A/N: Very short, completely unexpected plot bunny that appeared to gnaw on me a little earlier. I decided it was a good one, so I kept it. General stream-of-consciousness piece from Byakuya's perspective, set when he is at the Academy to adopt Rukia.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach and make no financial gain from the writing of this work. Kubo is a god and I am merely playing in his world.

WRITTEN

He stands before me now, eyes wide as he rests his gaze upon me for the first time. The energy that flows from him is powerful, and I remain still, silently assessing his worth.

Calligraphy is my art of choice, and it is easy for me to visualize the characters he represents. In my mind's eye, I trace the words of the boy's spirit across his skin, vibrant representations of what I can feel reflected in his soul.

The kanji for 'courage' and 'passion' are painted over his beating heart, 'wisdom' across his forehead, beneath the crimson hair. 'Strength' is written on the length of his arm, sharing its canvas with 'protector' and 'leader' as I recall his past.

It is against all odds that he has come here, and I can see 'determination' and 'perseverance' in dark lines across his stomach; 'pain' is bold across his back.

Right now, the boy moves cautiously through life, as though he is too aware that the ink of his story is still wet upon the page and does not wish to blur the characters with his choices.

That is his weakness; mingled amongst the stronger characters are 'hesitance' and 'fear', and he will only succeed if the greater words are written deep enough to cover those flaws.

When he gains faith in himself, however, he will learn that it is his own actions that guide the brushstrokes of Fate, and his name and life will be written not only into history, but across the stars.

I walk past him, the one I have just stolen everything from, and do not deign to look in his direction.

In that moment, I can see 'anger' written clearest of all.

Decades later, when my Lieutenant turns in his resignation, I search through the files on my desk until I find the one bearing the name I seek.

Time has changed him, the characters I once pictured on his skin have been eclipsed by these new markings; jagged and feral and eminently suited to the man he has become. Looking at his picture, I can still read 'strength' and 'courage' and 'passion' within their lines.

Without hesitation, I make my selection.