The Tempering

Chapter 1

He just happens to overhear a chat between Uguisumaru and Mikazuki Munechika - and no, he wasn't eavesdropping - it was their choice to drink tea and converse right beneath a tree he was trying to nap in then - that he realises that this restlessness he has isn't something that affects him alone.

Uguisumaru has never struck him as a particularly motivated blade, but something changed after he came back from some personal journey - he could discern a prouder arch in the other's neck and greater lightness in his dulcet tones. Like he's cast something he didn't need away, and found some kind of peace for himself. He even seems to enjoy the occasional sortie now whereas he was averse to bloodshed before. Maybe it is curiosity, or this stupid itch within him that he doesn't know how to scratch, but he can't help but wonder if it is something he ought to do as well.

It takes him a while to summon enough willpower to approach the saniwa with the sheepish request that sounds lame even to his ears. After the initial look of incredulity exchanged between his aruji and the attending Sengo Muramasa, the intense scrutiny he is subjected to makes him squirm, and he begins to babble nonsensical promises to train and return stronger in some way. The saniwa looks him up and down, considering, and he thinks it is probably wiser to backpedal and retreat while he still can. He's about to bolt for the door when his aruji announces that his request is granted and passes him the items all swords who make such requests must take with them. He is informed to take all the time he would need - only four days would pass in the citadel regardless, due to a device within the travelling kit he is to activate when he is ready to come back. Besides the travelling kit, he receives some curiously old-fashioned travelling clothes and a letter set. Letters? he mentally snorts. As if he would be motivated enough to write.

He takes the gear, scoots past Muramasa and returns to the room he shares with his two charges. Well at least there is a reason to return, he thinks to himself as he surveys the empty room and straightens a wayward pillow set atop Aizen's bundled full-sized futon. Hotarumaru's child-sized one is rolled up neatly in a tiny heap - he is a quiet sleeper, often nuzzling into Akashi's side while Aizen flings his limbs every which way, sometimes turning entire horizontal cartwheels through the night to unwittingly jab his guardian awake every now and then. His smile turns wry - can anyone blame him, really, for being tired and sleepy throughout the day when half the time his sleep is compromised? Without his charges around, he might just get that quality sleep he so desperately craves. They would manage well enough without him - it's not the first time he has had to leave them alone with the missions and expeditions the saniwa has sent him on. It would just mean that he temporarily wouldn't be around to shield Hotarumaru from Aizen's ill-timed blows.

He pilfers a page from the letter set - just testing the quality of the ink and paper, he defends himself, and writes a short note to inform his charges of his impending absence. He sets it on top of the desk under a paperweight. Brevity and economy suit him well, he decides - and thus will his letters to their saniwa be. Besides, he hasn't any idea of what he could possibly write about. He doubts he would experience what the other swords call homesickness - the citadel is a pleasant enough place to live in, but he hasn't felt settled enough yet to call it home. For that matter, as long as Aizen and Hotarumaru are with him, he can tolerate any living condition, and the conditions here are more than fair. At the very least the futons are comfortable.

As he adds a few creature comforts to his pack, he wonders how long it would take for this nagging feeling within him to settle. He doesn't know what to call it. Feelings are an abstract concept to him. He only knows it is uncomfortable, and he has experienced this unrest for a while now. The way Uguisumaru described it, undertaking this journey could help, at least where clarity was concerned. Maybe it would help him sleep better at night.

He dons the travelling clothes he was given. Apparently the clothing will help him blend in to whichever era he arrives in, though he himself has no inkling of where he will go. He is to activate the device in his kit when he is out of the citadel grounds, and then he would be sent to the best fit location for his needs. Some of the other swords went back centuries, some millennia. He cannot pinpoint a single moment in history he could count as significant and he muses for a moment if he would meet his own maker or perhaps witness the moments his charges were forged. He would know soon, and he would need to inform his aruji once he does.

It begins raining when he exits the citadel gates. He proceeds down the sandy path, his boots leaving slight impressions in the dampening ground. The rain picks up and just over the amplifying patter, he hears excited shouts. He pauses when he hears Aizen and Hotarumaru calling his name over the citadel walls. He turns around to give them a brief wave, before continuing on his way. Once past a copse of trees, he activates the device, and feels himself swirling through time and space.