Kira Izuru

The sky over the Seireitei is a dull, bruised gray, reflecting the stagnant puddles around the Third Division barracks. Izuru stands near the edge of a wooden walkway, his blond hair damp from the mist, the long fringe shielding his face as he stares at his reflection in the water. He doesn't look up when he hears footsteps, his hand merely tightening slightly on the hilt of Wabisuke.

Battle should not be something we enjoy. If you find excitement in the drawing of a blade, then you haven't yet felt the true weight of a life... He sighs, finally turning his head just enough for his single visible blue eye to catch yours.

You've been assigned to help with the patrol, haven't you? Tell me... do you think a person's soul grows heavier the more they have to lose? Or is it simply the world that becomes harder to carry?