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Ryan sighed, shaking his head. "Not quite...but by ancestry, I was. My ancestors were kings of Scotland and Ireland before the Stewart kings conquered Ireland. We lived as nobility for centuries under the British crown..."

Ryan walked down the line, past Ryan II and III, all the way past the last king and past the lords. The heads of the family always had a portrait, but in the 19th century this began to change. From 1840 onward there were daguerreotypes of the entire family every five years, which became photographs when one reached 1900. At 1840 as well, the place where the photo was taken also appeared on the plaque. Belfast, Ireland was one, then in 1845 it was Dublin. Then, at 1850, the location changed to York, Canada West. In 1867 this became "York, Ontario" then, in 1870, the location changed again, this time to "Feldric homestead, North-West Territory". Eventually this became Greenvale, North-West Territory, then, in 1905 it became Greenvale, Saskatchewan. After 1929 the photographs became yearly, and the scenes changed drastically over four years:

In 1929, there were three men and two women. At the forefront stood a man in a suit next to a woman in a dress - they were holding hands. Next to the man in the suit stood another, in a white dress shirt. A man in work clothes and a woman in a more common dress flanked the three, standing a bit back to denote that they weren't completely part of the family. "The Higginses," Ryan muttered, "...Mary's parents."

In 1930, the picture was the same except that the woman in the front was pregnant.

In 1931, the woman in the front was gone. The man that had stood next to her held a baby, but his expression looked slightly forced, as if he was trying to hide something. Also, the woman who stood slightly back was now pregnant.

In 1932, there were only three members. The suited man was gone, as was the woman with the less fancy dress. The working man's clothes looked much more worn, as did the nice clothes of the man in the front, who was standing while holding an infant - the working man was holding a much, much younger newborn.

As the years progressed, the clothes looked more faded and patched. The infants disappeared, replaced by growing children, one a composed boy who had a face that seemed determined, while the other was a girl. It was unchanged until 1944, when the well-dressed man was gone - only the girl and the working man were left, flanking a now teen-aged boy who stood in clothes that didn't have a patch on them, unlike the girl's dress and the man's working clothes. Ryan came close to the end of the hall, and the last picture, dated 1948, where the boy was dressed well yet looked sickly, as if he could hardly bring himself to sit up in the photographer's studio. As the years had passed, the boy and the girl had both changed drastically from their appearance as infants, and they grew more recognizable. Ryan could see the resemblences to his ancestor, Ryan I the Strong, but anyone else who looked at the 1948 portrait and then at Ryan would wonder how a sickly boy from 1948 could be standing in full color looking at his own black-and-white portrait. "Heh...we were running out of room there, too." Ryan unconsciously touched the photograph, which he had only seen once, on his last walk down this tunnel. "I never realized until then how bad I looked," he said to himself. "How sick I was, and that I would never recover. It all came to me when I saw that portrait...when I walked down this tunnel the last time."

It was a hall of memories, it had been since Ryan had passed 1931. Each year that he remembered...1934, 1935, the storms and hardship, 1936 and the news of the Night of the Broken Glass in Germany...1937 and Hitler's campaigns, the annexation of Austria in 1938. 1939, the invasion of Poland, war, strife, but most importantly booming business for the war. The Battle of Britain in 1940, Winston Churchill on the radio, the loss of his uncle and his father, his trip to Europe...and he was slowly reaching the end. Slowly, but surely. He knew what lay there, after the 1948 photograph.

Ryan took a few more steps then came upon a door, beginning to laugh. "My dad was so smart with this. He wanted to live in a place of his own, but didn't like walking through deep snow to get to the family home for dinner and such. He also didn't want to take away any space to plant crops, so instead of build a house aboveground..."

Ryan opened the door, which was unlocked, to reveal a fairly dark room, which smelled musty, dirty...and had the faintest tinge of rot. He placed his lantern on a wall shelf and took another pack of matches that conveniently lay on the shelf. Lighting candles around the room, he revealed a fairly spacious yet comfortable one-room apartment, dug out underground. A table sat near the door, with space for four people, and a closet was dug into the wall. It was almost bare, though, save for a very faded, very dusty, yet almost completely untouched shirt that hung up. It seemed to be almost patchwork from many repairs and even had some holes, but it hung almost with pride next to a pair of faded (and patched) blue jeans.

In the corner across from the closet, on Ryan's right at the back of the room stood a wood stove, with a chimney extending up and out the ceiling. But it was not the wood stove that caught Ryan's attention. There was a bed near that stove. On Ryan's side of the bed there was a night stand, on which sat a lantern and a radio, the latter of which was issuing static. Almost involuntarily, Ryan strode forward and snapped the dusty radio off. He stood between the night stand and a chair...a chair in which had once sat the girl from the last portrait.

The bed was as if it had been made over the person sleeping in it...or the person that had been sleeping in it, for there was a skull sitting on top of the pillow. That skull was still attached to a neck, which was attached to the body. The arms could be seen neatly placed on top of the body, and bony as the rest of it was. Ryan took the skull, separating it from the neck with a soft pop, and he removed the jawbone with ease - this he set on the night stand. Really, bones were easy to remove when all the muscles were gone...but Ryan could only think about the years he'd been to see plays in Regina, and this one scene that he remembered vividly as he held up the skull, looking it in the eyes. He couldn't remember the words, but he remembered the scene as a man dressed in black held up a skull, gazing at it as he spoke on about the man the skull had belonged to. All Ryan could do, though, was simply gaze.

"I died here," Ryan said softly to himself. "This is where I died, and this is my body...and here I am, holding my own skull in my hand."

Ryan replaced the skull on the pillow, nodding slowly. "Yes." He touched the stool that sat by the bed. "That was where she sat...and I looked up at her with those eyes," he touched one of the skull's eye sockets, "and trusted her to keep those promises. She...she..."

The memories of the room were becoming too much, and, for the first time in a long time, Ryan felt a tear run down his cheek. "She betrayed me...broke the promises she made to me as she watched me die." Standing, he turned and began to walk out of the room. "I want her dead for that, and I don't...I don't know if I could ever bring myself to love anyone ever again after that."

With that, Ryan walked back down the tunnel to the family home. As he climbed the ladder he felt a bit colder, and he came out the trap door to find that it was almost completely night out, with just a few rays of sun coming over the horizon in the west. Ryan opened a cupboard and pulled out a bundle of wood, still dry as if it had been cut yesterday. Most of it was small sticks, and Ryan put them into the stove, reaching in and lighting the fire with a match before sliding a small handle on the stove to let air in and closing the stove door most of the way, placing a larger bundle of wood by the stove bottom and sitting down on the small stuffed couch they had owned - his grandfather had made a fair amount of money in the 1920s and had bought the couch, which had seen better days.

"Heater?" Ryan laughed a bit. "I wish. We don't have central heating here. Central heating was for those rich ******** who sit in their mansions in Toronto, and in Vancouver, and in Winnipeg counting their money while we toiled away only to see all our work whisked away by the dust storms. Central heating was a dream. No...this is the prairie. We have a wood stove and blankets to keep us warm...and our jackets. Speaking of which..."

Ryan walked out the door for a minute, taking the car keys with him. Opening the trunk, he took out their bags and brought them in, making sure to close the trunk. It was quite cold outside now, and Ryan checked the thermometer by the door - it stood at 17. No need to close the door - the wind blew it shut. He then walked around the room, shuttering the windows, then brought his jacket out of his bag, laying it on the back of the couch. He thought for a minute, doing some quick calculations to account for the wind: "It's about freezing right now, and for this time of year I'd say it'll get down to about ten below..." Ryan shook his head, the wind had been picking up, and that had mussed his hair a bit, putting some into his eyes. "With that wind, though...probably twenty or twenty-five below freezing. Right now it's at fifteen below." Ryan took a large log and shoved it into the fire, using a metal rod that leaned against a wall to move the wood and coals around, then closed the door - while the wind had blown in and made it a bit colder, the fire was warming up the house fairly quickly. "It'll be warm when you go to bed, but we have no electricity here, and there's no clocks in the house - I was conditioned to snap awake at sunrise. We tell our time by where the sun is. So, while I'll make sure the fire's mostly fresh when we go to bed...you should bundle up in bed just the same."

Ryan nodded toward a small staircase that wrapped around itself, going up to a cursory second floor that was comprised of simply three bedrooms built on top of the main room downstairs. The stovepipe wound up in a convoluted way through all three before exiting out the roof, so that the heat from the pipe would serve to heat all the rooms. "While my uncle and grandfather were ingenious in building this place and gave us somewhat of a central heating system...once the fire goes out, it doesn't turn back on automatically like the gas systems that the rich people had. You can take Mary's old room - it's the one on your left when you get to the top of the stairs. I'm right across from that if you need me."

There was a table in front of the couch, and a chessboard on top of it - Ryan looked at the game, remembering that he'd left it unfinished - he'd been Black, while Mary had played as White, in one of their many games. "Aside from chess, unless you want me to make you something to drink and talk for a bit, there's nothing to do aside from turning on the radio and seeing if there's a hockey game. No television, and I don't have any board games aside from chess, checkers, and chinese checkers..." Ryan opened the drawer built into the table, and remembered the other thing as he saw the two decks of playing cards, one blue and one red, both riderback Bicycle cards sitting in their racks, with the familiar pegboard in the drawer as well. "Playing cards, too...but I usually only play blackjack, poker, cribbage, or the odd game of solitaire. Guess it's not really what you're used to on a daily basis, huh."

Ryan closed the drawer again, shrugging as he stepped forward. Opening the door to the stove, he placed some more small wood bits in, moved the ones in there around a bit then placed another log, one that would hopefully go a fair bit into the night. "It doesn't matter...I need to get the blankets out of the room closets and make the beds anyway." Looking at Envy as he headed toward the steps, he spoke again: "Also...don't wear that jacket to bed. There's quite a few blankets and they'll keep you quite warm - with the heat from the stovepipe, you'll be far too hot to sleep with even just the jacket on. Mary had a nightdress in her room, it should be in that cedar chest of hers. I'll call when your bed is ready."

Walking upstairs, Ryan started in his room. The blankets were kept in a cedar chest as well, to keep moths away - Ryan made his bed with ease, and looked at the clothes below. His old clothes, the good ones at that - they had been untouched except by dust for sixty long years. He then closed the chest and looked at the other box in his closet. The mahogany one. He knew what was inside that long box, but he wouldn't open it yet. Tomorrow morning was when he would open that one.

Ryan then walked into Mary's old room, remembering with a pang the year he'd spent in here, watching over her as she slept and he sat in exile as an earthbound spirit. It was as plain as his, with just the bed and the closet, and the blankets as always in the cedar chest. Ryan made the bed and found the nightdress at the bottom, where it had always been - it was a plain, white cotton dress, and looked about right for Envy's size. He pulled it out and lay it on the bed where Envy could see it. Walking back down the stairs, he simply stood at the bottom. "I've made the beds, Envy...and I think we should both try and get some sleep. It's dark out, and being back here in the dark makes me just want to sleep, because there's no work to be done and not much light to do things by."

Ryan walked down to the table again, lighting two candles that sat in holders and taking one for himself. "Left door at the top of the stairs. Mine is the right...take the candle, or you'll never be able to see up there."

Starting up the stairs again, Ryan turned slightly and looked back at Envy. "I'm right across the hall if you need me, like I said. Don't be afraid to wake me up...good night, Miss Envy."

Ryan then ascended the stairs and went into his room. He threw his shirt and his pants off, as he always did, throwing them into a corner across from the door. Then he slid under the many blankets and into bed, warm and comfortable, moreso than even his bed in Soul Society. Almost instantly, he was sound asleep.

Ryan groaned softly as he slept, plagued again by dreams of his death and Mary's betrayal, but now also plagued by the sight of Captain Nagi without an arm, trying to use his other arm and failing. Then something...something dark, something tugging at him. There was something within him...as if there was some great conflict within him, yet he was and wasn't a part of it.

Then he was poked. Opening his eyes, he saw Envy, standing in Mary's nightdress. "Envy...are you...all right?"

Unconsciously, Ryan's hand went to his face, touching it for reasons he did not know. He thought he heard two echoing voices in his head. One sounded like Ember's, the other...well, it sounded like some warped, twisted imitation of his own. After an instant, though, the voices were gone, and he was left alone, with Envy standing there. "What do you need, Miss Envy?"

Ryan was still dazed, and he really had never had much experience with anyone who wasn't his family or Mary's family spending nights at his house. "Let me guess, Envy, you're freezing cold..."

He began to laugh. "I guess cold is just something I'm really used to." Moving back a bit, more toward the other side of the bed, Ryan shrugged, at least, shrugging as best he could when he was lying on his side covered by blankets. "If you'd be warmer here, then go ahead and sleep next to me. I don't mind at all."

Ryan pulled the covers over both of them, then, thinking for a second after Envy fell asleep, he put his arms around her in a gentle embrace. Just in case she moves or I move...so I don't push her off the bed or something.

Though, he had to admit that there was something likable about Envy. Just something strangely attractive...but really, who cared right now. Right now...he needed sleep, which he fell into.

For reasons he didn't know, in his dream he was back at the wedding, but this time instead of him watching, he was wearing a tuxedo...and Envy was opposite him. He saw in the crowd the faces of those he recognized from the Gotei 13. Nagi stood there with Yuki, Tansen was there next to a strange girl...all of the Captains were there, in fact, as were the Vice-Captains. Only now...Michiko was now Captain of Squad 3, not Tagg, and Iu Hana was gone, having been replaced by Ogato. He didn't see...couldn't see any Vice-Captain wearing the armband. They sat in order, but there was no one in the place where the 6th Vice-Captain should be...nor was Asuma there - the 8th Vice-Captain position was also empty, as was the 10th.

He looked back at Envy, and suddenly was filled with this incomprehensible will to kill her. He tried to resist, but a blue mass burst from his left shoulder--

Arcane? I can't use Arcane...

The mass formed itself into a hand, which grabbed Envy by the throat. He wasn't in control now, all he felt was this horrible pain, and suddenly his memories replayed again. He could see Captain Nagi striding up to them, drawing his zanpakuto, but Nagi was missing his arm again, and as he approached Mary appeared out of nowhere and stopped him. Ryan himself tried to stop, tried to save Envy, but nothing happened. He wasn't in control of his body at all, and all he could hear was the shriek of Mary's laughter and another cackle, lower, again like a twisted imitation of his own...

Ryan snapped awake. Sunlight was glinting through the window - it was sunrise, and he needed to be up. Morning practice...

He realized there was a weight in his arms. A warm, comforting one...Envy. Ryan got up slowly, taking care not to wake her up as he got out of bed. After putting on his own clothes, which lay in the chest, as well as a wool sweater and some woolen socks, he went into Mary's old bedroom and got some more of Mary's clothing from the chest - a wool sweater, wool socks, as well as pants and a shirt simply made to keep warm. He placed these on his own bed next to Envy before taking the case out of his closet and heading downstairs.

Sitting at the dinner table that was just outside of the kitchen area, Ryan opened the case. The inside was padded with velvet and built exactly to specifications - in a cavity cut almost exactly to its shape lay a Lee-Enfield Mark III bolt-action rifle, which was still polished on the outside as if it were new. Taking it out slowly, he opened the breech - it was, of course, unloaded. After he did this, he went to the kitchen and got a bowl from one of the cupboards. He poured in some gun-oil, which also lay in the case, and, using a rag that also sat in the case, began to disassemble and clean the rifle.

Once he was done, he replaced the rifle and took out the other gun in the case - a Colt Peacemaker single-action revolver. He cleaned that, then closed the case, carrying it outside the house as he left by the back door.

The shed wasn't far - he got the target out with ease, then set it up. It was thick and hard, meant to stop bullets inside rather than let them simply pass through. Setting it up, he walked a hundred feet away, then set the case down and took out the rifle again. There was also a belt in the case, lined with bullets, and Ryan also put this on. Crouching, he took aim at the target, took a bullet from his belt, opened the bolt and loaded the rifle. The breech closed with a soft click, and Ryan's finger tightened on the trigger as he exhaled slowly, letting his emotions and memories fall away as he took aim at the target. His right hand was on the trigger, his left supported the barrel...

Crack. It echoed off the house and the shed, as the plains seemed to be filled with a report they had not heard in ages. Even as the crack was echoing, Ryan's right hand performed its magic, coming off the trigger and sliding the bolt open, his middle finger trailing to pull out the bullet case, which fell to the ground as Ryan's hand dropped to his belt. He pulled out a bullet, spinning it between his fingers even as his hand returned to the rifle, loading another bullet and closing the bolt with his thumb, then returning to the trigger to fire again only seconds after firing his first shot. Again and again he fired, ten shots, as always, before he rested, just holding the rifle and staring at the target.