The office of Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto was quiet in a way that made sound feel unwelcome.

No clashing steel. No distant voices. No movement beyond the faint crackle of flame from the brazier set low near the floor. The air was warm—always warm—but not enough to comfort. It pressed in, dry and heavy, carrying the lingering threat of something far greater held in restraint.

He sat behind his desk.

A mountain given form, wrapped in stillness.

Scrolls lay open before him, reports neatly arranged, each one bearing the weight of the Seireitei’s order. His gaze moved across them with the same measured scrutiny he gave to battlefields and subordinates alike—nothing overlooked, nothing forgiven.

The door had opened minutes ago.

He had not acknowledged it.

You stood inside now.

+ ̊ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ + ̊

He is your father, and is probably not a good one.