no matter the size. That was also the reason why it was written so small, to let exceptional eyes grasp the entire study without having to dash through pages, therefore increasing efficiency.
He handed it toward his attendant, the woman receiving it and nodding, already knowing the procedure. She walked away and out of sight to store it into the Silbern's archival information storage, the same area which housed all the profiles pertaining to the Gotei 13. With that, Jugram turned his focus back onto other matters.
There was a large arena meant for training for Soldats, but never for personal spars amongst the Sternritters. Such an activity had been forbidden to prevent infighting from happening in the walls of the empire, for the last thing His Majesty needed was a haphazard force that died out before invading the Soul Society. Of course, their forces did not need to be anything impossibly exceptional—because success was already a guarantee—but leaving no room for failure was always a good idea.
Jugram carried himself as per the protocol he had set for himself. He turned toward the "person" standing in the center of the training arena.
He called out to it, "BG9, Sternritter K, The Knowledge." The marble flooring materialized with Reishi resounded with each step. He came to a stop, diametrically opposed to who he had called to.
A cloaked figure bearing the same white cloak all other Sternritter and Quincies wore, with the insignia of the Wadenreich emblazoned from the back. It was humanoid in shape, possessing an anthropomorphic quality in its body, even if hidden under the mounds of thin white cascades. Moving upwards, he saw the face of the being, resembling a barred knight helmet. It was in a geometric shape that could be considered closely related to a rhombus, nothing but black being present underneath it from an outside view.
"Jugram Haschwalth. Sternritter Grandmaster, the Successor to His Majesty." BG9 replied with a mechanical voice, all digital in nature. "Reishi absorption levels are abnormal, lower than the average Sternritter by 200%. Accessing known database—you are a Power-Sharing Quincy."
"Indeed," Jugram affirmed, more out of formality than anything else. "Keep in mind, however, quantity of Reishi is no more important than quality. Control, usage, and efficiency are always factors to consider."
"Noted," it said, before continuing. "Now, for what purpose have I been brought here?"
"Take a good look around, I'm sure you already have." Jugram motioned around the arena, taking position on the other side of BG9. "You are a recent addition, a successful integrator to the Wandenreich amongst all other failures. You have my congratulations."
BG9's visor pulsed an artificial life, visual sensors scanning across the area. A pause was seen, before it answered, "Combat assessment."
"Predictable, wasn't it?" Not even a ghost of a reaction appeared while Jugram gauged the other's response. If people described himself as a brick wall, then the one in front of him was a brick tower.
"Is Quilge Opie not the combat instructor for the Sternritters?" Its voice was devoid of any inflection. "Based on my pre-existing database, he would have been the one standing before me."
"Instruction, yes. Assessment, no." He stepped forward, boots clicking against the marble floor. "Think of this as a ceremony, a necessary step before I consider you one of us. This also serves as a gauge for the Sternritters' capabilities." He paused. "Do you understand?"
BG9 processed his words. "Affirmative."
"Good." Jugram brushed his cloak to the side, revealing his arms and a blade of centuries sheathed by his side. "You've already assessed me, haven't you?"
"...Close-ranged fighter. Swordsman. Blut techniques are likely exceptional," BG9 said, practically confirming the blonde-haired man's words. "Formidable."
Jugram's fingers curled around his sword's hilt, the metal whispering as it left its sheath. "Formidable, you say?" His voice was quieter now, almost contemplative. "Then tell me... how do you assess yourself?"
"Standard."
Jugram stopped, tilting his head slightly. "Standard?" His tone was almost disappointed. "That won't do."
There was a brief pause before BG9 added, "A current assessment. Expect it to alter as my structure evolves with the Wandenreich's technological advancements." Mechanical whirring, servos tightening, systems engaging, and cracking sounds could be heard under BG9's cloak as he spoke, "In combination with my Schrift's usage."
Jugram hummed in mild approval, running a gloved thumb along his blade's edge. "I know. Of course, it's a rather unique one, as all others are, and more beneficial on the uptake of time." The Sternritter Grandmaster stared at his own weapon, watching his reflection in the blade. "We've dawdled enough." He tapped his blade in front of him, before pointing it toward the other Sternritter, a simple enough declaration. "The rules are simple..."
BG9 recited, "A surrender or loss of consciousness dictates the duel is over. Vollständig are barred, as any release would topple Silbern's structure."
"Very well-informed, I would expect no less." Jugram fixed the collar of his cloak, fingers brushing against the fabric, fixing any imperfection that would blemish his image. "Now, en garde." He pointed his blade forward, but to his surprise, there was no immediate shift, no movement from BG9, not even the expected resistance. Just cold silence.
"Before we begin. I have a query," BG9 said, still stuck in the same position as when it had been called to this place.
He quietly exhaled, his eyes remaining fixated on BG9. "Make it quick." His grip on the sword tightened, fingers flexing in slight impatience, the blade shimmering quaintly in the arena's light, even with how dim they were.
"How many Sternritter have you involved in this ceremony?" There was something calculating beneath its cogged tone.
He barely blinked, his response flat but carrying a weight of understanding. "All of the current bunch." There was no need for subtlety; the rumors, the gossip—it had already spread through the ranks. He could feel the silent hum of curiosity in the air.
Its neck tilted with a chink. "Including Quilge Opie, Sternritter J?"
A hint of a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as his mind briefly wandered to the man known for his fanatical loyalty. "Of course." He spoke it with a note of recognition, even respect. Quilge's unwavering devotion was something that could be admired, though Jugram couldn't help but be reminded of the zeal that sometimes bordered on fanaticism. It almost rivaled Lille Barro's evangelism.
"Have any of them defeated you?" Its question was stitched with logic.
"...None." It wasn't a boast, it was a fact, something that all Sternritters had come to know themselves.
The hum of its systems whirred to life. A slight vibration passed beneath its patterned metallic surface, the eerie sound of electronic data being processed filled the space. A faint golden glow began to glow beneath its helmet, flickering like a dying ember. Steam hissed from unseen vents, and a sharp mechanical hiss split the air as BG9 analyzed the information. "Data stored."
The calculating movements eventually shifted into an industrial rumble. "Threat Level Assessment: Above Captain-class Shinigami. Preparing ample means to combat designated threat."
Jugram kept silent, watching the ensuing process unfold. Tension was in his muscles, even if he hid it well.
Squelching and clicking sounds were heard. From the side of BG9's cloak, an opening was made as the fabric briskly wagged, revealing multiple white mechanical tendrils attached to an object. There was an unfound grace for what had been presented for the eyes to feast upon.
A ten-barrelled minigun. It was colorless, just as all aspects of the Wadenreich's land were, and by extension, Silbern. There was a Quincy emblem wrought onto its frame, its total size almost reaching BG9's own height, and by the way the wind swayed from its movement; it must have also possessed a hefty load.
A perfect symbolism, a memorandum of the Wandenreich's technological perfection.
Its barrels spun with zeal, humming death's tune with a centrifugal force increasing per rotation. Every completed course locked Reishi bullets in place, ready to unleash mass destruction in its screeching, deafening wake. A blade in traditionalism's jugular, littering the contents of what being a Quincy meant. Even then, the liquid leaking out had never felt so... captivating.
"The latest technology, the final weapon to trivialize bows." Jugram tilted his head, unwavering when staring down the monstrosity pointed straight at him. He studied it, detached with his sights. "Let's see if it's worth my time."
"With pleasure," BG9 greyly responded.
There was a thundering sound of a thousand bullets regurgitated, blessed by the azure glow of spirituality. Sound waves distorted, unable to catch up to the reckoning force which far outpaced any degree of peace, filling the room with an abode that would only be seen amongst battered battlefields.
...
...
...
...
That day, BG9's minigun was seen cracked open into pieces, still tentacularly attached to its severed arm—vomiting black liquid on the shattered arena floor.
The frustrated cries of Quincy engineers and Quincy architects were heard echoing across Silbern's walls.
***
Combat capabilities. An Operator was rated on many things, all contributing to their overall effectiveness. These were usually tested in a physical exam overseen by an instructor or, in some cases, by Kal'tsit herself. The reality was that not everyone was born equal in their abilities or the potential they could reach. The Doctor, as Amiya had thought countless times before, was someone who was flawed or standard in every aspect—except for Tactical Acumen.
She might have to rescind that belief after what she just witnessed. A sublime blade, an exalted step—each movement seamlessly woven into the image of a noble swordsman. It was uncanny, considering how subversive his actions and attitude was compared to his past self. Looking at his changed form now, was like staring at a completely different iteration smeared by war paint.
A small river of blood snaked in front of Dr. Haschwalth, ebbing from the desecrated corpses. The thick scent of iron-clogged the air, each drop of ichor resounding like notes in a bloody symphony. The spilled wine of life trickled unrestrained from the unguarded railings, vanishing into the endless chasm below.
The group reacted instinctively, recovering from their stupor, quickly evacuating the area in case more enemies emerged like unwanted moles. Jugram wordlessly followed along not long after, sheathing his sword with immaculate precision.
Constant bombardment, Amiya thought, would do their bodies no favors in the long run. Thankfully, they reached a checkpoint, allowing all Operators to take a breather—while also staring at the Doctor.
"Yes?" Dr. Haschwalth's voice cut through the air, a low, piercing melody. "Is something the matter?" Sharper than a crossbow bolt, it carried an authority that shouldn't have come so naturally—but it did.
The group snapped back to clarity, as if doused in ice water. Despite learning of his past position only once, he already bore the weight of a seasoned tactician.
"No, it's just... we didn't expect you to wield a sword so well," Amiya admitted, rubbing the back of her hand. The sight of such cruelty had unnerved her, but she quickly composed herself.
"In one stroke, too. That's impressive." Guard whistled, stepping beside Amiya. "Or—two strokes? Feels like something I'd expect from an Elite Operator. Didn't know you had it in you, Doctor."
"It came naturally," Jugram replied, drumming his left hand's fingers on the handle of his sheathed sword. "No different from executing a millionth practiced motion."
Amiya found that peculiar. Did his muscle memory preserve something from the past? She believed so, seeing his concise commands, but how would it express swordsmanship, something he had never learned?
How was he so strong as to cleave through bodies as if they were butter?
"Well, I'll be damned. Guess you spent a lot of time practicing in secret." Defender folded his shield and slung it over his back. "Not that I'd know. I wasn't there when you were active in the past."
Jugram gave a curt nod.
Amiya's rabbit ear twitched. Practice? The Doctor barely had time for swordsmanship. It was the last activity he would have engaged in. There were just too many activities drowning him in an ocean in the past, and progress in his physical body was never apparent with training.
Defender spoke again. "Also, how did you know Reunion would flank us? Actually, let me rephrase—how did you know exactly what they were going to do?"
Amiya had the same question but never doubted the Doctor's tactical acumen. Most had long accepted that pestering him with questions wouldn't yield much, given how tightly bound he was by the steel-lined knot of conflict.
It was like questioning the inevitability of sunrise.
"Acuity of the environment," Dr. Haschwalth elaborated. "Their footsteps pounded relentlessly. The discrepancy in sound waves bouncing off the walls made their position clear."
He tapped his foot against the floor. A faint reverberation traveled through the walls. His hand emerged from his white cloak, gesturing toward the subtle vibrations. Everyone followed his finger's path.
"That is how I determined their location."
Defender scratched his helmet. "Hard to imagine, but with all the rumors about you... I see some truth in them now." He murmured, "Still got some kick under all that amnesia, huh?"
"It would seem so." Amiya nodded but couldn't shake the feeling that Jugram was keeping something veiled beneath his ivory composure. "It's good to know your tactical brilliance is still intact, Doctor!" She stepped forward, almost weightless in her gait.
"It would seem so indeed," Jugram echoed absently.
Defender, Guard, and Medic leaned against the wall, soaking in the newfound calm. For now, rest's embrace was like sinking into soft clouds.
Jugram stared down when Amiya approached, hands extended expectantly. He blinked, momentarily lost, before she spoke.
"Uhm... could you hold them?" She winced but smiled. "I... We used to do this when..."
Her words were tangled.
"Understood." His hands emerged from his cloak, the sturdy limbs—although haunted by machinery's frosted chill—still bore an inner strength.
Their palms met, both hands turned upward, Jugram's held above hers.
Time stagnated. Then, Amiya broke the silence.
"Thank you for helping us. It's just like before, Doctor." Her voice carried a naive sweetness. "We couldn't have asked for more."
"My actions are to be expected." Jugram turned his gaze slightly aside.
"What do you mean?" Amiya caught a hint of something—appreciation? Albeit, twisted in some way.
"You freed me from that Sarcophagus and granted me clarity about my predicament. Balancing the scales is only natural."
"Doctor, you don't have to see this as an obligation or a debt." Amiya's concern deepened. "I wouldn't want you to feel forced."
"You force nothing upon me. This is my decision." His voice remained unwavering, steadfast as stone.
"Still... just know you have people you can rely on. You can rely on me." Her eyes sparked with conviction. "We'll always help you, even with your amnesia."
"I admire the sentiment." Jugram's gaze half-lidded. "However, tending to nonexistent worries is pointless. A vase without cracks needs no sealing."
Amiya felt as though she stood before an impregnable fortress. "If you say so," she murmured. Perhaps time was the key.
"Then... we have reached a consensus." His voice wavered slightly, exhaustion creeping in. Amiya sensed it.
"Doctor?" She watched as his eyelids fluttered closed, his hands still held before her, caught in his own moment of respite.
Time stood still once more.
Amiya's initial bewilderment melted into a warm smile.
It was a good start.
Maybe taking their time wouldn't be so bad after all.
***
An intense flash of light obscured his view. His eyes burned, a shadow cast over them, hair flailing wildly. Then, undergoing a metamorphosis, the chaos settled back into order.
He knew what it meant. He was growing more familiar with the sensation. But when he opened his eyes, something unexpected greeted him.
The rabbit girl was gone. The metal walls encasing their perimeter had vanished. In their place, an endless crepuscule stretched across the horizon, an eerie twilight consuming everything in sight.
Jugram's gaze swept across the expanse, his brow furrowing. He felt almost whiplashed—but he would never show it. A frown settled on his face as his mind worked to make sense of what he was seeing.
Too sudden. Too unnatural. Why had he been brought here?
A sea of golden mist surrounded him, flanking him from all sides. Even the very air shimmered, doused in a gilded glow.
Standing at the epicenter, the Sternritter Grandmaster narrowed his eyes into wafer-thin slits before snapping them open again. He didn't need a reflection to know that The Almighty had activated, his eyes gleaming like ruby jewels. That alone told him why he felt the black Reiatsu of the Soul King start to permeate across his body and block off the amber humes of this strange dimension.
His body wasn't truly here, but it felt like it. Shapes dashed through the mist, figures carved from the same luminous essence. Though formless, they exuded emotions—an overwhelming flood of them, suffocating the air with their presence.
Disgusting.
Hatred, grief, despair—all were interwoven within them. If they were Hollows or something similar to their ilk, Jugram wouldn't be surprised. The Quincy race was built to erase them. He had long since grown accustomed to the burden of their presence, so these mangled spirits were not much of a bother.
A thought crossed his mind. Should he erase them? The souls sneered at him, their malice palpable. But they were nothing more than insects buzzing too close. Hardly worth the effort.
The ones nearest to him recoiled when he turned his three-irised glare in their direction, crimson light warning them against testing his patience.
His Spiritual Pressure flared—not much, just a flicker of departed Reiryoku—but with The Almighty active, even that small ember became a force beyond their comprehension. As they were twisted forms of black shadows embodying the most primordial Reiatsu, they proved immensely effective.
The faceless souls jerked away, retreating from his gaze, dispersing like dust thrown affray.
Jugram reached up, fingers brushing against the corners of his eyes. The Almighty's power had only activated in intervals before, bound in bondage by the cycle of nightfall. Yet now, it ran unrestricted, randomly appearing with barely any warning, and in this current case—in full control. The implications were... troubling.
It had always required the Schrift to be imparted upon his soul via a method of swapping, a process dictated by the Quincy King's consciousness. Now—
"I would not suggest that." Jugram's body tensed as he sensed a presence behind him, his lips speaking on instinct.
A hand hovered over his shoulder.
Without hesitation, Jugram struck, a swift backhand deflecting the touch before he turned to face the intruder.
His breath hitched for a fraction of a second.
It was not a "what" he bore witness to, but a "who."
She stood among the drifting masses of spiritual energy, yet she was distinct. Not like them, not bound to them like how all else were. His Almighty eyes were revealing something momentous—something he couldn't immediately comprehend. It wasn't mere perception, but something deeper, an intrinsic memory linked through emotions and experiences.
Why?
Why was this so?
Why did he feel that way?
And why was this woman torn away from the amalgamations?
The woman's expression mirrored his surprise. She looked at her hands, then her arms, shock evident all across.
She opened her mouth, nothing came out. Silence swallowed her words. But Jugram could read lips—at least, to an extent.
'How?'
His mind latched onto the word, dissecting its meaning with a scalpel. "How what? Elaborate."
His eyes flickered across the scape, noting the other souls lingering, watching. Their macabre dance had stilled, all attention fixed on him and the woman.
The woman's lips moved again.
'How am I...'
Her words faltered, the rest lost to incoherent murmurs. Even with his sight, they were indistinct, blurred like the edges of a half-formed dream.
Jugram's patience thinned. "What is this place?"
His thoughts raced. The woman—separate from the others. His quasi-transcendent state. The endless twilight realm. Were they connected? Was that why he was present here?
She stopped staring at her hands and looked at him instead. A quiet curiosity filled her gaze as she took a small step forward.
"I take it you are not one to speak, then." Jugram's eyes narrowed as she tilted her head. "How troublesome."
At this rate, he wouldn't get any answers. Interfering with this place—whatever it was—seemed unwise, so that option was off the table. He turned, ready to force his way back to the material world—
And then he stopped.
Not by choice.
No, it was by choice, but a different kind of choice.
The woman was watching him, her eyes cradling something soft, something almost... familiar. A warmth beamed from her expression, an emotion he couldn't comprehend.
Her face was indistinct, like all the others, yet... she looked at him as if she knew him.
Their faces were close.
He should have been irritated. But his body refused to react.
These were not his commands.
The woman's lips parted.
Her noiseless words struck his soul.
'Do you remember?'
Both her hands rose, palms facing upward, as she took a step back to make space. She was beckoning him with that gesture, tantalizing him in some way or another with it. Even if he couldn't understand how or why, his body ushered for him to respond pleadingly.
An anonymity flickered in his mind.
It was not The Almighty he was accustomed to.
A moment lost in time? Yes, indeed.
A thousand years? No—less than ten.
Sorrow unbelonging to him.
It shouldn't have been his.
And contradictingly, he felt it.
His heart ached.
For his friend.
Yet...
She was not his friend.
'Doctor? Can you hear me?'
***
Amiya stared at her hand. She had been staring at it for a long time—half-focused, half-distracted by other matters. Normally, her Arts blast wasn't formidable enough to blow holes into bodies, and acted more like a "concussive" or "blunt" force with how it would slam into bodies, but what happened not too long earlier blew her expectations out of the water. Thoroughly so.
Her thumb fingers slowly caressed the top of the Doctor's hand while her mind drifted in the ocean's depths.
Instead of them being blasted back with bruises or such, they were blown to smithereens, eviscerated into nothing but piles of blood. Kal'tsit had always told her there was a mountain of untapped potential hidden underneath herself, but Amiya would have never expected it to be tapped into so quickly. In fact, was it being actively expressed? What could have caused it? Was she misinterpreting things?
It was then her focus stopped being put onto her hands, and turned toward the despondent Jugram Haschwalth. She knew he was a monotone-esque man who resembled a statue at times, a pretty looking statue, but to the length where time blurred for an indefinite amount of time? In short, she was becoming worried for the blonde-haired man.
The same attitude was being shared amongst the now fully-rested Operators who were whispering amongst each other, too afraid to interrupt the blonde-haired man. It was almost like he was an anomaly amongst them, and Amiya was well-aware of how they felt, understanding how abrupt Dr. Haschwalth—stricken with amnesia—had been.
Even his nearly all-white outfit contrasted with their more ebony attire.
Amiya sighed, letting the air holed up in her chest expel. Enough thoughts, the Operators were looking at them with rather sheepish expression, so she'd better wake him—
Dr. Haschwalth's eyes snapped open, and before Amiya could react, he recoiled—his body jerking back, contact severed, cloak billowing as he staggered. A breathless, strangled sound escaped him before his legs wavered, folding in on himself. His emotions entered her mind, before abruptly cutting off, signifying either death or unconsciousness.
Amiya halted, only registering it a micro-instant after. It was the second instance she had seen him react in such a way, with actions mimicking the same face grasping motion, while his body curled inward. "Doctor!"
Medic sprung up in an instant, fumbling with her medical box as the Cautus immediately shot forward to support the blonde-haired man. Defender and Guard shot a look at each other, before stepping up and moving toward where the door was, unlatching their measures of battle and standing in a guarded position.
"T-this—" Medic brought out the necessary tools as Amiya settled down Jugram into a seated position on the floor, the Doctor looking far more troubled than ever before. "—Agh, I should have told you not to move around so much." She brought a device and moved his cloak out of the way, placing it against his chest. "Abrupt increase in heart rate... blood pressure's high... but it's settling. Okay, okay, just breathe normally. No sudden movements."
"Medic, what happened?" Amiya's worriedly asked, standing back as to not intrude the process, no matter how much it hurt.
"I don't know," Medic admitted, brows furrowing. She worked quickly, scanning Jugram's vitals, voice tinged with urgency. "His attack on those Reunion members—it might have been too much exertion. Considering his time in cryostasis and..." Her hand stilled for a second. She glanced at Amiya. "Wait. You said he never had Arts before, right?"
"He never had Arts," the Cautus confirmed.
"If I had to theorize, then maybe his time in the Sarcophagus, undergoing amnesia, and whatever happened in-between, could have... awakened his Arts?" Medic checked Jugram's breathing, hearing him eventually calm down fast. It was strange. "His vitals are stabilizing... but too quickly. Unnaturally fast."
Amiya's worry deepend. "That..." She hesitated.
"Then maybe the exertion of his newly awakened Arts, coupled with his hypothermia and abrupt movements with swordsmanship, had all contributed to his current condition." Medic paused, as Jugram had recovered. "His heart rate is..." She frowned. "far slower than before. It seems to be settling at that point. Another injection might be needed."
"Is it severe?" Amiya's fingers clenched. "Life-threatening? Crippling?" Her voice tightened alongside them.
"No, nothing life-threatening," Medic reassured, though her frown remained. "His heart rate is low—bradycardia—but not the healthy kind."
"Mmh." She watched Dr. Haschwalth's closed eyes. "He's... really unconscious now." Her hands gathered together, traveling close to where her collar was.
Another voice penetrated through.
"If you need somebody to carry him, then I can do it." Defender, still in his defensive position, raised his hand. "We've gotta make it to the rendezvous point, fast."
"Thank you, Defender." Amiya bobbed her head up and down. "We'd really appreciate it."
"No problem." He raised a thumbs-up.
"Hold on, give me a moment, like, fifteen seconds. I need to do last-minute checks before you carry him," Medic hastily said, her hands moving rapidly over her equipment, double-checking his condition before allowing the transfer.
***
He once roamed the misty plains of snow-covered land, his feet trampling through a forest gripped by winter's embrace. A bow was slung over his back, a wooden one, not one made by Reishi. It was impossible for him to do, impossible for him to execute, leaving him as a meandering Quincy who couldn't even be called a Quincy. With a huff of his breath, it condensated in the open space, breezing away when a small squall had picked up.
He shivered from there, bringing the bow from its position at his back and carrying it with two hands. With a practiced motion, he grabbed an arrow from his quiver, setting it prematurely on the string of his bow, slowly pacing through the scenery, his keen eyes examining. His footprints were left with each step, denting the snow and leaving signs of human life exploring these lands.
There, from the corner of his eye, he caught the glimpse of a brown-furred rabbit sticking out like a sore thumb amongst all else. Winter had only recently arrived, and from its color, Jugram could tell that it hadn't yet adapted to the extraneous weather that had come this year's way. He never understood how or why their fur would change every season, and he could only make assumptions, but that didn't catch his interest in the slightest. What mattered was that it was more susceptible as a target.
The arrow sitting on his bow was pulled back, a silent creaking sound entering only his ears. His breath was held, afraid that the rabbit had heard the string being drawn. Thankfully, it didn't and now it was right in front of him, the deadly edge of metal ready to skewer its unassuming self. From what he saw, it was chewing on something, glancing a few times in front of it, not even glancing back to see if anything was going to sneak up on it.
Jugram was hidden behind a tree, the bark not camouflaging his figure, but it was just enough to hide a good portion of his body. With his will now firm, he released the arrow, watching it glide with the wind for only a moment, before the currents had decided to act against him. The arrow twisted at the last moment, veering off course. A sickening dumbbell dropped in his chest as he watched it graze the rabbit instead of striking true.
It careened to the side, only grazing the rabbit and slicking off a small amount of blood, enough to alert it and sending its survival instincts into play. Although most likely in disarray due to surprise, the rabbit was still swift with its step, hopping with intense fervor, afraid for its own life.
A trail of blood dotted the snow, and Jugram sprang into pursuit, pushing his body to its limits
Seconds turned into minutes.
Minutes turned into an hour.
He soon lost track of time, before Jugram felt his breath starting to hitch, his body nearly collapsing in itself. The trail of blood was still in sight, the path guiding him toward where his game was. With a final step, he had turned a tree and found where it ended, widening his eyes as a larger pool of blood—different from the stretched line—was seen. It was velvet, draining slowly from the creature's fleshy faucet, the one that he made.
It was limping, crawling across the ground with a whimper. His exhaustion was still prominent as he breathed in the environment's misty chill, feeling it bite at his lungs as if razor sharp crystalline ice was growing inside of them. Jugram's right arm habitually grasped at the arm of his left, watching the poor rabbit attempt to make its way away from him, the predator that had found its prey.
It felt... too familiar to him. So familiar that it hurt, the pain bringing him away from the environment that he was in. The words of a "relative" was heard clamoring in his brain, laced with a sweet tone, degrading in all of its undertones. He saw fingers grope in the empty air, with a sickening grin present on the figure's face, eyes turned up in crescent moons. Their breath stank, each word producing a rotted smell.
Those rancid hands strike, striking at his arm, a lash forming—blood dripping. His mind flickered back to the rabbit, watching it slowly bleed.
Slowly, Jugram made his way toward the rabbit with slow steps, hoisting his bow across his shoulders once more. He didn't feel the need to grab another arrow and rend its life asunder with the final blow, but something else had compelled him. Eventually, the smell of iron entered his nose, flowing into his lungs and mixing with the blood of his own body, a sense of pity—or perhaps understanding—coming to him.
The rabbit stopped moving, its ears still twitching. He sat down beside it, feeling the prickling sensation of the snow on his seated form, but it hadn't bothered him much any more. His hand traveled toward it slowly, before setting softly on its head, brushing tenderly. Jugram felt the silk-like sensation overcome his nerves, sending a euphoric serenity across his entire body. There, he sat, furthermore losing the track of time, stuck in the moment.
Compared to his home, Mother Nature looked its most beautiful today, even with its graying, wilted hair cascading off of the desolate trees—
"Hello?"
A voice.
Soft at first, threading through the cold like a whisper on the wind.
"Doctor?"
His breath hitched. The sound barely registered at first, buried beneath the weight of the past clawing at his mind. The rabbit was still beneath his hand, its faint warmth seeping into his palm.
"Doctor."
The voice was clearer now. Close, closer, familiar, yet farther away as if from a distant time.
The snow crunched behind him. Jugram's body stiffened as a shadow flickered in his periphery, a presence stepping into the permafrost of his thoughts.
A pause. Then—
"Oh, my apologies. You're not the Doctor."
The words reached him with an unusual gentleness, tugging him back to the present. A hand, pale and warm, settled lightly over his own, where it still rested on the rabbit's head. The contrast was felt. His fingers, numb from the cold, and hers, radiating something... human. Grounding.
Slowly, his gaze traced upward, following the pale fabric of an unpigmented dress, the delicate curve of a shoulder, the soft spill of hair. Pink.
His breath left him in a slow exhale, mist curling in the space between them. The woman before him was smiling, something tender in her expression.
"But that's okay," she murmured.
Her voice settled in his chest, elegantly threading through the haze as if it were by a seamstress.
"Can I receive your name?"