The day the war ended.
There were no cheers of victory, nor any celebration of having survived.
Once again, the only response to this inconclusive end was one wooden cart after another, their wheels stained dark red with blood.
Loaded with stretchers, they creaked all the way back from the still-smoldering border to Seireitei, forming a seemingly endless line outside the gates of the Fourth Division General Aid Center.
The heavy smell of blood mingled with medicinal herbs in the air, giving off a nauseating stench.
After this battle, judging by the fighting strength at the very top alone, the Gotei 13 seemed to have suffered no fundamental damage. Almost all the divisions' captains and lieutenants were still there.
But looking farther down revealed a horrifying sight: the Seated Officers who normally kept their entire divisions running, those pillars who led charges on the battlefield, relayed orders, and shielded the rank-and-file Squad Members from the fiercest fire on the front lines, had fallen in rows.
In some frontline combat divisions, fully half the names on their Seated Officer rosters had been crossed out in red ink.
Worse still, even core positions such as Third Seat and Fourth Seat, second only to captain and lieutenant, now stood empty. Not a single qualified replacement could be found anywhere in their barracks.
Reports of casualties and vacancies poured into the First Division Barracks like snowflakes, then were forwarded in an unending stream to the heart of power in the deepest reaches of Seireitei: Central 46.
Inside the Underground Council Chamber, dozens of Sages and Inquisitors wearing tall ceremonial hats sat high behind tiered desks, silently leafing through the thick dossiers in their hands.
The Sages of Central 46 would never withhold compensation for the fallen. Or rather, they had never been