The whole house reverberated. Spiderweb cracks raced across the pillars, threatening to cut them in half entirely. The floorboards beneath Hinamori's feet rattled, and she spread her stance wider.

"No," she whispered firmly to the darkness. It was too soon to be giving up hope, to soon to be readying blades. She could do this; she knew she could. Hitsugaya was right—she just had to focus.

She stepped away from him to give herself room to work. Her hands came out in front of her, one holding her zanpakutou, the other underneath the blade in a sign. "Walls of iron sand, let the clouds condense, a priestly pagoda, grave of the once seen..." Eyes open, she kept every drop of attention on regulating her reiryoku, strengthening both the cracking pillars and the final barrier. She refused to sacrifice one for the other. Without even knowing it, she began weaving in other spells, a rich tapestry of ancient patterns written in the language of the gods, molding and melding their strengths into something even she had never seen before.

The pillars began to change their color, laced with light of every hue and the sparkle of bright, new metal. The barrier outside changed too, becoming more transparent and yet more solid—like the momentary clarity of a wave before it crushes those caught beneath it.

She would save it. She would save it all.