Autumn was a pretty time of year in Karakura. With summer fading and all its humidity traded for a cooling chill in the air, the town slowly turned red and yellow and copper as leaves shivered and quietly dropped one by one. Festivals were popular that time of year, and while Ichigo usually ended up dragged along to one event or another in the past, he saw a strangely free stretch of days ahead of him that year. Hell, a lot of his days were kinda free lately. For Ichigo, autumn meant something other than festivals and impromptu get-togethers with his friends. It meant something else to Kon, too, though neither of them had ever really mentioned it again. There was too much uncertainty about what had really happened. But the green-tipped feather Ichigo had found on his shoulder that day said that whatever was out there was real, and that meant their whole mystical journey to another world had been too. The Spirit Society. Kon had figured it had to be some kind of mirror world, or parallel universe for spirits. But instead of shinigami and hollows, there had been youkai spirit clans. Tengu. Kitsune. Oni. No Hueco Mundo. Just a deep dark cave at the base of a mountain, and a version of Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez who’d helped him save Rukia’s life. Who’d handed over one of his coveted magical gems simply because Kon was pissing him off. Who’d agreed to leave his self-imposed exile long before he’d sworn he would, just to help Ichigo get the gem back and fight at his side. Grimmjow, the scrappy brawler at heart, helped him end a conflict before it had even started. The more Ichigo thought about it afterwards the more impossible it seemed, feather or not. It had been three years since that strange day, and for three years Ichigo hadn’t been able to get a grumpy blue hermit of a demon out of his head. So when the anniversary of their accidental trip rolled around again, Ichigo packed a small, inconspicuous bag of items and told Kon what he was about to do.