Wings of Steel

Whoever it is that is riding on the horse makes it abundantly clear that they are in absolutely no fucking hurry to reach you, the sluggish ambling pace of the horse slightly slower than you could walk on your own two feet. However, with a soft sigh to yourself you resign to waiting the slow rider out, your eyes trained on the horse and the rider as they slowly come closer and closer to your initial position.

Bit by bit the horse and the rider take their sweet time, each slow and clomping step drawing the beast and its master with an agonizing slothfulness. Eventually though, just as you felt your patience run paper thin, the monster of a equine breaks the dusky limit of your vision, the dusty haze of the graveyard parting for the gargantuan horse. The beast is large, almost unnaturally so even for a creature of its renowned might and strength. Its entire body is covered with fine hair, a pitch black color so dark that whatever light reflects off is tinted a deep blue. Every stride bears long and streamlined muscles, powerful bunches or organic chords meant for long distances and tremendous power. Yet, as impressive as the horse is it is the rider, the man who sit atop the gallant steed, that catches your eye the very most.

The man himself is cloaked from head to toe in a large black duster, the aged and worn leather of the coat matching the worn and tired face of the man who wears it. The man’s hair is long, pulled back into a thick pony tail and held together by a string with a single eagle feather hanging from it. The man wears no hat to hide his face; instead he wears a simple white bandana to hold his hair back from his face. The closer the man gets the more you see of his clothes, his pants, his boots, his undershirt, but that matters not to you. Instead it is the man’s eyes that draw the most attention, those intense chartreuse orbs that delve deep into your own, tearing away the shields of your soul and reaching deep inside to find out what you truly are...

While his approach feels like an eternity, once he is in your field of view the man moves like a specter, his presence ending up right before you before you even realize he is there. For a long time he simply looks down at you, watching you, sizing you up, before he opens his mouth and lets loose with a low and grumbling voice, "So...you are my wielder."

You nod briefly before bowing politely before the eagle eyed man, "Yes, my name is John Doe."

"You are polite," The man comments, a single eyebrow rising as his horse gives a short snort.

"I try my best," You admit as you rise, returning your eyes to the man’s gaze with unwavering focus.

"You avoid fighting," this time the man’s voice is slightly harsher, his horse rearing slightly before a single tug brings the beast under control.

Once more you meet the man’s stare evenly and without moving a single muscle, "To cause trouble is easy but makes you weak. To end it is difficult but makes you strong."

The man blinks slightly before allowing himself a small rumbling chuckle, his horse joining along with a quick snort, "You are interesting...you have honor and hold values while still being an Arrancar."

"For their sake I would sacrifice anything," you say honestly, your tone firm as you speak with every bit of resolve you have, "my home, my life, even my humanity."

"You mean the female Arrancar that you surround yourself with," the man chuckles softly as his horse again joins in on the joke, "quite fast work for someone so young."

"What can I say," You ask with a small grin, "Cupid is fucking crazy."

The man's throaty laughter is low and gravely, his aged tone pouring into your ears with the finesse of shattered stone. Yet, as soon as it begins the man lets to fade to an end, his voice becoming serious as he returns his gaze back to your own, "perhaps you are worthy of me then. But first...I have a question Arrancar." Reaching into his coat the man gropes around for a bit before he retrieves a small feather, a single piece of an eagles plumage similar to what rests in his hair.

For a moment the man examines the feather, twisting it in his fingers with a firm and dedicated concentration. Without a word of warning he tosses the feather out to you, the light object surprising you with its speed and accuracy but not nearly enough to catch you off guard. With a swift flick of your wrist you catch the feather from mid-air, your fingers holding the object up to your eyes as the man begins to speak, "For the living there is ****, for the dead what is there? Each one of your Espada brethren represents a part of ****, what of you Arrancar? What do you represent?"

For a moment you think of it, of what you have done in your short time in Hueco Mundo. You entered as a human and now live there as an Arrancar, your harem of beautiful women surrounding you with a happiness that you would never think was possible. You remember at some point the previous day how Nel mentioned that you seemed to take away the gloom of ****, her flirtatious actions and provocative pose distracting you from the truth behind her words. To take away **** from the dead...to repeal the loneliness and replace it with love...with warmth...with life...

"Rebirth.”

Your voice is soft among the cold ashen graves, the whistling wind nearly drowning out your voice as you turn once more to face the man on the horse. Your eyes come to meet nothing, no massive steed, no aged and weathered man, just the feather in your hand...and a message that rings in your head. Something pulls at the very corners of your mind, something that just begs to be said, a voice speaking through you, commanding you to speak the word loud and clear for the entire world to listen, “Aguila…”

All around you is an explosion of light and then, darkness…