The next night, the dream returned.
I didn't wake with a start this time. I had almost begun to anticipate the rhythm, the pull of that moonlit shrine. The garden stretched endlessly beneath the silver light, the stone paths glinting faintly, wet with dew that didn't exist in the real world. The shrine loomed ahead, more imposing than I remembered, its torii gate carved with intricate serpentine patterns. The air was heavy and silent, as if the night itself were holding its breath.
And there it was. The katana. Sheathed. Waiting.
I stepped forward, my bare feet brushing the dew-laden stones, each footfall ringing in the quiet garden like a drumbeat. The snake was coiled around the hilt as always, pale as moonlight, eyes fixed on me. But tonight it felt… different. It uncoiled slightly, lifting its head with a fluid elegance, the scales catching the silver glow as if it were made of starlight itself.
"Come closer," it whispered, though its mouth didn't move. The sound reverberated directly in my mind, a sibilant hiss that curled around my thoughts.
I froze. Normally, I was calm, detached, untouchable by the strange things that flickered in the edges of my vision. But now, this voice felt urgent. There was a pulse behind it, a heartbeat that thrummed through the ground and through me, quickening with every passing second.
I hesitated. The last time I had almost grasped the hilt, I'd woken before touching it. And every instinct in me told me the same thing: don't. But the pull was stronger than ever. The tension in the air was almost tactile. My hands itched, as if the sword itself were calling them, humming faintly beneath the scabbard.
The snake's eyes glowed. A flicker of movement, a coil around the blade, and suddenly it spoke again—this time not a whisper, but a voice that carried a resonance I could feel in my chest.
"You will take me one day. The path waits, but you hesitate. Fear is the first step."
I swallowed hard. The voice, though intangible, had weight. It wasn't just sound; it was intent. It didn't feel threatening—yet. It was patient, deliberate, observing. It was testing me.
I took another step forward, the stone beneath my feet cold and unyielding. The snake's head followed, watching every inch I moved. My heart hammered. My fingers hovered just above the hilt, and I felt the faint vibration of energy — a pulse running from the scabbard into my palms, though I had yet to touch it.
"Why me?" I whispered aloud. My voice sounded small against the vastness of the garden, swallowed by the silence. "I'm not… special. I'm not a Soul Reaper. I don't—"
"Special?" the snake interrupted. Its voice slid into my thoughts like silk over stone. "Special is irrelevant. I choose whom I awaken with. And you, Reiji Kuroda, are the one who can see."
I froze. The name. Not in the dream, not in my mind… yet it had spoken it with certainty. How could it know? I had never told anyone—not even my mother—about the dreams, about the sword, about the snake.
"You see what others cannot. You observe. You understand without interference. That is why I come to you."
I blinked, the hair on my arms standing on end. The garden, the shrine, the moonlight—it all felt impossibly real. The snake slithered lower, coiling around the pedestal now, the tip of its tail brushing the stone with a delicate, deliberate rhythm.
"Do you want to touch me?" it asked. The words weren't exactly a question. They were more like a challenge, a lure.
I hesitated. My instincts screamed, but another part of me—the part that had felt that pull every night—answered silently: yes. Not just yes, but I have to.
And then, as if to demonstrate, the sword shifted slightly. The scabbard glimmered, the lacquer catching moonlight like liquid silver. The vibration beneath my fingers intensified. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable.
My chest tightened. I could feel the garden around me bending slightly, the shadows deepening, the moonlight sharpening to a silver edge. I wasn't dreaming the way I thought I was. This wasn't imagination. This was… something else. Something alive.
"You do not understand yet," the snake said, its tone softer now, almost coaxing. "I am not yours to wield freely. You will be tested, as all who choose the path are. But know this—every step you refuse now, every hesitation, will shape the power you will claim later. And the world beyond this garden… it waits."
The last words caused a shiver to run down my spine. The world beyond? I had glimpsed fragments already—Hollows, Soul Reapers, and shadows at the edges of reality—but to hear it acknowledged here, in this sacred, silent place… it was disorienting.
I stepped back instinctively. "I… I don't know if I'm ready," I whispered, almost ashamed of my fear.
The snake tilted its head, eyes unblinking. "Ready is irrelevant. Only the step matters. You will come to me. All in due time."
Then, as if the air itself had exhaled, the snake dissolved into silver mist. The shrine, the torii, the garden—all of it began to fade, the edges blurring, stretching into nothing. My feet felt weightless, the stone coldness evaporating into nothingness.
And I woke.
The real world hit me instantly. My room was dimly lit by the moon outside my window, the faint hum of the city below. My heart pounded, my palms sweaty. The words of the snake lingered in my mind, echoing with clarity.
"You will come to me. All in due time."
I pressed my forehead to my knees, sitting cross-legged on the floor. I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or cry. My mother's voice, still faint from the kitchen, drifted through the house, grounding me like a tether.
"Reiji, are you okay?"
"Yeah," I called softly, forcing a calmness I didn't feel. "Just… tired."
But I wasn't just tired. I was restless. The dream had shifted. It wasn't just a phantom of my mind anymore. It was alive, patient, and insistent. And I had felt it—truly felt it.
Outside, the wind stirred the trees. A flicker of shadow danced across the walls of my room, and I froze. Not a Hollow—not exactly. Something in the corner of my vision moved too deliberately, too… aware.
I blinked. Nothing.
The next day at school, I found myself restless, scanning every shadow, listening for movement in the stillness. Ichigo, Chad, Orihime, Uryū—they all seemed oblivious to the tension in the air. And maybe that was for the best. I didn't need them to see this. Not yet.
But the pull lingered. Every step I took through the hallways, every glance out the window, every fragment of shadow I noticed—it all reminded me of the shrine, the snake, the blade. I didn't understand why it had chosen me. I didn't understand what it wanted.
All I knew was that I would return.
And when I did, I had a feeling the snake would be waiting.
Not just waiting, but watching.
And perhaps, judging.