Commanding Power, Confronting Fear [Solo | Bankai Training]

Tell me…

The lion’s voice, his voice, roared. Claws unsheathed, the lion lunged—a blur of fur and teeth. A gasp was swallowed by the dark world as this predator closed the gap. The impact was bone-jarring, a collision of primal forces as limbs flew. The lion’s jaws clamped down, and life hung in the balance.

TELL me

In that desperate struggle, the darkness itself seemed to pulse—a heartbeat of malevolence. The lion’s eyes bore into the Tento’s soul, and for a fleeting moment, something was felt. Pride and joy. Sadness and ultimatum. Hope and determination, a raw brutality of existence. Survival of a warrior and duty. Path of mettle tested with was a brutal dance, and the lion was the conductor, orchestrating fate.

TELL ME

With a final, savage twist, the lion claimed its prize. Blood stained the ground in droplets. Tento laid on one knee and the storm continued to swallow the echoes of the struggle. The darkness resumed its dominion, leaving behind only the memory of a lion—a creature both beautiful and merciless. Only the quaking wind raging showered around as its witness.

Tento grunted, the feeling of teeth sinking into flesh and bone still fresh. The pain was searing, white-hot, a symphony of agony that drowned out the need for any other thought in the mind. In a strange way it felt like Tento’s world had grown calmer due to it. No scream echoed out from his lips across his inner world. The plain and grass painted red, and the lion held fast, his breath hot against skin.

“I….I…”, he fought back, instinct taking over. His voice growing with each utterance. His teeth gritted, with his free hand, he clawed at his eyes, feeling the softness of his fur yield to his desperation. Determination and will was only a wall to the lion though. A relentless, a force of nature fueled by honor and dignity. Blood sprayed across the grass once again, mingling with the dust. Finally, with a sharp punch to the nose Tento managed to become released as he slid backward on his knee. Arm a mangled mess. The world swirled—a canvas of reds and yellows—until darkness threatening to claim his stability.

But he was an awake, and his eyes were sharp. “I never did. Never have”, summoning every ounce of willpower, he staggered to his feet. The lion watched its master, wounded. But content and in that moment. The echoes of the crashing wind softened ever so softly. “AND I NEVER WILL, SHIOMARU”. Another voice was speaking out, a call and response to Tento's war cry. And the scry of a bird became nothing.

Defiance burned in his eyes—a stubborn flame that refused to be extinguished. Only matched by the bond and love he felt for his zanpakuto. He clenched his fists, managing to grasp the damaged arm’s use. Grass tickled his skin like a soft feather, and the spiritual world that was his held him a gentle nest as wind began to kiss his sun touched skin. Right now, they were being cruel and hard on him. But he would not stay down. He would not run away from parts of himself. Not now. Not ever.

With a grunt, he pushed himself up, muscles trembling. Dirt mixed with blood, sweat ran down his face, but he didn’t wipe it away. Instead, he focused on the pain—the raw, pulsing ache that threatened to consume him. It fueled his determination. He staggered to his feet, swaying like a wounded animal. Cornered. The wind may have had him closed in, but he was not trapped. He would not be limited nor confined. A strike of light split the sky in his world and came down to his caress, the whirlwind around him illuminating his silhouette—a figure growing battered but unyielding. His torn clothes clung to his skin, a second skin of resilience. The world blurred as he took a step forward, shaking vision before it became true. Deeper than the fog he could sense as he walked before and looked at his inner world. His legs, light.

He straightened his spine, drawing on reserves he didn’t know he possessed. The sweat sticking to his body, the pain becoming faint. A kiss in all true meaning from Shiomaru, not an attack. He took another step, then another, until he stood at the lion’s mouth. This pain was from his zanpakuto. No. Theirs. Rising through challenges high in the sky. Their pain would be their strength, weakness a memory and lesson.

Eyes squinted at him as if sizing him up, a change was sensed. An awakening. But his own were calm and heavy as they gazed at the lion. Seeking what was there and was not. Feeling more than what was shown and allowed. The onslaught was naught. He had pressed forward, each step he took was filled with defiance and determination. A battle cry against nature’s wrath and challenge. And then, the heart of the storm revealed itself—a vortex of malevolence. It spun above them, a black hole in the sky expanding, swallowing stars and sanity alike. Its hunger was insatiable, craving chaos, demanding his all.

And since when did you rely so much on other tools? Why did you think you did not have us with you at all times?

Tento stood firm as the hawk’s question calmed clear finally, his right hand swinging out to his side. Challenging the tempest. Lightning crackled, illuminating their silhouette—a silhouette etched with defiance. Thunder roared, drowning out doubt, drowning out fear.In that moment, they were more than flesh and bone. More than spirit. They were the embodiment of power, of duty, of all the storms that had ever raged within the human soul that held sorrow and a quest for purpose at the center. The tempest howled, but he matched it, syllable for syllable, fury for fury.

And then, inexplicably, the wind softened. The vortex wavered, hesitated. Was it awe or fear that stayed its wrath? They reached into the heart of the storm, fingers brushing against chaos itself. The wind may have threatened to kill but to him, now, it was a loving embrace. And there, in that fragile space between tempest and tranquility, they found solace. The wind whispered secrets no more; it sang lullabies of forgotten hope. The storm, once their adversary, now cradled Tento like an unlikely embrace.

For a moment, they were weightless, suspended between worlds. And as the tempest subsided with a motion of his hand, leaving only a gentle breeze, the lion smiled—a smile that held the echoes of thunder and the promise of calm. And the visage of the hawk’s smirk waiting on the other side. In the aftermath, Tentostood—wind-kissed, storm-battered, and utterly alive; reborn. The plain stretched before, transformed carrying the tempest’s legacy within their bones.

“Because I was blinded but now I can see. I was not complete until now, my friends”.

In the heart of the ancient forest, free and calm. Sunlight pierced the once clouded and dense sky. In his moonless world, with calmed wind and the one foggy silken shroud. Tento stood before his two in one zanpakuto spirits. A calm satisfaction on their faces, a quick glance exchange between the two as if an inner joke was communicated. The air hummed with anticipation, and the silence was so profound that even her breath seemed sacrilegious. As much joy Tento wanted to let be show, the aura here still felt… momentous.

And then… he heard it. A voice, a single voice. A blend of feminine amusement and masculine dignity. Not a mere sound, but a vibration that resonated through his bones and soul. It was neither masculine nor feminine by itself, but something primal, beyond gender. Beyond individuality. It seemed to emerge from the very roots of the ancient oaks, carried by the sap itself.

Tento, they murmured, syllables like dewdrops falling on moss carried by wind. Why do you seek this power? What drives you into this realm where time weaves backward and forward, where memories curl like fern fronds? And death of the spirit is a waiting crack in a step with wind at your back?

Tento’s heart pounded. He had known why, he thought of it long and hard since that day. He had come to seek the power to be a protector. He had come seeking answers, the truth within himself that would turn the page in the tale of who he was. Was he a smart man who played the role of a goofball to shield his heart from the growing aches of death? Was he a murder that enjoyed the thrill of battle hiding behind the mask of a warrior following duty and honor? Or was he still that sick man on that deathbed, unfilled and hungry for more. More love, more time, more memories. Clinging to this spot of land he was placed in wanting to protect an illusion of home he had created. Or…
Answers. The truth behind him on his shoulders. A piece of who he was who he was now.

“I have come…I seek knowledge,” he replied, his voice calm and respectable. “The truth that lies hidden within, the threads that bind us together. And the power I need to protect the worlds.”

The voice chuckled, a rustling of leaves, a distant breeze. Knowledge is both boon and bane, Tento. It can illuminate the darkest corners or plunge you into abyssal despair. Are you prepared for what you might uncover? We are about to get serious after all.

Tento hesitated. Not out of fear but in respect. To let time pass, the shadow stood behind him like a painted background. Not a single waver in his frame nor in the reflection within his world echoing his certainty. “I am,” he whispered. “I must break through this wall, I must grow”, he said louder, stern.
.
Ah, good, the voice mused in a predicted happiness, as if this was already known. Then grab ahold of us. Unravel us from this tapestry woven by choices long past. Forget the cloud you have placed yourself. And stand, young master. The voice swirled around him, tendrils of currents curling at his ankles. Listen, they said, to the wind’s lament, the river’s memory. Seek the grassy home, the feather that dances on moonbeams towards a future light. When the night is thickest, when your heart echoes with longing, step through the hollow oak, and call out our name.

Tento nodded, his resolve hardening. He stood at his center, his lion on his right and his hawk on his left nested on the lion’s shoulder. Feet planted firmly on dew-kissed, wind cut grass. His eyes closed, mind attuned to the spiritual currents. He envisioned the sword, felt it, the blade that would materialize from nothingness. No, come out from self-forced hiding. Its hilt adorned with oval metal shaped stars. Its leather a soft light brown cloth pulsed against his palm. The soft whispers of a chain of fur jingled in his ear as the air thickened, charged with anticipation yet tranquility. With a flourish, Tento extended his arm. Fingers splayed, pulling, tracing out an invisible void of nonexistence. A bridge, connected to himself and his word as the sword responded. Its essence stirring, drawn by the call of its master. The air shimmered. And then it emerged. Its cool touch a comfort to its master, his heart and mind synched with the sword’s pulse. He stepped forward, hand outstretched. The hilt met their grip, cool and alive. The blade hummed, recognizing its master. Before snapping into its Shikai without a word. His eyes opened, reflecting his spirits gaze. They bended and bent as their forms seemed to breakdown, whispering out the blade’s name. With a flick the chain was outstretched, wrapping around the two tying as if threads of fate before mixing into one.

“Once I get out of here, Shiomaru, what will await me beyond?”. Tento voiced asked in a tranquil whisper. Floating through the air, weaved by delicate threads of serenity. It danced upon the breeze, a gentle murmur that cradled his soul. Each syllable, a soft embrace.

More challenges, the voice promised. And perhaps peace.

Tento closed his thoughts further, letting his mind focus. As the night approached, a closed eyed ebony Shinigami sat crossed legged blade in hand. The strands of his inner world faded away in a white bright light. A twist of wind shook his senses as his focus was brought back to reality at hand. The voice followed him out, whispering kindness. And the ebony Shinigami sighed, a thousand leaves rustled around in approval. His blade hummed and a soft wave of wind flowed around it coated like a light mist, slowly growing in the spiritual world of the Soul Society. His blade broke down before the sound of footsteps echoed across the training grounds behind him.

“I can finally bring you two out for a stroll”, Tento’s voice rang out softly. A gentle silence resumed after he spoke, waiting for his half to come out. A growing puff of wind came as feet settled, unraveling the air like threads.