He felt something calling him as the darkness enveloped his small form once more, losing the sense of discretion in this place. Nothing seemed to move in the dead air save his own breath that explained from his chest, the only living sound in this purgatory of Aizen's own making.

Shiro reached out blindly for the first steps into the room or a room most likely knowing it was the room of the Lord of this place. Nothing came to the outstretched fingertips seeking some kind of way to walk or to make sure he had to note of a guide back to the doors he if could leave. Where was the voice of before? Something tugged at the edge of his mind for a moment.

It was cold, and pulsed on his skin.

Calling whispers of him he was close to the voice that brought the young man to this place in the first point. Shiro caught and held his breath to stop any mention of sounds from his body. Listening to anyone or anything that might be watching from the darkness of this place or seeking something else than just watching his small form from the unfolding shadows. Surely there was some kind of watch system in this place. Yet who also would dare to enter into the month of yell willing or seek something from the Lord-sama's room?

No one

Save a boy who had nothing else to lose in the end of this little walk.

Shiro then felt the smooth surface of the stone on his fingertips for the moment and it sent a tremble of relief he had some kind of bearings now in this place. Blinking, his hands traced what might be a lamp of some kind, taking the chance he pressed what was the switch as the wick sprung to life in a silver flame that pierced the darkness enough to let him see a good four feet at least.

Who was he to complain at this moment?

So fair the details were on a white floor and walls much like the hallway he had left moments before to enter into this place. He had only the cold energy echoing his name to follow in this place and it was the only thing he had to even know who he had once been. Then it called him once more.

"Hitsugaya ....Toushiro"

It said his name fully and it strikes something deep in his soul and mind, clawing and trying to come to the surface that was the person of Shiro.

Closing those sea-green orbs for a moment he fought to keep that part silenced for now. He had to if they wanted to get out alive. "Please wait just a little longer," he whispered to his mind as it was pushed back without a fight once more but that part of him wanted out, to draw blood in payment for the things done to him by two people he once trusted and called the friend.

Momo...

Aizen...

Those two names held the promise of blood to them; savage.

It somewhat scared Shiro that something like that called to him, was that his true nature? There was only one way to find out as he once more set out on the path of the whispers of snow saying the name of who he had once been maybe in one lifetime ago.

Who had this young man been?

Maybe finding whatever called to him would answer that at least in some ways. Shiro knew also one more thing that had called that name to him. Those cornflower eyes, yearning for him to come home and whispering that name on full lips with such sweetness to the sounds. A woman he knew that held a deeper bound to the name as deep as the cold whispers that also claimed it.

It was confusing to him, to say the least on several levels of who he had once been to have these bounds. Even at times Momo striking something in his soul, that she had not always been this way. It seemed to lead a connect to Aizen and also might end with him. Such thoughts entered his mind as he walked down the hallway with the light.

"Hitsu..." the deep thunder rolled out his name, etching into the soul of the young man. Calling for him and just him in this darkness...

"Who are you? What are you?" Shiro thought back, hoping whoever or whatever this voice was might respond back. Seeking an answer for all this at least.

"Find me."

Find him? How? Why did he always up with more questions in this little quest than any answers at all? His fist hit the wall next to him in him outcry of the anger building in the small frame of the young boy of silver hair. How long must he put off this search to find only dead ends? The mind offered nothing or little to the clues of who he had once been and it's not like he could ask Aizen or Momo right out on the subject of this all happening to him. Shiro only had the thundering voice that whispered to him to find it.

He had no choice in the matter once more in what to do but follow the order of the voiceless storm.

He huffed in the air as his feet once more set on the steady pace of the walk into the depths of the room or hallways as it might be. Thinking it might keep going forever, the room penned to something larger as the cold light hit the open rugs of black.

"This has to be it at last..." he could only hold that hopeful thought in his mind. Setting on finding the wintrily energy as a wolf to the scent of blood.

Teal eyes found an oak desk with books on shelves of old printing and new.

Works of human art that he could not hope to name but noted a few from his own books back in Momo's room, many in fact.

Rich carpets of the Middle wing that lay on the ashen stone floors and tiles.

A bed of crimson silk that could hold six grown men and their lovers if needed.

Then his search came to a closed door, bound in steel locks and spells of the demon arts. Kanji's that held some kind of barrier in place.

The energy was behind this door. Beating at the spells to be free of the bindings place on what held it, calling for him and pleading to be freed of this closure put on it. He felt claws scrapping at the barrier as the roar of the beast filled and ravage his soul in the pain of it all.

He had found the voice...

Thinking of not or put into a trace his fingers lightly touched the minds of the door, the chains froze in an icy grip as the barrier shattered in the rush of winds of the energy captive behind it and called at once by the skin of Shiro. It recoiled in a fierce joy of being free as the door slide open once more to reveal itself to the teal eyes.

A kanata...with a star-shaped hilt and blue bindings in an ebony sheath. Something that was his in every way his arm or his very leg was part of him. Something that was far deeper than that of the flesh of bone. It was so much more than that, he could not dare to even under a name or word to form what this simple blade might mean to him once more.

Yet he knew the name before as his hands gentle pulled the sword from the chains on the wall. A name burned and scarred deep into the depths of his soul. Something he could never truly taken from him.

"Hyourinmaru"

That name was his and that of the blades, as his fingertips light traced the worn bindings of the hilt of the breathing blade that lay once more in his hands. Shiro knew this blade better than anything else in this darkened world of blood and shadows."Hyourinmaru." he chimed out the name once more only to be gifted with a warm touch to his deformed soul.

"Welcome home, Hitsuyaga."