The Mask and the Mirror

This was interesting to Silas. Sol Desierto had practically leaped at the chance. Yet Halibel had refused, despite Silas stating the right words. Was there truly such a chasm of ambition between them?

"Perhaps not," Silas admitted. "But there's no need to doubt yourself. There are forces at work in this world—and those beyond—that you are ill-equipped to face."

Her mask gave nothing away but her silence. That was his opening. So he continued, saying, "You mistake me for an enemy. Or perhaps you mistake me for a Soul Reaper."

He sensed it then—not a spike in fear, but a flicker of surprise so swift it might have been his imagination.

"You are not what I expected," Halibel confessed, her voice a touch softer.

He considered what would get this Hollow to side with him. Perhaps he could attack her and show his might. But doing this wouldn't produce the results he desired. Halibel disliked fighting without a just cause.

Maybe he could demonstrate his power by making her kneel. However, if he were to do that, it would spread too much fear and not enough loyalty. What he needed her to do was join him of her own free will.

Fear was one thing, but if he could persuade a well-known Great Hollow like her, the other Great Hollows would have an easier time following suit.

"It seems words alone can't sway the husks of a Hollow," he announced. "Let your ignorance, therefore, understand what's in front of you."

Silas's fingers brushed the side of his face with both a casual and ominous gesture. Then, with a subtle shift, it began.

Bone-white porcelain surged, covering his face like a second skin. Cracks of crimson bled across its surface, converging in a single jagged line. The air hung heavy with unreleased spiritual pressure—a contained storm that crackled around him that neither of the three could sense.

Yet their expressions were more than enough for Silas to tell what they were thinking.

Apacci flinched, a barely repressed hiss escaping her. Sung-Sun's long sleeves quivered slightly, but her eyes remained fixed on Silas. While Franchesca remained a pragmatist, prepared to fight if needed,.

Halibel alone remained outwardly calm, not a single muscle fiber twitching. Yet her eyes, narrowed behind her mask, betrayed keen interest. She was calculating the situation.

She knew this wasn't a parlor trick, and she understood the meaning of a mask. Yet she still couldn't sense Silas's spiritual pressure. Was he a Hollow or Soul Reaper? The answer was deeply unsettling.

Silas released the flow of energy, letting the mask dissipate like mist. The silence was brittle. Finally, it was Halibel who broke it.

"You are neither what I expected nor what I understand," she admitted, her voice even. "But I recognize someone rare when I see one."

Silas remained blank as he said, "Hollows, in whatever form they take, always embrace possibilities. Am I wrong? You specifically take what you desire to build your own strength."

"What is it you truly want, though?"

Halibel didn't accuse, but the question was straightforward. The answer was simple.

"Change," he said. "A world where strength is not the sole currency. Where even Hollows can reach towards something beyond the laws that govern Hueco Mundo."

Apacci snorted, making a disdainful sound. "A world where the weak have power? What nonsense! The strong always devour—"

"Enough!" Halibel commanded. Her eyes were like steel. "Whoever he is, he offered something, or at least the promise of it. Do not insult him... or me."

Silas watched this exchange. The hierarchy was clear. Halibel would not be easily swayed by emotional appeals alone. She had wanted to see his power rather than hear empty promises.

Nothing more.

"Your strength is formidable," Silas acknowledged. "But even now, you're still lacking. Your focus is divided by concern for those who are weaker. Protection is a noble burden and at great cost to yourself."

"That cost, I willingly accept," she stated, unwavering.

However, something gnawed at the back of her head. The way Silas was speaking, it was as if he were reading her mind. This was the first time the two had interacted. So why was it that he spoke as if he knew everything about her?!

"Indeed, that is your nature..." Silas paused, choosing his words with care. "But it is not the nature of this world. One day, an opponent will come that has the power to chip away at all that you've sworn to protect."

"I've heard enough," she said with a sense of unease. Even her composure couldn't hide her thoughts. This was the crux of it—the fear every Hollow in this realm refused to acknowledge. 

"You want protection, yes?" Silas pressed, his voice gentle. "Offer your strength to me, and I'll offer you the means to gain power beyond any sacrifice you could make. You hesitate, but I sense your understanding." 

He saw it then. The subtle desperation beneath her pride. The weary acceptance of how Hueco Mundo truly worked.

And why wouldn't she understand what Silas was getting at? He said that an opponent would come with greater power than she could fathom, one that could tear her kingdom apart.

What all four of them dreaded was that Silas could be that opponent.

"How long...?" Halibel asked. Her voice was softer.

"Six years," Silas stated. "Train and grow stronger. Protect your own, but draw no undue attention. Avoid, in particular, the one named 'Baraggan Louisenbairn'."

"You know Baraggan?!" Apacci blurted.

Halibel and Baraggan had their struggles, neither of whom liked the other. He was known as the "king of Hueco Mundo", promising Halibel that no matter where she ran, he would find her eventually.

It hadn't taken either of them long to know that Silas was not at all in league with that Great Hollow. That gave them a little more confidence.

"May I ask why you don't want me contacting him?" Halibel asked.

"His methods would be disruptive to my plans," he answered. "That's all you need to know."

"Six years," she mused. "It is a gamble."

"It is an alliance," he corrected. "A means to an end. You will gain power, but it will be of your own making. And when the time comes, your strength—and that of your subordinates—will be vital to what is to come." 

Her gaze swept over her companions. Apacci's rebellious scowl, Franchesca's quiet watchfulness, and Sung-Sun's ever-present enigmatic attitude. They weren't just her subordinates; they were her friends.

They were hers, and she was theirs. Silas could never form a bond with any character.

That didn't mean he couldn't exploit those bonds.