The Secrets of Death [P]

Ashborn watched in silence, his gaze steely as the weight of Ayato's actions settled on the young Kage. He had warned Ayato of this long before the ritual commenced, cautioning that reviving the dead, especially in this manner, was not merely an act of power but a blade heavy with consequences. Yet Ayato, driven by the ghosts of fallen comrades and the weight of his grief, had pressed on. Now, Ashborn could see the struggle etched into Ayato’s face, a realization dawning deeper than any blade’s cut.

Aizen stood there, a pale echo of her former self, stripped of warmth yet devoid of the cold she should have felt. Her movements were slow and deliberate as she raised her hands to her neck, almost incredulous to find her head still attached. Each motion seemed a tentative re connection to a reality she had nearly forgotten.

The tension between them was palpable. Ayato whispered words of reassurance, but they seemed swallowed by the void. The ghosts of past battles haunted Ayato’s eyes, the stark reminder that resurrecting Aizen had only restored the shell of the warrior he had known. Her head was reattached, yet her body appeared lost, searching for a sense of identity that had been irrevocably altered.

When Aizen’s eyes finally met Ayato’s, the flicker of confusion, recognition, and pain was almost unbearable. “Ayato-kun?” she whispered, her voice trembling as though emerging from a long, nightmarish dream. She had dreamed she was dead.

Ashborn felt no surprise, only a profound, resigned sorrow. He had witnessed this before—the hollow relief that came with resurrection, the fragile hope clinging to what had been irrevocably lost. I warned you, he thought, his eyes heavy with unspoken grief. I told you this was no path to salvation. You wield a blade far heavier than you understand, cutting deeper than you can fathom, my lord.

The ritual was more than an act of necromancy—it was a stark reminder that even the bravest souls could be twisted into something unrecognizable. Aizen’s relief, her desperate joy at seeing Ayato, was a cruel reflection of their harsh world. Ashborn’s heart hardened as he watched. This was the price of bringing the dead back—there was no true resurrection, only shadows bound to the will of the living.

“This summons appears to be lacking in memory, sire,” Ashborn muttered softly to Ayato. “If you wish, we can de-summon her.” He offered the Kage an out, waiting to see if he would take it.

(WC: 414, TWC: 4217)