The silver grass did not bend under their feet, but it shifted now, rippling outward like water disturbed. The sky above the garden was neither day nor night. It existed between hours, suspended in an amber hush.
From the far edge of the field, beyond the horizon where the light failed, they came.
Not running.
Not floating.
They simply appeared, like thoughts finally acknowledged.
Ichigo saw them clearly.
The Forsaken.
They were not hollows, nor shinigami, nor humans. They were remnants, stained by the weight of having been left behind. Each carried the trace of a soul but none of its clarity. Their limbs were wrong, twisted by memory's erosion. Faces blurred and eyes too wide. They made no sound, but Ichigo could hear them. Not with his ears. With his heart.
They were names that had never been spoken again.
"Don't draw your blade," Kairo said.
Ichigo's hand hovered over Zangetsu.
"They're not enemies," the boy added. "They're waiting."
"For what?"
"For permission."
Ichigo stepped forward.
The Forsaken stopped.
He looked into the first one's face. It had once been a man, perhaps. Shoulders broad, hair frayed and falling. One side of its body shimmered like it had been burned from reality. The other clung to the faint outline of armor.
"Do you remember your name?" Ichigo asked.
The figure didn't move. Didn't blink.
But in the grass around it, petals turned a deeper silver.
Kairo stood beside Ichigo now, eyes steady.
"He doesn't remember," the boy said. "But I do."
Ichigo nodded.
"Then give it to him."
Kairo took a single step forward and spoke a name.
Tatsurō.
The figure trembled.
Its edges flickered.
A quiet wind passed through the field.
Then, slowly, the figure knelt.
And vanished.
No light.
No drama.
Just peace.
Ichigo exhaled.
"They're waiting for remembrance," he said.
"Some of them," Kairo said. "Not all."
Another figure approached. This one was small. A girl. Her hands were locked together, and her face was nothing but a smear of pale light. Around her feet, the grass wilted.
Ichigo felt it instantly.
Pain.
Not rage.
Grief too deep to speak.
"What happened to her?"
"She was erased before she could be born," Kairo whispered. "A soul never given breath."
Ichigo's mouth felt dry.
"She doesn't want to be remembered," Kairo said. "She wants to forget."
"What do we do?"
Kairo stepped forward and knelt.
He didn't say a name this time.
He touched her hand.
The girl's form trembled. For a moment, Ichigo thought she might collapse. But instead, she smiled.
Then she, too, was gone.
Kairo turned. His eyes shimmered with exhaustion.
"This is what the garden was meant to be," he said. "A place to settle the unspoken."
Ichigo looked at the hundreds of figures still in the distance.
"Can we help them all?"
"I don't know," Kairo said. "But we can try."
They worked for hours. Maybe days. Time didn't pass in the garden as it did elsewhere.
Ichigo named those he could.
Kairo remembered those Ichigo couldn't.
Some figures needed only to be seen.
Others vanished the moment Kairo looked at them.
But not all faded.
At the edge of the garden stood a shape that did not flicker or waver.
It was solid.
Whole.
And it did not kneel.
Ichigo approached carefully.
Kairo hesitated.
"That one's different," he said. "It doesn't belong here."
The figure turned.
Ichigo stopped.
He knew the face.
Yamamoto.
But it wasn't quite right.
The robes were darker. The eyes colder. The sword at his side wasn't Ryūjin Jakka. It was made of parchment and ink, bound in a scabbard of bone.
"You're not him," Ichigo said.
The figure smiled. "No."
"Then what are you?"
"I am the part of him that made the pact."
Kairo stepped beside Ichigo, voice quiet. "The shard that remembered power."
The false Yamamoto bowed slightly.
"You've done well, Substitute. You've brought balance to the field."
Ichigo narrowed his eyes. "But?"
"But balance is not enough. Harmony is fragile. Without guidance, this garden will overflow again."
Ichigo stood taller. "Then I'll stay. I'll remember every name."
"No," the false Yamamoto said. "You won't live that long."
The wind chilled.
Kairo stepped back.
"I can do it," he said.
Ichigo turned. "What?"
"I was made for this."
"No," Ichigo said quickly. "You're just a boy."
"I'm every boy who was forgotten. Every girl. Every child. Every captain. Every soul no one cared enough to name twice."
Ichigo's breath caught.
The false Yamamoto stepped closer.
"The garden doesn't need a warrior. It needs a warden."
Kairo looked up at Ichigo.
"I'm not scared."
Ichigo reached out. "You don't have to do this."
"I want to."
Kairo touched Ichigo's hand.
The mark transferred.
Not vanished. Shared.
Part of it remained with Ichigo.
The other half glowed on Kairo's chest.
He smiled.
"I'm not alone anymore."
And with that, he turned and walked into the garden.
The grass parted for him.
The Forsaken bowed.
And Kairo began to remember them all.
Ichigo woke in Karakura Town.
Alone.
The sun had risen.
The world was quiet.
He stood by the river for a long time, listening.
Then, from somewhere far beyond the wind, a whisper came.
A name.
Hana.
He smiled.
"I remember."