Field of Siniju Village
Oct 27, 2024 17:25:38 GMT -6
Post by Mitsuo Hayashi on Oct 27, 2024 17:25:38 GMT -6
"A Blaze in the Dark":
Mitsuo Hayashi stood in a wide field, the remnants of last season’s dried grass brushing against his shins. Evening had settled over the village, casting a cool, dim light across the landscape. He was far enough from the heart of the village to be alone, with only the faintest outlines of rooftops visible in the distance. This field had become a sanctuary, a place where he could train without fear of harming anyone. Out here, he could release his frustrations and embrace his powers without feeling the constant pull of restraint.
With a sigh, Mitsuo stretched out his arms, feeling the tension release from his muscles. "Alright," he muttered to himself, "time to get to work." He rolled his shoulders and focused on the pit of warmth simmering deep within him, calling it up with practiced intention. Slowly, his hands began to glow, a soft amber hue radiating from his fingertips as the heat intensified, gathering in his palms.
"This power…" Mitsuo thought to himself, watching the flames dance across his hands. "It used to scare me." He remembered the first time he’d seen fire bloom from his skin. He’d been barely six years old, trembling and tear-streaked, watching the flame in his palm flicker like a heartbeat. It had been terrifying and beautiful all at once. His mother, ever his supporter, had simply taken his hand in her own, carefully whispering that his power could be a gift if he learned to master it.
But that hadn’t stopped the fear from settling in, hadn’t stopped the guilt that came with every accident. The worst of it was the day he’d hurt his father, his flames burning with an anger he couldn’t control, leaving his father in the hospital for days. He would have felt no regret if it had stopped his father’s tormenting rage for good, but it only shifted it, targeting his mother whenever Mitsuo wasn’t around. Despite everything, his mother refused to let him act. "It’s not your burden to carry, Mitsuo," she’d say, her voice pleading.
He shook his head, clearing away the memories as his flames crackled, sending a wave of heat rolling out from his fingers. "Enough of that," he murmured, focusing on pushing his powers further. He was here to train, to grow, to leave that life behind once and for all. Soon, he’d be off to the Academy, and if he graduated, if he was strong enough, he could protect people on a scale he’d never dreamed of. "If I can make it into the Gotei 13, maybe the 11th Division…" Mitsuo allowed himself a small smile at the thought. The 11th Division was known for its strength, and its fierce warriors—exactly where he saw himself one day.
“I could handle it, I know I could,” he said aloud, clenching his fists as the flames roared to life, a reflection of his excitement. “With these powers, I’d be unstoppable.” But his voice faltered slightly, and he frowned, looking down at his hands, noticing the faint scars that crisscrossed his palms from the times he’d lost control.
He reached out, extending his arm and concentrating, pushing the flame out from his fingers, further and further, until it roared a foot out from his hand. The heat was blinding, but he held it there, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to hold steady. The Soul Reaper he’d met last month had told him that he lacked control, had hinted that his powers could hurt him more than help if he didn’t learn to temper them. It wasn’t until then that Mitsuo realized how much damage his flames had done to him, the burns that dotted his arms and hands from training alone, reminders of his struggle to manage his own strength.
“Control…” he muttered. “It’s all about control.” But control had never come easily to Mitsuo. He was a fire—temperamental, fierce, sometimes too quick to flare up. The Academy was his one hope to find balance, a way to channel his abilities into something that would make his mother proud, a purpose that would let him rise above the life he’d been born into.
As he steadied his breathing, the flames settled, becoming a single, steady flame at his fingertips. “One step at a time,” he said to himself, focusing on the flame as if it were his only tie to the world. He’d come far from the scared boy who’d accidentally set fire to his own bedding in his sleep, but there was still a long way to go.
"I’ll be strong enough one day," he thought, a spark of determination in his eyes. "Not just for myself…but for her." His mother’s face flashed in his mind, her smile despite the bruises, her warmth despite the darkness that seemed to follow them. She deserved better than this life. His heart ached with the desire to give her something different—to be someone she could rely on, someone who didn’t have to run to a field in the middle of the night to keep from hurting anyone.
He pushed his flame higher, forcing it to surge up his arm, until it enveloped his whole hand. The heat seared through his skin, but he bit back the pain. Pain was part of the process, a reminder of what it took to wield his powers. He thought of the Soul Reaper’s words, how he’d praised Mitsuo’s raw potential but warned him that it would be his undoing if he didn’t learn to control it. Those words had struck him, reminding him of his purpose.
A fierce gust of wind swept across the field, flickering the flames at his hands, but he held them steady, resisting the urge to let them waver. He felt his power stabilize, burning bright and hot without the need to strain or force it. There was a strange calm in the heat, an unshakable certainty that, just maybe, he could make this work.
“Maybe I’ll make it,” he whispered, the flames dimming slightly, settling into a soft, steady glow around his hand. “Maybe I’ll actually make it.” He’d never let himself dream much beyond survival, beyond getting by and keeping his mother safe. But the Academy, the Gotei 13…these were his chances to escape the life he’d grown up in, to create something that went beyond what he’d known. In the 11th Division, he could be part of something larger than himself, a force for strength and justice. His power wouldn’t just be an outlet for rage or a shield against pain; it would be a tool he could use to protect others.
The flames finally went out, leaving only the faint glow of embers in the air. Mitsuo looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers as he felt the warmth fade. "This is it, Mitsuo. You’re not that kid anymore."
He lifted his chin, gazing out over the quiet field, imagining the future ahead. "You’re going to be stronger than him, better than him. And you’re going to show her that you don’t have to be a victim of where you come from." The Academy was only the beginning, but it was a beginning that meant everything.
--END RP--
"Stray Dog"