The Soul Society
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Bodies strewn across the remnants of what used to be barracks, crumbling ruins and crackling flames. Devastation is all that could be seen within the Seireitei. That was the aftermath of an unexpected invasion. A suffering Seireitei survived, with luck as its only saviour. Fortune smiled on them that day as Valliosa retreated, leaving the Shinigami to bask in the limelight that shone on the glaring flaws of the Gotei 13. An opportunity to rebuild and to improve was presented, those exposed issues no longer hidden beneath the cover of comfort.
Present Day
Back and forth, to and fro, countless feet tread the streets of the Seireitei underneath a shifting sky. The moon sets, and the sun rises once more over a different Gotei 13, a revitalised and reinforced Seireitei. The constant patrols of Shinigami and other personnel is reminiscent of war time efforts, seeking to maintain constant vigilance and enforcing a tight net of security. Perhaps this version of the Gotei 13 might be capable of repelling such an attack, should it happen again? Or perhaps it is all another facade, a comfort brought forth by the increased activity without any real internal improvements. Regardless, for at least a few people, today was a day of revelry.
For a moment, it seemed as though the moon and sun had swapped, the skies briefly swarmed, littering the streets below with shadows. The fluttering descent of innumerable and identical things, slow but eventual. Those who are waking or already awake find themselves overcome with confusion and perhaps a brief shock of fear, then these objects land. Strewn across the Seireitei are leaflets, not just any pointless leaflets, invites!
Through some unknown means, Toru Tsunayashiro has coated the Seireitei with invites, for a dinner party of all things. There are those who would scoff at the invites, and others who would grow eager with excitement, perhaps they could go to a party? After all, these years of rebuilding and reformatting the Gotei 13 seemed rather dreary for the common masses. Toru was in the same boat, feeling that shadow of security weighing down upon his enjoyment of life.
So who will show up for a good time?
TEN DAYS LATER
Something Beckons From Below
Despite clear variances in the daily happenings of the Seireitei, nothing truly was as awe-striking as the emergence of the Quincy. Their addition into the fray removed a layer of comfort from the Soul Reapers, as there was a new alien threat to be concerned with. New customs to respect, new abilities to understand, and a power differential they could not yet truly comprehend. Though even with this new factor, that was hardly all that needed to be considered. The question would remain of what else lay out there, waiting in the shadows for a moment to strike. But what else could lie just outside of sight's reach?
The subtle scent of sulfur danced upon the wind as if in proximity to a hot spring. And yet, the enchanted laughter and unpleasant smell seemingly had no origin. Though it did. A cloaked figure trekked its way through the Reapers' compound, making stops in very specific locales. The First Division was just as its namesake suggested. That figure, undetected wholly by spiritual sensory abilities, graced their offices with its presence. It drew one of two blades on its hip and raised it to the air, a glint striking the steel as he did—though that flicker warped in color to a vibrant violet. A brief spark of spiritual power emanated, but just as quickly dropped.
It was then that the figure dispersed, leaving where they were in unyielding silence. This process repeated again and again throughout the Seireitei. It did not occur in every region, but instead may seem like a random display of spiritual energy—something that could be considered nothing more than Shinigami training or utilizing a simple spell. Yet peculiarly enough, certain souls may be more equipped to realize something odd about this occurrence. For the spiritual energy born from the purple flash was not all that powerful, but what came afterwards may draw more of an innate concern.
For a select few, in that peculiar minuscule presence, they could feel their own hearts respond—their own presence echoing within all but momentarily to the call of something otherwise dismissible. As if that delicate glimmer tugged on something within, but without an apparent result. Those that were affected by the blade's phantom glow would soon come to find... what was once theirs, no longer was.
A final whisper onto deaf ears was cast, and with that last word, the intruder was gone. Not a soul was struck, no wells poisoned, not a leaf was out of place. And yet...