Chapter 1: Welcome Back

The tall mirror stood proudly on its pedestal, gazing out at the darkened hall in arrogant isolation. Its silvery surface gleamed with a soft internal light that danced through the glass in total disregard of the laws of physics and their pesky requirements about reflection. The old oak frame, by contrast, appeared to absorb any ray of light that neared it. Only detailed inspection would reveal the delicate runes carved along every inch of its surface.

The young woman standing in front of the mirror smiled cynically as she ran her hand over the graven marks, keeping her fingertips a breath away from the wood. The juxtaposition between the unassuming frame and the gaudy glass amused her – the real power rested in the wood, but a casual onlooker would assume that the glass held all the magic. People were easily deceived by appearances.

Her own appearance was the perfect example of that. Her youthful face consistently led people to underestimate her, though her eyes spoke of years of hardship and pain. A spark of callous darkness lurked in their depths, along with more than a hint of madness. Power, too, swirled in those cobalt eyes, complimenting and enhancing the manic gleam.

But the assessing gaze she turned on the mirror held no sign of insanity. Just cold calculation.

The mirror, sensing her gaze, brightened. For a brief moment, silver light flashed across the glass, obscuring its surface and lighting the darkened room. Then it cleared, leaving behind an image of an ebon-haired girl, hands on her hips, staring defiantly out of the glass. It wasn't a reflection of the woman, though it could have been. The girl in the mirror bore a striking resemblance to the woman now watching it with a guarded expression, all the way down to the subtle tilt of the eyes. Then the girl in the reflection turned away and the image dissolved back into argent light.

The woman, who went by the name of Whisper, grimaced. She knew the tales of the mirror's power, and had no desire to explore its depths. Though its capabilities could be very useful, it had a reputation – among certain circles – as a capricious item. No one knew if it was sentient, alive in some way, or simply strange, but it did not pay to use it too often. Of its past four owners, three had died under mysterious circumstances, and the fourth had only possessed the mirror for a month before hastily arranging a private auction. Too much knowledge can truly drive a person mad, Whisper thought with amusement.

The current owner, however, didn't believe in the myths. She knew that much about him, and considered him an incompetent idiot. But then, she thought the same of most nobles.

This one, however, was more foolish than most. He stored the mirror in a grandiose hall, arranged specifically to showcase its splendor, though no one but him ever saw it. Each day, as the sun set, he would visit the mirror, spending nearly a bell in front of its gleaming surface. She didn't know what he saw in it, but it must have been exciting, for he always left the hall with reiatsu lashing about him in agitation.

Whisper smirked as she imagined his expression when he found the mirror missing and a delicate origami flower left in its place. The thought amused her, as little else did. The flower was her calling card; it acted as both a threat and a promise. Nobles feared and loathed the way it told them that they were never safe, even in the heart of their sanctuaries. But it also promised them that, if they knew how to contact her, she would gladly retrieve their lost treasure for them – for a suitable sum. In the past, feuding nobles had paid her obscene sums of money to steal and re-steal the same precious items over and over again.

Somehow she suspected that this would not be one of those times.

She slipped a pair of black silk gloves over her hands and reached out to cautiously touch the mirror frame with a single finger. When nothing happened, she let out a silent breath and grasped the frame firmly.

The mirror was surprisingly easy to lift. Though such an unwieldy object should have been heavy, it weighed no more than a well-balanced blade. She could feel a faint humming through the gloves, and wondered if it was just her imagination, but no. The power imbued in the wood was singing. It resembled a cat's purr mixed with the crackle of static electricity and the high, pure ring of a wet finger on a wine glass, and ran across her hands as though a thousand insects danced on her skin.

She shivered. If not for the exorbitant commission she would receive for the safe delivery of the mirror, she would have shattered it. That power held an unnerving tingle of darkness; no shinigami kido had produced it. Her instincts screamed that at her, though she was no soul reaper.

But a hundred gold coins – enough to live on for a year – awaited her if she could successfully deliver the mirror to her contact within the month. Double that if she managed the delivery in a week. The money loomed far larger in her mind than petty moral concerns; after all, she didn't have to use the mirror. Just transport it.

Although, Whisper thought grimly, that might prove difficult if I can't stand to touch it for more than a few minutes. The silk gloves should have insulated her from the power, but either the protection spells woven into the fabric had failed, or the mirror was simply too strong.

Probably the latter, she decided. If this thing can do even half of what the rumors say it can, it must be immensely powerful. While she had handled priceless magical artifacts before, none had been laced with the kind of darkness that the mirror possessed. So, time for plan b. She shrugged off her enveloping cloak, woven from mottled shades of dark grey silk, and draped it over the mirror's frame. The fabric cut off the eerie illumination coming from the glass, plunging the room into utter darkness.

That didn't bother Whisper. She did her best work in the dark.

The sigils embedded in the cloak's fabric flared to life as they wrapped themselves around the mirror. She had paid a fortune for the illegal kido spells, but they were worth every copper. They reduced the mirror's song to a mere susurration of sound and dampened its power so that no one, not even she, could sense its presence.

Whisper smiled twistedly. Perfect. She gently lifted the mirror off of its stand, setting it to the side long enough to drop her signature origami flower onto the dais. Then, cradling the mirror under her arm, she strode briskly out of the room.

The blade swept down, narrowly missing Juushiro's shoulder. He dodged to one side and shouted the incantation for Shakkaho, firing the blast of red flame at his opponent. The scarred man nodded as he slipped out of the way, returning fire with a flickering bolt of lightning. Juushiro dropped to the ground as it whistled by overhead. As he rolled to his feet, his attacker lunged at him with a straight thrust to the solar plexus. He parried with difficulty, wincing as the shock of the clash rattled through his bones. Stepping to the side, he lashed out with a sideways strike – intended to force the man backwards rather than wound.

But instead of dodging, the man stepped inside the thrust and parried. The move left Juushiro wide open for a head-level cut, which the man took. Swearing under his breath, Juushiro jerked his body backwards. The blade hissed past his face, close enough for him to feel the wind of its passage. Damn, he's fast, Juushiro thought admiringly. And he's not even sweating. Juushiro, panting and dripping with sweat, had to respect that.

He fired another kido spell with his left hand as he backpedaled hastily in an attempt to avoid the measured swings coming at him. He didn't expect the bakudo rope to catch his opponent, but it gave him a second of breathing room as it forced the man to dodge out of the way. Seizing the opportunity, Juushiro went on the offensive. Spitting the call for Shakkaho again, he followed the fireball with a downwards strike at his opponent's collarbone. The older man blocked smoothly, allowing Juushiro's blade to slide off at an angle. Juushiro, off-balance, couldn't react in time when his opponent followed up with a slash down at his neck.

Juushiro froze as the blade came lightly to rest on his throat. "Good job, Ukitake-san," his opponent complimented, sheathing the bamboo sword.

"Thank you, sensei," Juushiro replied, bowing politely to the scarred older man. Izanagi Kichiro was a gruff, stocky man with dark brown hair and eyes, clad in the traditional black shihakusho of a working shinigami. Several scars, remnants of various hollow fights, crisscrossed his face and forearms. He wore a forest green obi around his waist, with a sheath for his zanpakuto attached.

Kichiro-sensei patted him on the shoulder. "You've got speed, and your kido during battle is excellent for a fourth-year student. Are you in the advanced kido class?"

Juushiro nodded. "Yes, sensei, with Shihoin-sensei."

"Good. Ask her for tips on casting without the incantation; it'll increase your maneuverability. Keeping working on your footwork, but overall a good showing." He turned to the watching students. "Kyoraku-san, you're next."

Juushiro stepped backwards and watched as his infuriatingly attractive roommate strolled across the room to bow to their instructor. Although he had only met Kichiro-sensei a bell ago, he could tell that the man deserved their respect. Just the way that he evaluated their skills made it clear that he was a warrior with decades of experience.

Which is good, since he'll be our primary trainer for the next three years, Juushiro thought wryly. Kichiro-sensei would teach them everything from zanjutsu to strategy – almost everything they needed to know to graduate. Although other teachers led the kido and medicine classes, they would spend the majority of their time with him, and with each other.

Juushiro looked around the room at the diverse group of students waiting for their turn to be tested. I wonder why they assigned all of us to this particular squad? he wondered. I don't think you could find a more varied group of students if you tried. Maybe that was the point.

The simple missive he had received certainly hadn't explained how the squads were chosen. It had been delivered to Juushiro several weeks before the term began, and read,

Greetings.

Starting in your fourth year, you are assigned to a squad of eight members, which will remain constant for your last three years at the Academy. While you will still take some classes with your year-group, most of your classes will be taught to your individual squad. Squad transfer is only permitted under exceptional circumstances.

As an upperclassman, you will be assigned a room with one other member of your squad. Room transfers are not permitted. The Academy policies on drinking, drugs, and fraternization still apply. However, upperclassmen do not have a curfew. Use the freedom responsibly.

Please report to the main office for your squad and roommate assignments when you arrive.

By the order of Headmaster Yamamoto.

When Juushiro had reported as ordered, he had been given a list of classes and a room key to a dorm room overlooking the field in front of the offices. The rooms were a definite step up from the underclassmen housing, which had been four to a room, with scarcely enough space to turn around. Though his new room was spartan, Juushiro welcomed the increased privacy. Surely this year would be far better than the prior three.

Unfortunately, his meeting with his new roommate, Shunsui Kyoraku, had shaken that hopeful thought. The young man's reputation was the talk of the Academy – Juushiro didn't know how he had avoided expulsion. Rumor had it, he'd done everything from making out with a girl in the supply closet to skinny-dipping in the Academy pond during a parental visitation week. Juushiro grimaced. Surely some of that had to be hearsay. But, as he watched Shunsui flirt outrageously with both Rei Kuchiki and Mika Fujimoto after his turn with Kichiro, he had a sinking feeling that most of it was true.

Juushiro looked around the room. Sandy-haired Hikaru Nakamura chatted animatedly with Ryuu Hibiki, whose vivid green eyes shone as he gesticulated wildly. Taro Kannogi, clad in long sleeves despite the late summer warmth, read a book in the corner. Dark-eyed Aono Kira listened to Shunsui's flirtations with the girls, occasionally adding his own playful comment. Mika blushed under the attention, playing with tendrils of her curly brown hair, while the blond, busty Rei laughed and teased the boys right back.

So this is my team for the next three years, he thought to himself. He knew Aono Kira from the advanced kido classes, and often studied with Taro Kannogi, but he only knew the others in passing. Children of the Kuchiki and Kyoraku clans were not encouraged to socialize with lesser nobles; he wondered what Shunsui thought of the roommate assignments. I wonder if he knows about my illness? Juushiro bit his lip nervously. His prior roommates had blatantly shunned him because of it; he hoped that Shunsui would be different. But why would a high noble care about someone like me?

Juushiro firmly pushed the melancholy thoughts away. Based on Shunsui's reputation, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to be friends with the man. Womanizing and drinking your time away – no thanks. Then Juushiro sighed. Don't judge him before you know him, he reminded himself firmly. He may be a great person once you actually talk to him.

A bell rang, and the students all looked up at Kichiro-sensei. The stocky man nodded to them. "I expect you here at seven bells tomorrow morning," he announced. "You are dismissed."

As they hurried to put their practice blades away and get to their next class in time, Juushiro cast a surreptitious glance at Shunsui. The brown-haired student had his arm wrapped around Rei's shoulders as she giggled at his attempts to declaim poetry. Ryuu attempted to help by suggesting words, which only served to make Rei laugh harder. Juushiro hid a smile as Shunsui loudly declared that a particularly bad metaphor was the height of poetic mastery. Maybe he won't be so bad, he thought hopefully.

That hope lasted until the next morning. Juushiro reported to the dojo along with the rest of the squad, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Kichiro-sensei stood at rest at the front of the dojo, watching as the students shifted uncomfortably under his piercing gaze. The eight of them stood in a line, attempting to mimic his poised posture with little success. Shunsui, at the end of the line, wasn't even trying. He gazed around sleepily, tousled brown hair and rumpled uniform drawing disapproval whenever Kichiro's gaze lit upon him. Juushiro frowned. Why did I have to get stuck with the worst roommate in the group? he wondered irritably. He had been woken up half a dozen times by unexpected noises through the paper-thin walls, and wasn't in the greatest mood. Being forced to endure Shunsui's grumblings when woken for the early morning class had only made him more frustrated. Why couldn't I be roommates with Kannogi or Kira, or even Nakamura? Any of them would have been better.

At last Kichiro-sensei let his arms fall from their clasped position behind his back. "Welcome to your first hakuda class," he announced gravely. He nodded his head, and they all bowed hastily. "Does anyone know why we don't teach hand-to-hand combat until the fourth year?"

Hikaru raised a tentative hand, and Kichiro gestured to him. "Because it's not as useful?" he guessed.

Kichiro shook his head. "You'll find hakuda to be very useful in certain situations. Although it's not the preferred tool for hollow elimination, hollows are not your only enemy. Anyone else?" He scanned the group with narrowed eyes.

Ryuu shrugged. "It's hard to learn?" he offered.

Again, Kichiro shook his head. "No harder than zanjutsu. But you're on the right track. Can anyone expand on Hibiki-san's answer?"

Juushiro bit his lip as he considered the question. If it wasn't harder to learn, what was it? "It's harder to control?" he asked softly. The answer didn't quite fit, but he didn't have a better one. Judging by the puzzled expressions of the other students, no one else knew, either. At least I'm not the only one confused.

Kichiro-sensei paused. The scars on his face deepened as he frowned in thought. "In a sense," he said finally. "The control is not precisely the issue; kido is far harder to control than either zanjutsu or hakuda, and we teach that starting in the first year. But control – your control – is the reason why we wait." He looked at them seriously. "You all know the penalties for drawing your blade or using kido during a fight, whether that's a bar brawl or a quarrel with another student. They are sufficiently harsh to keep incidents down to a minimum." Juushiro shuddered involuntarily, and several other students did the same. During their second year, one of their classmates had pulled his asauchi in a fit of temper. He had seriously injured another student before the teachers, drawn to the violent clash of reiatsu, had arrived. Because the other student had survived, the miscreant had been sentenced to only thirty lashes. The punishment, carried out in front of the whole school, had left him unconscious and bleeding heavily, barely able to move for days afterwards. The torn skin had left a crazed patchwork of gashes on his back; even survivors of hollow attacks bore fewer wounds.

He had then been expelled as soon as he could walk. They had never heard from him again.

Kichiro-sensei nodded soberly, sensing the direction of their thoughts. "It may seem barbaric, but it is effective. The Academy has very few incidents of unauthorized usage of zanpakuto or kido. However, it is impossible to forbid the use of hakuda once it is learned." He smiled humorlessly. "You are young men, we expect that you will be in fights on occasion." Rei and Mika narrowed their eyes at that, but Kichiro-sensei seemed oblivious. "We do not teach hakuda until your fourth year for that reason. By now, we trust that you have sufficient self-control to keep your newly-learned skills to yourself." He eyed them sternly. "If we find that you have been misusing them and picking fights, you will be dealt with." He didn't need to specify the penalty.

The students exchanged nervous glances, and Kichiro sighed heavily. "We teach these for your protection, so do not fear to utilize them when you are in danger." Despite his attempt at a reassuring tone, none of their expressions lightened. Aono Kira's dark eyes were hard and cold, while Taro Kannogi studied Kichiro with a vaguely worried expression. Ryuu hid a yawn behind his hand, moss-green eyes glancing around nervously; Shunsui just looked bored. Rei and Mika exchanged unreadable glances – Juushiro wondered if they had chosen to join the hakuda class, or if they had been forced into it. Female students were not required to take hand-to-hand combat classes, though they did need to show proficiency in self-defense with a blade.

Kichiro-sensei cast a chilly glance at the two girls. "I do not believe that we should teach women these combat skills, for you will not be in a combat position. Hakuda is not kido; it cannot be performed from a safe distance. But if you are assigned as the healer for a squad, you will need to know how to protect yourself. In the absolute worst case, you may be without your zanpakuto." He sighed again. "So you will receive the same lessons as the young men." Rei and Mika looked at each other unenthusiastically. Rei looked offended, while Mika had assumed a pleasant mask that revealed none of her true feelings. Both kept their reiatsu under rigid control; Juushiro couldn't sense anything from either noble daughter.

Kichiro nodded once, decisively. "It is a good thing there are two of you in this class; you will be partnered together." He scanned the line of students. "Hibiki-san, Nakamura-san, partners. Kyoraku-san, Ukitake-san, partners. And Kannogi-san and Kira-san will work together as well." He clapped his hands together sharply. "Form two lines down the center of the dojo."

Thus began their first hakuda lesson. After running them through a series of basic blocks and punches, Kichiro-sensei ordered one side to strike, while the other blocked. He walked up and down the lines, correcting the angle of a punch here and the width of a stance there. Soon Juushiro's thigh muscles ached from the stance and sweat dripped down his face. The tedious repetition of strikes lulled him into a trance, where each punch flowed from his body without the intervention of his brain. Across from him, Shunsui blocked with a look of boredom on his face.

Eventually, Kichiro-sensei ordered the other side to attack, and Juushiro switched into the series of eight blocks that they had just learned. Shunsui's punches were haphazard – most wouldn't have hit Juushiro even if he missed the block. "Pay attention, will you?" he hissed quietly.

Shunsui rolled his eyes. "This is boring," he complained in a whisper.

"Boring?" Kichiro-sensei demanded sharply. "Kyoraku-san, do you think you have something better to be doing with your time?"

Shunsui shrugged, unabashed. "This is easy. It won't help us against a hollow, or anyone else either." He tossed another punch at Juushiro, who blocked hard with his forearm. Shunsui hissed as their bones collided, wincing away from the impact. Juushiro rolled his eyes and returned his hands to the guard position, sinking lower into his horse stance.

Kichiro nodded to him, then asked critically, "When you first started learning kendo, did you immediately begin by sparring other students?" He gave Shunsui a stern look. "Or did you start by practicing a set of strikes and blocks, just like we're doing now?"

"The latter, sensei," Aono Kira replied politely. Shunsui's lips quirked, but he kept his mouth shut.

Kichiro nodded. "Always start with the basics." He looked around the room, and barked, "Now return to your drills." Shunsui rolled his eyes as he obeyed the order. Juushiro sighed internally as he returned to the endless pattern of blocks, pushing away his awareness of the growing bruises along his forearms. Kami, I hope I don't have to deal with this every class. If he had to work with his roommate every day, he would go insane.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Cat's Cradle! I welcome any feedback, and particularly appreciate constructive criticism, as I'm always looking to get better. So if you enjoyed the chapter, or if you think it could be improved, please let me know in a review!