The battlefield was covered in ash and dust. The son of the Soul King had finally been erased from the face of Earth. The Soul Society was demolished. Numerous victims were dismembered around. But the survivors were pervaded by a sense of gratitude and happiness typical of a bloody victory.

Aizen was trying to enjoy the last minutes of freedom left before being sent back to Muken. He was standing tall, some dust clinging to his clothes, a scratch on his arm healed now by his own reiatsu.

Ichigo was talking to Orihime, everyone was involved into warm reunions. Everyone except for him. Impertubable, stoic. His free eye scrutinized the area around him to spot that brat he had always found himself violently arguing with. However, she was no where to be found. He wondered where she was. He never knew what it was that connected them. She was a brat, Ichigo’s smart, older sister, but despite their arguments she respected him.

Where was she?

He almost itched to go and look for her just to piss her off.