Written for Deathberryprompts' weekly prompt, grasping. I basically used it as an excuse to write a scenario that's been bumping around in my head for a while now. It's a crack theory, but one that's very dear to my heart, so I hope you guys enjoy!
Long Live
by hashtagartistlife
They're grasping at straws.
"No. I—I refuse," Kurosaki Ichigo says, and despite everything, despite everything, Rukia has to stifle a fond smile. It was just so Ichigo to say he refuses, as if this were a particularly annoying favour and not the end of the universe as they know it. Kurosaki Ichigo refuses, as he also refuses to have a sealed shikai, tame hair, and an ordinary destiny; Kurosaki Ichigo refuses, and usually, the world bends to his will.
This time, there are no leeways. Kurosaki Ichigo refuses, but the decision's not up to him to make. The only person who the choice falls to, the only person who can save the world now, is—
"Will you accept, Kuchiki-san?" Urahara asks her, ignoring Ichigo's cry of outrage; Rukia meets those shady eyes, expecting to see calculation, and finds nothing but sincerity.
Urahara Kisuke being sincere. It truly is the end of the world, she thinks, and a mirthless laugh leaves her lips.
"Do I have a choice?" she asks, and if her voice sounds bitter, she forgives herself for it; whichever way the stone falls now, she will not survive to see tomorrow. She should have been honoured, she knows; her friends are alive, the Vandenreich have been defeated, and offering up her life in defence of the Seireitei is one of the highest honours a Gotei-13 member can hope to achieve. Happiness has no place in the life of a shinigami; happiness is an entirely human emotion, unsuited to the soldiers that they are bred to be.
And yet, in her brief flashes of fantasy for the future, she had hoped they could be happy.
"There is always a choice, Kuchiki-san," Urahara tells her, careful even now, but she shakes her head; there was no choice from the start. If she knows this man, this is all a part of his plan; something set in motion far before she ever even existed, and something that will play out far beyond her short lifespan. She is only a cog in its workings—vitally important, to be sure, but picked out very carefully to ensure there are no failings. If she knows this man, he knows her inside out, and from the moment he had chosen her to carry the Hogyouku, the choice has been made for her.
"Not for me," she smiles, hard and brittle; she sheathes her sword and takes his hand. "But you knew that, didn't you? That's why I'm here."
"No." He's beside her in a heartbeat, ever reliable; the heat of his hand on her wrist burns. "You're not going, Rukia, I didn't fight all this way just to—just to—"
His voice breaks. Rukia closes her eyes and looks away. She can't see him like this, cannot face what she is going to be leaving behind; something in her chest aches and she takes her other hand from Urahara and places it on top of his.
"Ichigo, you fool, let go," she chides, gentle; she avoids his gaze as she prises his death-grip away, finger by finger, but he refuses to release her. "There's no other way."
"There is always another way!" he snarls, reiatsu curling over hers, "I will make another way!"
"Be as that may," she says dryly, "we are out of time."
As if on cue, a piece of the sky crumbles; the actual sky, not a replica ceiling as there had been in Hueco Mundo. They look at the clear blue shard in pieces on the Wahrwelt floor, and realise: the world is truly ending.
"Kuchiki-san." Urahara's voice is tinged with urgency now, and he beckons at her; Rukia looks up at Ichigo, and immediately wishes she hadn't. How can she leave, when the anguish is written across his face plain as day? How can she leave, when she knows that her leaving will make it worse?
"Please—" he whispers, but he lets her go; her hand slips from his with a dull finality and she wrenches her gaze away from his, before she loses her nerve, before she changes her mind, before she lets the tears escape and goes running back into his arms—
Urahara's hand, vicelike on hers, erases all other options. Rukia swallows, and looks forward; she will not ever look back, not any more. That option does not exist for her any longer.
"Long live," Urahara whispers, as he ropes her into place, "the Soul Queen."
Rukia closes her eyes.
Minatozaki Azusa loses her way on the first day of promotion. Wandering through the vast maze of mostly abandoned white buildings, she wonders if she really made the right choice when she accepted her promotion to the Zero Division. It's a great honour, everyone had told her, you get to guard the King of Souls himself!
What? I thought we had a Soul Queen? someone had countered, and someone else had agreed; Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's a Queen now, I've heard rumours—
Rumours, someone else had scoffed, we had a King before the war, why would things be any different now?
The war was a thousand years ago, yet another had interjected waspishly, and besides, why don't we just ask one of the other Captains? Some of them were actually there for the war.
Yes, but those Captains never answer, someone'd reminded, and that had been that. The matter of whether they had a Soul King or a Queen hadn't been resolved before she had to leave for the Royal Realm, but she had paid more attention to the rumours and gleaned what she could. The Soul Queen, they said, had been the possessor of the most beautiful zanpakutou in the history of the Gotei-13, and that was why she was chosen for the role; she had once been a wanted criminal, on the verge of execution; she had loved a human boy too much so to punish her, they'd set her on the throne and barred her from leaving. The Soul King, they said, was a great hero of Soul Society; he'd once singlehandedly beat all the Captains in it for the hand of a woman; he'd been some awful hybrid of shinigami, hollow, quincy and human, the product of illegal experimentation; he'd had orange hair.
(Personally, she thought that last rumour was flat-out stupid, but maybe that was just her.)
Neither set of rumours had seemed very concrete, however, so when Azusa finally left for the Royal Realm, under Shiba and Shihouin escort, she still had had no idea what to expect.
But I have to admit, I am a little disappointed, she thinks to herself, as she rounds yet another crumbling white building in search of the city (an entire city!) that has been assigned to her, you'd think that if the King or Queen resides here, you'd make an effort to not let it fall into disrepair. Everywhere, as far as the eye can see, are high white buildings rising into the sky; from far away it looks impressive, but up close, Azusa can see the years it has weathered in the cracks that run like lightning through the structures. She wonders just what exactly is going on in the Royal Realm; did the Soul King or Queen have a family? Were there Soul Princes, Soul Princesses? Where were the guards, the servants? And, for that matter, where was her goddamn city?
She spots a building that looks to be in slightly better shape than the others, and enters it; it is the largest one around for miles, and also the one with the highest tower. She thinks maybe that if she can get to the top of it, she might be able to get a clue as to where she is.
She does not expect the blade that comes whipping in her direction faster than she can think to react.
"Who are you?" comes a husky voice; she is not bound, yet she cannot move a muscle for the reiatsu that fills the space around her like concrete. How did I not notice this power before?! "What do you want?"
"I—my name is Minatozaki Azusa, former 12th Division Captain," she squeaks, because she feels deadly intent in the reiatsu surrounding her and knows she doesn't have a shot in hell of fighting its owner. "I was—promoted—to the Zero Division three weeks ago by Urahara-san."
The blade at her throat stills, and withdraws; the reiatsu around her disappears, and as she gasps for breath and rubs her neck, Azusa hears a deep sigh from behind her.
"That goddamn old man," someone mutters, and Azusa turns around— "I thought I told him to give me some goddamn warning next time."
He's tall, Azusa thinks, blinking, he's tall and broad and—did he have orange hair?!—he has a wild mane of orange hair that reaches halfway down his back; the man sighs as he sheathes his sword and Azusa blurts out—
"Are—are you the Soul King?"
He stops in his tracks and tilts his head at her; it would have been a curious gesture, had it not been for the fact that his eyes are the blankest things Azusa has ever seen. "No," he eventually replies, "we have a Soul Queen now. What the hell are they teaching you kids down there these days?"
Chagrined, Azusa tears her eyes away from him, only for them to land on a corner of the room which contains…. Well, shit. Azusa has no idea how to even begin describing what's there. She's never seen anything like it before in her life.
It's a woman, encased in a clear violet crystal. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted gently; her palms are turned outwards, as if in benevolent acceptance. Her short dark hair fans like a halo around her face. She wears a black shihakushou, standard shinigami apparel; it looks identical to the one she wears now, minus the Captain's haori.
"Who—," she starts, and stops immediately as the man brushes past her; he comes to rest right in front of the woman, placing his hand on the surface of the crystal gently and pressing his forehead against it. There's so much longing in his eyes that Azusa feels intrusive; this, she is sure, is not something that is meant for public viewing.
She clears her throat, because while she would like to respect this strange man's privacy, she's still hopelessly lost; he barely glances her way, but it's good enough of an opening for her. "Who's she? Who are you? And if it isn't too much trouble, could you point me in the direction of the city under my command, please? I'm lost, you see."
The man sighs again, taps the crystal lightly with a fist; "I swear, Rukia, they get smaller and slower every goddamn year. I don't know what the hell Kyouraku's doing with them, but none of them seem to know anything."
Azusa tries not to be offended as she waits for him with a fake smile plastered across her face.
Eventually, he looks round at her again. "It's a long story," he says, the way one might say 'it's sunny today' or 'you have blonde hair'.
"I've got time," she counters; he looks at her for an uncomfortably long time again, before he sits down and gestures for her to do the same.
"Alright, then," he says, and, in some strange way, it's both a beginning and an ending. "I suppose it starts when she saves my life…"