All rights for Bleach go to its owner.

They are tasked not to interfere. They are told, from the moment they enter the Academy, that the humans' lives are their own, and that to get involved is to break the laws of the universe.

The dead are dead. The living are living.

When they are sent to the World of the Living, they are to watch from afar. They are to let events play out on their own, without intervention. The temptation is always there - they have faux bodies; it would be so easy to fix all the wrongs in the world, guide those who are lost, comfort those who have never known compassion. They cannot. It is forbidden.

Most days they look away, shield themselves from the truth. The world is harsh. The world is not fair.

The recently deceased souls often do not know that they have died. That is one of the hardest parts of the job, most feel, to explain and send the distraught souls on, knowing full well that their next life may be much worse than the one they just left. Occasionally they met the souls who understand, who have come to the painful conclusion on their own. Their eyes are dull, hopeless, painful to see.

Soul reapers, they are called. Shinigami. Death gods. Whatever their name, their job remains the same.

Destroy those who threaten the balance. Send the souls on. Don't interfere.

It becomes so hard when they have to watch the humans die, with the power to save their life if they could. But they can't. It is forbidden.

They must watch as the humans die - often slow, painful deaths. It is not a glorious task to clear the earth of wandering souls, as many wrongly assume. It is dark. Many can not take the strain.

The newly-made reapers are sent to the human world for the first time, see the death and destruction, and return weeping. Oftentimes the tears do not fall. They remain in a thin film over the reapers' eyes, testaments to the grief they have witnessed.

Children are the worst.

It is a tragedy that those so young are ripped from their place in the world without proper time to enjoy themselves. Usually they do not understand what is happening, and the reapers find them sitting by their cooling bodies, wondering when they are going to wake up. Their eyes, wide and innocent, question what happened, why they aren't going home, why their mothers and fathers aren't there. The reapers send them on, unable to face those eyes.

Those who are dying can see the reapers, calling them angels. The reapers are quick to correct them, but many of the dying refuse to believe their protests. Eventually the reapers let them believe what they want, if only for the humans' passing to be as smooth as possible.

Contrary to popular belief, the reapers are not callous. They were humans once, and even if they do not remember their past lives, the emotions and experiences carry on. They understand the humans' aversion to passing on. This often turns the reaper to the bottle. Some take it harder than others. Most attempt to put it out of their minds. Some drink their sorrow away. Many bury themselves in work.

Whatever the case, the world continues spinning. The winter comes, but spring always follows. Life continues, as does death. The reapers are never thanked, nor do they want recognition. It would only remind them of their cruel job.

If the balance is threatened, they take up arms and fight for the lives of their companions. They weep for their fallen, and rejoice for the living.

The silent sentinels watch over the earth and its inhabitants, on through the ages. They are the unknown guardians of the universe, the keepers of peace and balance. Their ceaseless vigilance has never wavered, and will continue through the millennum.