Las Noches
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♪ Awakening in a New Era ♪
An unseen weight had long since pressed down on the shoulders of the mask-clad souls within this portion of the Forest. It was a state so subtle, yet so constant, that it had become second nature to many. This enveloping hand of a century originated from something old—perhaps forgotten by time. Those compelled to push toward the epicenter often did not find answers; instead, they were met with their end.
However, that enigmatic force did not last a moment longer than those aforementioned hundred cycles. The centennial burden lifted in tandem with a grasping hand breaching the surface of a lake of blackened solution. It rose like a clawing limb seeking to unearth itself from an untimely grave. It grasped at the surface for a moment before levering the rest of its figure from the obsidian mass.
Emerging from the surface was the figure of a man, unsullied by the pool that had housed him. As he gained his footing, he stood upon the black pool as if it were solid ground. He reached out a hand before him, honing his fragmented gaze on the proximate appendage. The world slowly came into focus, the sounds of distant howls filling the space. The awoken Arrancar took an elongated breath, drawing in the perpetually chilled air for a moment before casting it back outward. It all felt the same as he remembered, but was that indicative of another unchanged era? A first glance would not bring forth any answers.
Cayo slowly walked across the stagnant lake; with each stride, the influence he abandoned led the liquid to calcify, gradually turning grey with every step. Just before he laid a foot upon Hueco Mundo's sands, another figure shot up from the fluid and was promptly grasped by Cayo. It was the other portion of his soul, the extension of his strength: Pereza, his Zanpakuto.
Weapon in hand, he trekked onward on a lone mission to see what had changed and what hadn't, though his hopes were certainly not high. The events leading to his slumber were born from the cinders of ambition. He was once stricken with the need for power—a path paved in blood and bone—but he had grown tired of that trend. He had watched as friends fell to the stronger, as enemies were felled by his own hands, and as nothing ever changed. While the other realms progressed, Hueco Mundo remained the same.
It was unlikely that much had changed in the underbelly of the realm, but maybe—just maybe—something had changed upon the surface. Mile after mile he walked, working his way from the treeline to the sandy fields above. All the while, he dwelled on the thoughts that clung to his mind: every dream of a different future, and every struggle that could be tamed without facing a solution forged of simple instinct. It was idealistic for this world. For some outside, it would be a commonality, a shared virtue; but Hueco Mundo was a hell of its own. For those who seek strength and dominion, it is a paradise. But for those who have lost that spark, it is nothing but a chilling wasteland.
And what symbol existed to display both the pursuit of power and the cycle that viciously whipped up the sands?
An unseen weight had long since pressed down on the shoulders of the mask-clad souls within this portion of the Forest. It was a state so subtle, yet so constant, that it had become second nature to many. This enveloping hand of a century originated from something old—perhaps forgotten by time. Those compelled to push toward the epicenter often did not find answers; instead, they were met with their end.
However, that enigmatic force did not last a moment longer than those aforementioned hundred cycles. The centennial burden lifted in tandem with a grasping hand breaching the surface of a lake of blackened solution. It rose like a clawing limb seeking to unearth itself from an untimely grave. It grasped at the surface for a moment before levering the rest of its figure from the obsidian mass.
Emerging from the surface was the figure of a man, unsullied by the pool that had housed him. As he gained his footing, he stood upon the black pool as if it were solid ground. He reached out a hand before him, honing his fragmented gaze on the proximate appendage. The world slowly came into focus, the sounds of distant howls filling the space. The awoken Arrancar took an elongated breath, drawing in the perpetually chilled air for a moment before casting it back outward. It all felt the same as he remembered, but was that indicative of another unchanged era? A first glance would not bring forth any answers.
Cayo slowly walked across the stagnant lake; with each stride, the influence he abandoned led the liquid to calcify, gradually turning grey with every step. Just before he laid a foot upon Hueco Mundo's sands, another figure shot up from the fluid and was promptly grasped by Cayo. It was the other portion of his soul, the extension of his strength: Pereza, his Zanpakuto.
Weapon in hand, he trekked onward on a lone mission to see what had changed and what hadn't, though his hopes were certainly not high. The events leading to his slumber were born from the cinders of ambition. He was once stricken with the need for power—a path paved in blood and bone—but he had grown tired of that trend. He had watched as friends fell to the stronger, as enemies were felled by his own hands, and as nothing ever changed. While the other realms progressed, Hueco Mundo remained the same.
It was unlikely that much had changed in the underbelly of the realm, but maybe—just maybe—something had changed upon the surface. Mile after mile he walked, working his way from the treeline to the sandy fields above. All the while, he dwelled on the thoughts that clung to his mind: every dream of a different future, and every struggle that could be tamed without facing a solution forged of simple instinct. It was idealistic for this world. For some outside, it would be a commonality, a shared virtue; but Hueco Mundo was a hell of its own. For those who seek strength and dominion, it is a paradise. But for those who have lost that spark, it is nothing but a chilling wasteland.
And what symbol existed to display both the pursuit of power and the cycle that viciously whipped up the sands?
Las Noches
The Seat of Stillness
♪ Ad Infinitum ♪
The travel would bestow answers without even needing to enter the hallowed halls of Las Noches for it... was in shambles. Unbeknownst to Cayo, an invasion was waged upon the palace a decade prior, coinciding with an invasion of their own. What remained was rubble. The formerly pristine dome had ruptured inward, the looming towers crumbled into cairns, and its fortress walls were reduced to nothing more than windows.
All the awakened Arrancar could do was stare in awe. He imagined the possibility of everyone fighting each other into oblivion, but was this truly a result of that? Or was there something more at play? An attack from the Shinigami? No, even they knew the imbalance something like this could throw into motion.
His lips parted to cast words to the wind.
The only phrase he could muster to trace phantom ears.
Cayo took a few more moments to take it all in. It was as if he could see the passage of time—from a time where it never existed, to a time when the walls were first erected, unto this moment of upheaval. There was a potentiality that he'd find answers inside, so he had to investigate. He pressed onward.
His path there went unimpeded, to his surprise. Not a soul was in sight for a period of time, until he broke beyond one of the ravaged walls and into the interior. The whistle of wind breached further beyond him and into the perforated corridor—a howl unlike the one that welcomed his awakening. It was not the primal wail of Hollows, but a grim reminder of the state the castle lay in. The solemn hymn of the dancing gales remained his only company for some time. That was until...
Cayo took a few more moments to take it all in. It was as if he could see the passage of time—from a time where it never existed, to a time when the walls were first erected, unto this moment of upheaval. There was a potentiality that he'd find answers inside, so he had to investigate. He pressed onward.
His path there went unimpeded, to his surprise. Not a soul was in sight for a period of time, until he broke beyond one of the ravaged walls and into the interior. The whistle of wind breached further beyond him and into the perforated corridor—a howl unlike the one that welcomed his awakening. It was not the primal wail of Hollows, but a grim reminder of the state the castle lay in. The solemn hymn of the dancing gales remained his only company for some time. That was until...
A yell broke the lonely tune of the broken kingdom. An announcement that came with a strike from behind—a solemn swing of a blade. Though it never met skin, it instead met steel. Before the would-be assailant could even process it, they were parried and sent flying into a nearby wall. While the deflection was not immensely powerful, the attacker's collision dislodged already fragmented stone upon themselves. There was no time for them to even gather themselves. Cayo reached into the rubble and snatched them up by the throat, lifting them off the ground.
The squirming Hollow struggled for a moment and then, as if a light switch had been flicked, conceded defeat, falling limp and choosing to simply speak.
It was then that Cayo's expression shifted into full-on confusion. That bewilderment was almost eclipsed in that moment by a replacement: annoyance.
A pause ensued.
Cayo let out a heavy sigh, opting to release the Arrancar from his grasp. They dusted themselves off the moment they were liberated.
Despite that being a heavy possibility already in Cayo's mind, hearing it aloud still struck something within him.
Some time passed after that. The possessive Arrancar led Cayo back to their camp—a solitary little setup hidden behind a pile of rubble. The makeshift cave had no ceiling; the empty moonlight illuminated the space ever so gently. At the center of their home was a campfire, a bed of sorts, and a whole lot of random junk and items piled around the space. They took the time to bring flame to their hearth, scattering light and shadow across the campsite. As the two sat, the hoarding soul updated Cayo on recent events. There were mentions of the mobilization of their forces, talk of an invasion aimed at the Shinigami's own home, and an untimely return just while they were on the cusp of victory.
Cayo raised a brow at the vague choice of words.
None of this was familiar, nor did any of the narrative that built up to this add any clarity. These people, they just... appeared from nowhere and struck. The distinction of 'Quincy' also bore no weight; it was not something that he knew about.
A silence fell upon the conversation for a bit. Cayo was in a state of processing what was spoken, trying to make sense of the boogeymen that appeared from nowhere, while the other Arrancar seemed to just get lost in the memory—the fear of the moment. That was until the quiet was broken.
Cayo gave a soundless nod to Rom. The two continued to converse for a while. Nothing of substance was really expanded on regarding the day Las Noches was attacked; it all still hung as a bleak mystery. Though he tried to piece together the lost time through it all, overall the exchange was pleasant... something rare in this world. The conversation went on for what seemed like days, though it was likely only a few odd hours. The back-and-forth eventually rounded back to Cayo's primary intention in the moment: answers.
Rom looked deep in thought for a moment and then he presented a name.
Estarossa. A familiar name, yet also still alien. Cayo couldn't help but wonder why that name resonated within him. Certainly if they were friends or even enemies, it wouldn't be that hard to dig up. He scrounged through his memory for a moment, only to give up on it a moment later. Regardless of who they were, he now had a northern star—a potential answer and maybe even signs of moving wheels in the direction of his own aspiration.
And so he learned.