Erich stood just outside the door and stared at the slowly lightening sky, hands clasped behind his back and bag resting at his feet. In the house behind him, Ren and Mami were shuffling through their morning routine, signatures soft with the edges of sleep. He needed to leave—

(The sooner he left, the sooner he could return.)

—but he wasn't going to do that to them. Not again.

(He could wait until they were awake and ready to say goodbye.)

"For you," Mami murmured, stepping out the door and coming to stand at his side, offering up a drawstring bag. When he took it and opened it enough to peer inside, Mami continued, "I want you to promise me that you'll try to eat more than you have been."

The bag was full of journey food, more than enough to see him fed for a week. And if he continued his habit of hunting in the wild spaces between villages and trading for food while in villages, her gift would last even longer and allow him to rebuild some of his reserves.

Erich closed the bag without a word and knelt to tuck it into his own bag. She waited patiently, presence soft and warm and so unbearably kind that he ended up fidgeting with his supplies, at a loss for words.

(He'd known how to answer kindness once. Know how to accept it, too.)

(Decades alone had made him unforgivably rusty and rude.)

Ren emerged from the house and Erich stood to nod at them. They arched an eyebrow and looked between Mami and Erich in consideration. "Everything all right?" they asked.

"Yes," Erich answered, clasping his hands behind his back once more to keep them steady.

"Rerugen-san's just promising to take better care of himself," Mami added with a tiny smile.

Erich inclined his head and didn't bother protesting. He needed to be in better shape if he wanted to protect them, so it only made sense to do his best to improve his body and bring his reserves closer to full. There was no reason to continue to operate on the edge of survival, not when he was skilled enough to hide his signature even will full reserves.

(Not if he wanted to be useful to Ren and Mami.)

"Thank you," Ren said, then offered him the folded cloth they had in their hands. "Here. For you to remember us by and to encourage you to return."

Erich accepted the cloth and let it unfold, revealing a thigh length, patchwork haori. He draped the haori over one arm and ran his fingers over the neat stitches joining the patches and the intricate embroidery covering most of it. Traces of both Ren's and Mami's spiritual presence permeated the fabrics; the haori had clearly been made of well-worn and well-loved clothing, to carry traces of both of them. "Ren-san… this is…"

"You're part of our family," Ren told him, crossing their arms over their chest and fixing him with a look. "And you have no heavier clothing in that bag of yours. Take it. The nights are going to start getting colder before you return to us and I would prefer to know you have at least something to protect you."

Arguing was pointless, Erich realized with a start. Ren had made up their mind and so had Mami. He'd just be wasting his breath if he attempted to sway either of them.

"Thank you," he murmured, folding the gift up and kneeling to tuck it away in his bag atop his other clothing. "I should… get moving." Erich cast a glance at the lightening horizon and reluctantly rose to his feet, bag in hand.

"Be safe, Rerugen-san," Mami told him, tone sad. "We will miss you."

Ren nodded sharply. "You will always be welcome in our home," they said, "No matter how long it's been."

"I will keep that in mind." Not that he had any intention of staying away longer than he'd promised. He would need to continue to gather intelligence even beyond this trip, but… what he planned should be enough to start. And if it turned out that the Reapers had as little interest or care for the souls right outside their gates as he was beginning to suspect, then he just needed to be careful not to reveal himself as a Quincy.

(All those decades of fear, of moving without pause. Had he wasted his time?)

(No. No, he refused to believe that. He'd made mistakes in those early years. Revealed his nature and fumbled his skills. Moving had likely kept him alive long enough to find this potential home.)

(Reapers never looked kindly upon Quincy.)

With a final glance at Ren and Mami, he slung his bag over his shoulders and set out. He had information to gather and an intelligence network to set up, and the sooner he started the sooner he could return.

Erich didn't wander or linger in the wilds the way he used to. He set out through the forest and honed in on the next-closest village, stopping only to hunt and cook himself a meal. There were places he needed to be and no time to spend in aimless motion.

The next village was hurting and wary, damaged by the Hollow Erich had killed and closing ranks because of it. Beyond angry words and fury at the Reapers, the village had nothing for him or any traveler, especially when 'traveler' tended to mean 'person aiming to become a Reaper'.

His collection of trade-goods earned him some minor good-will and some newer items to trade later, but nothing to further his goal. Rather than stay and suffer the mistrust of the villagers, Erich left before nightfall rather than attempt to gain lodgings.

(He'd win their trust later. Set himself as a semi-nomadic trader and create contacts in the village.)

(But not now. Not while they were hurting and furious and looking for anyone to blame.)

It continued like that as he moved ever closer to Seireitei, keeping his ears open for anything of value. But everything he heard only confirmed his initial impression: the Reapers were an isolated bunch who kept to themselves and ignored the plight of those outside their doors.

Days turned into weeks and Erich focused on his purpose, on building the first tentative bonds of an information network stretching entire districts.

(He planned for the long term. For making connections he would need to upkeep.)

(For setting down roots and making himself a home.)

Merchants were the easiest to form connections with, given his cover as a wandering trader. Better yet, they heard and tracked a lot more than most people realized; he just needed to set himself up as one of them to get looped in on the same bits and pieces of information without much prompting.

Short term, however, what he was hearing out of general gossip was encouraging. There was no mention of the Hollow or its subsequent death, much less any unusual Reaper movement caught by the local souls.

And none of that changed as he worked his way closer to the Reaper stronghold. Personal knowledge of specific Reapers meant that there were exceptions to the general antipathy, but as a whole… no one seemed to appreciate them.

(He didn't blame them. The houses and streets were certainly nicer, and the merchants and residents better off, but…)

(In the grand scheme of things, they were still powerless in the face of the Reapers and everyone knew it.)

Erich did his best to blend in, keeping his head down and his supposed purpose clear; he was just a wandering trader recently arrived from districts further out, in awe of the Reaper stronghold just down the street.

He learned. Of the Reapers, of their stronghold, of the hidden wall that separated the powerless from the powerful.

(He hated every moment, skin crawling at the proximity and disgust rising with every fragment of knowledge gained.)

(Useless, pretentious bastards…)

And then, in the middle of trading, everything changed.

He felt it first, a surge of power originating somewhere above his head. It was unlike anything he'd ever sensed before and part of him itched to investigate, to deconstruct it until he understood—

A door opened in the sky.

People — young people — tumbled through, sprawling across a golden platform that appeared beneath them.

"That's going to be trouble," someone near Erich muttered.

Others murmured their agreement and began to filter away, abandoning the street and the newcomers before they could reach the ground. The merchant Erich had been bartering with hustled them both inside a nearby home, then joined a group of strangers peering out the window to watch the newcomers.

(There was a Quincy out there. He could feel the boy, young and powerful and bold, standing next to… a Reaper?)

(He had to be mistaken.)

"Bets?" someone asked.

"On?" Erich asked as he eased his way closer to the window. The teens were standing in the street and looking around, but didn't seem to have a solid goal.

"How long they'll last against the gate guard," the person responded, leaning in and pointing down the street. "There's a gate just down there when the walls come down. No one gets past the guard."

"I see."

The buzz of bets and counter-bets rose around him, and Erich absently tossed out a bet or two of his own just to keep from standing out too much. He leaned against the wall next to the window and observed the group and their actions, trying to get a read on the teens.

The district residents believed the teens were an invasion force of some kind, and the presence of a Quincy did lend credence to that, but Erich had the suspicion it wasn't quite so simple.

(Or was it? Was this one of those Quincy, obsessed with revenge for the genocide generations ago? Had he subverted a young Reaper with honeyed words and promises?)

(He wanted nothing to do with them if so. Fixations like that were neither rational nor led to healthy outcomes for anyone.)

(There was a reason he had gracefully retired and retreated into obscurity after the Great War, then took his clan and fled across the world when the Empire began to writhe like a rabid beast years after their defeat.)

The teen who felt like a Reaper turned and marched down the street towards the hidden gate, the other three trailing in his wake.

Erich twitched at the way the wall crashed into place, with a literal giant standing guard. All the stories he'd heard couldn't prepare him for the reality of the situation; he could certainly understand why no invaders made it past the gate if this was what they faced.

"Impressive, isn't it?" the merchant he'd been bartering with asked. "Jidanbō-san is a good man, but they're not going to get past him."

Watching the potential Reaper approach Jidanbō, Erich wasn't so certain. The boy had power to burn and a familiar determination and refusal to give up that Erich recognized. Nor did the other teens look worried when Jidanbō challenged them, not even when the young Reaper stepped forward to fight alone.

The fight was a quick one, over in a few seconds and ending with the young Reaper shattering Jidanbō's weapons to claim the victory.

(The boy was too kind. He would be eaten alive by the Reapers beyond the gate.)

Jidanbō repaid that kindness in turn, lifting up the great gate and opening the way—

—only for a group of Reapers to be standing beyond it. Only for one of them to smile. To strike.

"Bastard!" an older soul snarled.

Blood splattered across the ground. Jidanbō flinched. Turned. Held up the door with his remaining arm…

Erich grit his teeth, hand closing uselessly over empty air as Jidanbō refused to back down despite losing an arm. But instead of advancing, the young Reaper stepped in, defending Jidanbō from the Reapers beyond the gate.

The souls around him murmured in surprise and exchanged startled looks, taken aback by the young Reaper's actions. Not that Erich could blame them, with the way the young Reaper's actions contradicted everything that he knew of Reapers in general.

(So maybe the Quincy was not driven by revenge?)

(Or maybe the young Reaper wasn't a Reaper.)

(Or maybe both.)

The teens and Jidanbō were knocked away by the Reaper beyond the gate and the gate slammed closed in their faces. Like an invisible signal was flipped, the residents around him filtered out of the house and into the street, curiosity and interest mingling with their wariness.

Erich followed in their wake, gaze sharp as he took in the four teens and their feline companion. He stayed towards the back, alert for more Reapers to appear to handle the invaders. The group was small, but surely the Reapers weren't quite so arrogant as to ignore them.

"U-uhm, can you help me, please?" the young woman asked the gathered souls, then gestured towards Jidanbō and his severed arm. "I-if you could help me align his arm, I… I think I can heal him."

He frowned at her words but stepped forward along with several other souls to assist in dragging Jidanbō's arm back in place. Just because he didn't know any spells or Quincy skills that would allow someone to heal a severed arm didn't mean that it was impossible. And even if she couldn't, she was attempting to be kind in the face of their suspicion.

Once Jidanbō's arm was in place, the young woman crouched by his shoulder and held out her hands. Tiny fairies darted out of her hairpins and hovered around the wound, a golden barrier forming between them.

It felt like nothing he had ever sensed before, neither magecraft nor akin to the skills of Quincy or Reapers. He couldn't determine how it worked either, no matter how much he analyzed the feel of her technique. Had the Living World developed an entirely new type of power manipulation after his death? Had they discovered spiritual powers on their own and begun to weaponize it like they had magecraft?

(Had there been a third world war, this time reliant on powers of the soul to create advantages?)

(Oh, he prayed it wasn't so…)

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"And so kind!"

"Look at that power she has!"

Erich shunted aside his spiraling thoughts and turned his attention outward, sending a dark look at the group of souls. When that did nothing but make the souls shuffle back a bit and resume whispering, Erich straightened his posture and took a threatening step forward.

That sent them all scurrying away, to his relief. He hadn't wanted to get into an actual fight but… the young woman's powers felt unbearably young to him and the commentary turned his stomach. It was true that souls didn't age the way the Living did, but that was no excuse to be crude.

(There was never an excuse to be crude.)

Satisfied that her audience had been handled, Erich settled against a nearby wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He would keep watch over her for however long it took her to heal Jidanbō, seeing as her companions were scattered and distracted. No one deserved to face those sort of comments on their own.

His actions had not gone unnoticed; more than one soul was giving him approving looks that boded well for his connections here, and both the Quincy and the maybe-Reaper were eyeing him thoughtfully. It didn't take long for the maybe-Reaper to escape the person speaking with him and approach Erich.

"Hey, thanks for that," the young man said with a nod.

Erich shrugged. "Their attention offended me." He looked from the young man to the damaged gate down the street and then to where Jidanbō lay, arm slowly healing under the young woman's powers. "You had a chance to break in and instead saved his life."

"Yoruichi knows another way we can get in," the young man said, leaning back against the wall not far from Erich. "I refuse to let someone die like that."

"Sometimes you have no choice. What if there was no other way in, what of your goal then?"

"Then I'd make a way in."

Erich cast another glance at the damaged gate and conceded the point. The young maybe-Reaper had power in spades, albeit poorly controlled or directed at present. Time and training would turn him into a terrifying combatant, capable of world-changing feats the likes of which were only seen once or twice a generation.

(He wondered if the boy would live long enough to see that potential through.)

He shouldn't get involved.

He had other places to be, other promises to keep. Whatever this strange 'invasion' was about, it had nothing to do with him no matter how young the four invaders felt to his senses.

(Youths had no place in live combat…)

(Untrained youths even less.)

"Why have you come?" Erich asked, prepared to listen to any number of reasons or excuses.

"A Shinigami saved my life and gave me the power to protect my family," the young man answered without hesitation, scowling over at the closed gate. "And now she's in trouble because of it. I'm not going to let them execute her for what she did for me and the others."

"Just the four of you?" A rescue mission. A unit of four unblooded teens and their cat against the might of the Shinigami to rescue another Reaper. Only long experience let Erich keep his expression neutral, his stomach churning with unease and mind buzzing with plans and realities.

(He shouldn't get involved. He wouldn't get involved.)

(Getting involved was an irrational decision at its core, even worse than the decision to invade with such a small force and no backup or extraction.)

"Yeah. I didn't want the others to come but they insisted, so…"

"You're better off with aid." Erich gave the boy a sidelong look, wondering how much he would listen to an apparently powerless stranger. "The Shinigami are not to be underestimated."

The young man shrugged, expression turning determined. "We'll manage. I'm not going to let them win."

'But they will,' Erich wanted to protest. Small unit tactics were useful, but the Reapers knew about them now and almost certainly knew the group's goal. They had no backup, no support, no extraction plan…

It was a suicide mission in all but name. Nothing but a useless waste of life.

And one of his kinsmen was tangled up in it as well.

(His fingers twitched. Closed into a useless fist.)

"I wish you luck," Erich murmured instead, looking away. Shame ate at his mind, but there was nothing he could do. One more man was nothing in the face of the Reaper's might.

He wouldn't be of use to them.

"Thanks," the young man said while pushing away from the wall and moving away. "You too."

Erich watched him go with a heavy heart.

(What a senseless waste of life.)