A Promise to the Forgotten
The sight of the broken spirits filled Harry with a deep, simmering anger. Their forms were fractured, their edges flickering like dying embers, each one a symbol of abandonment. Harry tightened his grip on the scythe, its energy pulsating in sync with his rising emotions.
"How could they leave you like this?" he muttered, his voice low but carrying an edge of frustration. He turned to the fragmented spirits around him. "Shinigami are supposed to protect and wield you, to honor the bond they share with their zanpakutō. You are part of them. And yet... they discarded you."
The spirits didn't speak, but their flickering forms seemed to respond to his words, trembling faintly as if sharing his anger.
Harry exhaled, forcing himself to calm. Anger alone wouldn't fix what had been done. He knelt, planting the base of the scythe into the ground, its green glow spreading outward in gentle waves. "You've been left behind," he said softly, addressing the spirits as though they were old friends. "But I'm here now. I won't abandon you. I'll help you."
The spirits leaned forward, drawn to the light emanating from his weapon. Harry closed his eyes, focusing on the scythe in his hands. He could feel its power humming, ready to be unleashed.
"Let me restore you," he whispered, raising the scythe high.
The blade glowed brighter, the green energy swirling around it like a living thing. As he brought it down in a smooth, deliberate arc, the energy burst outward, spreading across the clearing. The wave of light washed over the spirits, enveloping them in a warm, rejuvenating glow.
One by one, the fragmented spirits began to change. Their forms solidified, their edges smoothing as cracks and fissures were mended. The dull, lifeless glow in their cores grew brighter, flickering like a flame brought back to life.
A single spirit stepped forward, its newly restored form glimmering with renewed energy. "You... you've given us strength," it said, its voice stronger now, steady and full of awe.
Harry smiled faintly, though the anger still lingered at the edges of his mind. "I only did what your wielders should have done," he said, his tone firm. "You were never meant to be forgotten."
More spirits stepped forward, their voices overlapping as they thanked him, their gratitude filling the once-silent clearing. Harry raised a hand to quiet them.
"I'll help as many of you as I can," he promised. "But this isn't just about fixing what's broken. The Shinigami need to understand what they've done. They can't keep abandoning their zanpakutō like this. If they do, they'll lose a part of themselves forever."
The spirits murmured their agreement, their forms now glowing with a renewed sense of purpose. Harry stood, his scythe pulsing in his hand like a heartbeat. He knew his journey wouldn't end here.
"Come with me," he said to the restored spirits. "Let's show Soul Society that even the forgotten have a voice. And together, we'll make sure no one else is left behind."
As Harry walked away from the clearing, the spirits followed, their collective glow lighting the winding path ahead. With each step, Harry felt his purpose solidify. He wasn't just a zanpakutō without a master—he was a beacon for those who had been left behind, a reminder that even the broken could be whole again.
And for the first time, he felt that his new existence wasn't just a consequence—it was a calling.