"What is power without purpose? A mere shadow of what it could be." — Itachi Uchiha.
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This was the third time he was having a pointless dream — as he called it — and while a third time in an equally unnerving fashion was something that he would have called to bare, he didn't bother thinking too much on it.
He remembered it, because he couldn't forget, not something like that, but that was all he did to it. He didn't go chasing after ghosts or the makings of one, nor did he open his mind up for interpretations that weren't there.
He remembered. Because that was all the dreams were worth: a memory worth remembering.
If something came of it then it would show itself in time, but until then, nothing happened and Itachi kept it so.
He refused to blind himself to paranoia, but also to never subject himself to ignorance. The fine line between the two, that was the piece of sanity he kept.
Dreams meant a lot of things to souls as they were mostly able to tell if it was foreboding and if there was something deeper to it.
Itachi's dream was as dreary and foreboding as it could be: walls of red that pooled wide underneath. Windows that only ever showed a reflection that he wasn't sure was his. Winding paths that led to nowhere and reduced everything to a single point.
He could assign a thousand meanings to the dream and it wouldn't change the fact that the culmination of the dream was futility. Itachi gave no heed to futility.
There was nothing to give to it.
He knew truths, half-truths and plain lies. He never once understood futility.
He knew it. He could wield it. He could invoke it in others, but he couldn't truly say he understood it if he never once truly accepted it.
It was hypocrisy but he was still just a man.
So no, he put no stock in dreams of blood and futility.
.....
He looked up from the scribbles of his quill as two shadows flittered into his office.
"You're back." He acknowledged even as his eyes went back to the words he was writing.
It was a subtle thing, one most would look past, but to the two in the room with Itachi, they could tell the type of mood he was in based on how peaceful his breath came out.
It was something as simple as that. Or by the way he wrote. Or maybe the air he radiated.
It was a habit of Itachi to speak with people with more than just words. Sadly, not all could understand.
With his go ahead, the Snake and the Tengu took turns in reporting all that went on in their time in the World of the Living. First was the facts of their mission, and then came their personal speculations and interpretations of what happened around them.
Both interjected their own views and words as the other spoke, painting a clearer picture to Itachi who listened attentively even as the quill in his hand danced.
Despite them already sending back routine reports, they still spoke of the Hollows' actions from the day of their arrival till the day they left, of the actions of the Shinigami who arrived to clear them out and then of the Quincy who constantly put himself in the crosshairs of the Hollows and dispatched them for good.
Minutes passed after they finished their reports but neither said anything from where they were rooted in their original position and all that sounded in the room was the faint scraping sound of metal on paper.
There was the faintest spark of Reiatsu as Itachi signed whatever he had written and rolled it into a scroll. He set it aside among a few neatly rolled up scrolls on his desk and then looked at the two before nodding.
"Dismissed."
Both shadows blurred away and the lighting in the room went up a few notches in intensity.
His conversation with Kisuke came to mind as he started writing on another paper. Mayuri Kurotsuchi needed to be curbed and put on a leash, or permanently removed, and it was Kisuke's responsibility to pick which option he preferred. Itachi simply reminded him that Mayuri was his responsibility in the first place.
Greater good, greater evil, and the necessity for a balance: Mayuri Kurotsuchi had been a necessary evil due to his intelligence, something Itachi understood keenly.
But letting a necessary evil fester into a cancerous one was not something he would allow. At that point it would be nothing but an incurable parasite.
And he made sure to remind Kisuke Urahara that his flippant disregard would not be overlooked if this cancer was to grow. Alas, the man had a keen mind of his own, and as such he knew the difference between necessity and importance and knew what was to be done.
And with that Itachi would wait until something was to be done.
In a rare fashion, Itachi was almost excited. It wasn't about anything in particular but he could feel himself breathing easier day after day. There was no special reason for this except for the fact that he was starting to look forward with budding anticipation of what the future might hold.
There was a new type of enthusiasm in his steps and his actions, and while most times overlooked by none other than himself, he wouldn't deny it.
Yoruichi made sure he knew what it was and the proud grin on her face in a way made it all the more important that he was standing firmly on a good path. A great path.
And so with a graceful step each new day, Itachi Uchiha continued on ever so forward.
….....
Itachi looked as Kusaka and Tōshirō clashed against each other, cold Reiatsu splashing out from the point of contact and freezing everything around it.
Everything around them had been reduced to a frozen wasteland of ice and dreaded cold.
The air around them was heavy and laden with so much cold that it threatened to freeze the lungs.
A glance was all it took to notice that what they were both wielding was a tangible construct of power that neither was aware of. The Zanpakutō, Hyōrinmaru, was unlike anything Itachi had seen.
It was already a fully realized Zanpakutō spirit and the only thing holding it back from bringing its power to bear were the Shinigami wielding it.
If he were to liken it on pure power alone, the only comparisons he could draw on were Head Captain Yamamoto and Kenpachi Zaraki. It was basically a tap of purified and unfiltered power… and yet they held it like any other sword.
Unfortunately for Hyōrinmaru, it would have to wait a while for either of the boys to be capable of bringing out a prideful portion of its power.
From what he could tell, had the boys been grown and had the experience, or had the level of synchronicity with their Zanpakutō, they could unleash their Bankai in this very moment.
They were in the same boat as he was decades ago but unlike him they would have an easier time getting it. A way easier time if he could do anything about it.
He watched, silent and still as the snow pooled beneath his feet, as the boys lost themselves in battle. Relishing in a power they couldn't believe they could draw on.
It was more so for Kusaka than it was for Tōshirō. And with that little tidbit came suspicion.
Itachi kept it away for now. Now he contents himself with watching.
They couldn't do this in the Academy, too many watchful eyes, and they couldn't do this outside as well as most Shinigami would sense the discrepancy that was two Hyōrinmarus.
As their fight went on it started with the little tells. Kusaka was at ease with his Zanpakutō just as Tōshirō was, but Itachi saw more than that.
Tōshirō was a more natural wielder of the Zanpakutō than Kusaka was, not because of skill or intimacy with his weapon but because of how the distinction was blurred in him.
In a way, he resembled Itachi in the fact that he was more Hyōrinmaru and less Tōshirō Hitsugaya.
From what the child had told Itachi, he was used to seeing his Zanpakutō spirit in his dreams before he became a Shinigami. Even in his earlier days as a student, Itachi had helped him gain better control of the cold Reiatsu that he exuded.
"Don't just swing your sword to attack, fill it with intent. It is a physical extension of your soul, wield it as such."
His voice travelled through the disturbance of their battle and into the ears of the two combatants with the same clarity they've always known it for.
They paused and adjusted their stances, out their breaths in a rhythm, and then rushed at each other again with the fury of ice and tempered steel.
They still didn't get it, but they would. It'd take a little bit of time for them to understand, and until then Itachi would be as he were. Watching.
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