A Blade Bound by Chains
Harry sat cross-legged in the middle of a quiet training ground, his scythe resting beside him. The weapon’s chain coiled loosely around the handle, its surface glinting in the sunlight. He stared at it, frowning.
It had appeared in his hands during the fight against the Hollow—instinctive, effortless, like casting a spell without a wand. But this wasn’t magic. This was something else entirely.
“You’re thinking too hard about it.”
Harry glanced up to see Shunsui Kyōraku lounging nearby, his ever-present straw hat tilted to shade his eyes.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Harry muttered.
Kyōraku chuckled. “Not bad. Just unnecessary. Zanpakutō aren’t something you analyze like a puzzle. They’re a part of you. You don’t command them—you listen to them.”
Harry exhaled, looking back at the scythe. “Then why won’t it talk to me?”
Shunsui studied him for a moment, then sat up. “That’s a good question. Most Shinigami train for years before hearing their Zanpakutō’s voice. You, on the other hand, manifested yours immediately. That means two things: one, you have ridiculous spiritual pressure—”
Harry snorted. “I’ve heard that before.”
“—and two, your blade is waiting for something.”
Harry frowned. “Waiting for what?”
Kyōraku shrugged. “Only one way to find out.” He gestured toward the weapon. “Pick it up.”
Harry hesitated before gripping the scythe’s handle. The chain shifted slightly, as if responding to his touch.
“Close your eyes,” Kyōraku instructed. “Let your mind drift. Focus on the weapon—not as an object, but as an extension of yourself.”
Harry took a deep breath and obeyed.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A pull.
Like a thread unraveling, something deep within his soul stirred. His surroundings blurred. A rush of wind howled in his ears.
And suddenly, he was somewhere else.
The world around him was vast, endless. A grey void stretched in all directions, broken only by enormous chains that twisted and coiled like living serpents. They disappeared into the distance, their ends obscured by shadow.
Harry turned slowly. He wasn’t alone.
A figure stood among the chains—a tall, cloaked being with an obscured face. The only visible feature was its skeletal hand resting on the hilt of a scythe identical to Harry’s. The chains around it pulsed, shifting with each slow breath.
“Who are you?” Harry asked cautiously.
The figure tilted its head. A voice, low and resonant, echoed through the space.
"You already know who I am."
Harry’s grip tightened. “You’re my Zanpakutō spirit.”
The figure did not answer, but the weight of its presence confirmed it.
Harry took a step forward. “Why won’t you speak to me?”
The chains rattled, a deep sound that vibrated through the air.
"Because you are still bound."
Harry frowned. “Bound by what?”
The spirit raised its skeletal hand. With a sound like grinding metal, the chains around them constricted, tightening across the void.
"Fate. Duty. Sacrifice. You carry many chains, Harry Potter. Until you understand them, you will never truly wield me."
Harry stared, his mind racing. This wasn’t just about training. This was about something deeper—something that had followed him even in death.
"Come back when you are ready to break the chains."
The world shattered.
Harry gasped, his eyes snapping open. He was back in the training ground, Kyōraku watching him with quiet curiosity.
“Well?” the captain asked.
Harry let out a slow breath. His fingers curled around the scythe’s handle.
“It has a name,” he murmured. “But it won’t tell me yet.”
Kyōraku’s smile was knowing. “Then you’ve got some soul-searching to do, kid.”
Harry exhaled, glancing at his Zanpakutō.
He had fought against fate his whole life. It seemed even in death, it wasn’t done with him yet.