Second life
A quick Toshiro character piece that I whipped up a bit ago. Not exactly a one-shot or drabble, but nothing that will turn into a full story. Just a little something-something that came to mind and I needed to write it down. Been a while since I wrote anything Bleach-related. A loooooong while. AU, Toshiro-centric, just had to get it off my mind. I hope some of you like it.
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People never come up north, to do so would be facing the wrath of nature’s harsh, unforgiving cold. It would mean subjecting themselves to a difficult terrain of ice, mountains, and perpetual snowstorms. There was nothing of value up north, no settlements, excavation sites, or precious minerals to dig for. No one wanted to brave the ever-changing landscape, too fearful of losing themselves to a frigid sleep they would never wake up from.
In the same setting that most people described as nothing more than a frozen cemetery, there was still life. Toshiro only knew this vast, arctic wasteland as home. It was the place he had memories of most, and the place that he returned to whenever he left. A place he could not stray from for too long.
Despite the naysayers of the locals in the closest village to the hazardous northern mountains, Toshiro wasn’t anything special. He was not a witch, he was not some sort of god to collect yearly bounties. And he certainly was no madman. Perhaps the harsh weather had a small effect on his heart, and he did not show the emotions that were spontaneous to sprout when he did have human contact, but his unique situation did not start that way.
Like many others, his life was forfeit as soon as his parents had entered the storm one severe, January evening. Or at least, that is what Hyorinmaru tells him. “Some night in the first month of the year. The exact date eludes me.” Toshiro lets the detail fly away with surprising ease, the exact date unimportant. It was close enough to his own birthday that he would celebrate it together with his arrival here. Perhaps it was fate, that he was born to reside here. A romanticized and poetic notion, but the thought always amused him. He couldn’t say that he believed in such a thing called fate, but he was happy that it had happened regardless of circumstances; ridiculous as they may seem.
Driven into this forsaken territory that nations refused to claim, Toshiro never knew what their reason was, but it must have been extreme for his parents to take him with. What madness controlled them enough to risk it would forever remain a mystery to him. There should be anger there, in his heart, but his time with this place had shut out the heat it would cause in a normal human being.
But once again, Toshiro isn’t normal, and neither was his past. That night, he really did die. This bitter mountain range held no exceptions with a human child barely a year into its life. He does not remember any of what had transpired, only the results.
Hyorinmaru found him in his cave of frozen treasures, his den of collected things whether they used to be alive or not. Though his parents were long dead already, cradling Toshiro in a frozen casket made of their own bodies, Hyorinmaru was unmotivated to bother with trying to save them. Dragons could revive souls, but it was extremely taxing on them, and they more often than not decided against doing such things unless acceptable rewards were granted to them in exchange. When Hyorinmaru found Toshiro, he had just passed away, so freshly gone it couldn’t have been more than an hour. It was a quick and easy resurrection.
There was a consequence, though. When Toshiro came back into life, Hyorinmaru had imbued his element into Toshiro’s soul so he would survive the never-ending weather he was brought back into. His hair was drained of black, white forever bleeding out from his skull. Any time Toshiro traversed the storms outside his teal eyes would gloss over, as if there were nothing there but pupils. More so than the physical attributes he gained with his new life, he was also tied to certain death.
Toshiro’s literal lifeline was tied to these mountains. Were he to stray away from here for any time more than a month, the magicks binding his body to this world would fade completely, and he would die again. Permanently. Occasionally, Hyorinmaru took human form, clad them both in white leathers and fur, to visit the surrounding villages and landscapes, but never for longer than a week.
Hyorinmaru taught him much growing up; the ways of the world beyond the mountains, the sophistication of the magicks coursing through all living things, and the nature of all mystical beings. Hyorinmaru taught him the history of the world, knowledge the humans still lack, and Toshiro’s immense potential to learn without their restrictions. At first, he’d thought nothing of it. He had no memories of his parents, twenty-some-odd years later and all he can conjure from his memory are half-frozen images that Hyorinmaru graciously embedded in his mind. The dragon didn’t seem at all concerned with them considering they were in the past and should be forgotten. His blasé attitude towards them was confusing to him, almost like he hated humans. When confronted, the only reply was given with a shrug.
“I do not hate them. I believe it is pointless to dwell. I do not hate you, but I do expect from you.”
When Toshiro had asked what it was he was expected to give, Hyorinmaru just chuckled. “I do not know what it is that you will give me, but you will give me something. You will repay me for your second life. Perhaps not in this century or the next, but it will come. Worry not, you are still young. You still need guidance. Knowledge. I have great anticipation for when you mature. I can feel it.”
So within this palace of dragon ice, Toshiro grows, learns, and develop. He was still young, even by Human standards, but he was determined. He was determined to live up to Hyorinmaru’s expectations. With not a single clue of what he would think proper payment would be to a dragon giving him an icy second life, he won’t let it scare him off. He grew up with a dragon that would threaten to eat him, half the time meaning it as a joke and half the time a legitimate threat.
Hyorinmaru was everything to him. He was able breathe again, to experience life in this realm, all because of him. If Toshiro were to die again, it would be by Hyorinmaru’s hand. Until that time would come, Toshiro would stay in the mountains, his home, and away from the humans he was first born from.
His parents are buried, forever part of the timeless sea of preserved bodies, obscured in thick layers of heavily opaque ice. Toshiro would join them. Not now, not in the next century, possibly not in the next millennia. It’s a fitting place, no other will do. He promises it to Hyorinmaru, roars it to the very tops of the mountains, whispers it to the naturally beautiful formations in the ice on a rare clear day.
Hyorinmaru is stoic except for the upturned corners of his mouth.