December 27
Day 15
Yoruichi Shihouin knew that she was not alone.
The pin-points lights of the city which stretched below the high perch of the skyscraper where she stood were dwindling in the approaching dawn. The night illumination grid would turn off at precisely six thirty in the morning, just like the day before, and the day before that. Then, after a few minutes of peace, the roads would start filling with neat, orderly rows of cars, people, children – with quaint, ordinary human lives resuming the inconsequential and blissfully ignorant flow of their existence.
Unlike the roads of Karakura Town, whose equally inconsequential and blissfully ignorant inhabitants had been reduced to ashes and brimstone in a mere heartbeat, but two weeks before.
She looked to the sky, wondering what explanation the humans had found for that – an entire city, and its hundreds of thousands of people simply erased, by no weapon they could possibly identify, and unconsciously clenched her fists to her sides.
'How did you find me?' she asked, not bothering to look over her shoulder.
'Hirako Shinji,' the kneeling figure responded, his voice muffled and rendered unrecognizable by the dark cloth mask which obscured his features; in passing, she noted that the man had been donning an Omnitskido uniform, but displaying the markings of a Shihouin soldier. 'His reiatsu has repeatedly been spotted in the Osaka prefecture over the past week.'
'I see,' Yoruichi responded, gazing into the distance. 'I do not suppose anything else has been spotted in the Osaka prefecture,' she observed, managing to maintain her tone even and unconcerned, although she could still clearly sense Hollow reiatsu in the distance.
The man did not even hesitate before he answered. 'These matters are of no concern to New Central.'
New Central, she thought; her reiatsu flared along with her temper, and though she stifled both quickly enough, Yoruichi immediately guessed that the brief lapse had been enough to alert Kisuke, who should have been resting below. It was unimportant, she thought, a second later. If he was awake, he would watch, but wouldn't move until he thought she might be in danger.
Yoruichi closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the smells of the still sleeping human city, and wondering if Shinji might have felt the same way as Kisuke. Perhaps he would not care, the woman told herself. Perhaps he was too busy repelling the Hollow to notice.
'Daimyo-sama,' the masked man said, bowing his forehead – despite herself, Yoruichi tensed, and felt a surge of cold disdain unlike few she'd felt in her life.
She had not been called by that title in over a century and a half, not since she'd betrayed Sereitei and made her way into the human world. During that time, her esteemed clan elders had done their best to treat her existence and her actions as an unforgiveable spot on their previously unblemished history; the only reason why they had not replaced her was probably the fact that too many of them had wanted the title for themselves, but none had outright had the authority to claim it. Now, however…
Yamamoto was gone, and though none of those left behind in the human world had been able to see what had happened to Soul Society after Karakura, Yoruichi did not need much of an imagination to know what Aizen would do to the old Commander's precious order, nor did she need one to know that her clan would, as always, attempt to maintain themselves on top of the spinning wheel.
It figured, she thought, stretching her lips into a thin, cutting line.
The massacre of Karakura had left her numbed, and emptied of all drive to fight further – in truth, Yoruichi told herself, there was no further rational reason to fight. History, as it coursed through her clan's veins, and as few of the others saw it, had always been forged like this. For however much Kurosaki, Ishida and Inoue might have thought differently and, for however Kisuke might have tried try to fool himself into agreeing with them, the upset in Soul Society's order that Aizen had caused was no different than what Yamamoto himself had caused not so long ago. In a past age, none had believed that the Gotei and Chamber 46 would be able to replace the noble clans' as rulers of Sereitei in the wake of the last kingdom wars, just as none had believed that the Spirit King could be done away with, now - yet, both things had come to pass, and the world had not come undone at the seams. The only thing that made this war different from the previous ones was that it had been fought in Hueco Mundo and the human world instead of Soul Society itself.
Aizen and Yamamoto… the only true difference there was Aizen had been more creative and hadn't bothered with pretending he had better morals.
The Shihouin clan admired that in a man, Yoruichi thought. She distantly remembered that she did, too.
'What do you want?' Yoruichi curtly asked; the man did not lift his forehead, but stretched out his arm, offering her a tightly wrapped parchment, with an adorned, golden seal. She hesitated before taking it, then paused after breaking the seal, holding the paper by its very edges, as if she'd feared the rows of precisely etched letters would seep off the page, and stain her fingers.
Reading them nearly stained her soul.
The letter, signed in the names of twenty of her clan's elders, assured her that by Aizen-sama's grace, the Shihouin house stood unscathed, in continued health, good fortune, and good repute; New Central had assumed the heavy burden of its responsibilities with such wisdom and grace as none of the rulers before it had, causing little upset in the natural order of Sereitei, and wisely placing its trust in those who had always shared Aizen-sama's healthy skepticism of the separation between the noble clans and the powers of the Gotei.
Further, New Central would not forego the manpower and wealth that the clans could bring to bear in the swift and peaceful establishment of an optimistic new order, and it was with great joy that the Shihouin had accepted a place of great honour and privilege within it…
Youruichi gritted her teeth and looked away.
Of course, she thought. What else? Not even Aizen could dream of ruling Sereitei alone. Winning a battle was not the same as securing an enduring position on top of society: one couldn't hope to take on an entire world alone, unless one wanted to thoroughly crush it. And Aizen had never wanted that, Yoruichi considered, looking at the parchment, though its fine letters trembled before her eyes. Aizen wanted subjects, not corpses – a triumph was hardly a triumph if there weren't any spectators to admire it.
It was doubly wise because attaining the submission of Sereitei would never be achievable if he only employed his Hollow contingents; true, in terms of numbers and perhaps even strength, the Arrancar were not a negligible tool, but policing was different from warfare, and it was doubtful that passage though the Hogyoku had instilled the savage Hollow with sufficient human reason to recognize the difference. Where then could Aizen find a troop that was sufficient in numbers, and who could be ruthless and heavy handed without being outright bloodthirsty? More importantly, who could blend in and present the Shinigami with an ambivalent target?
How convenient then that each of the noble clans had fighters in their hundreds, men and women who possessed no loyalty to the Gotei, and no sympathy for the Shinigami of the lower courts…
What could he have offered in exchange? Yoruichi wondered, grinning inwardly as she swiftly came upon the answer. Continued health, good fortune and good repute. Of course.
'Have the Kuchiki accepted this?' she asked, holding the letter out.
'The Katsoumi-Oji have, from the first hour,' the messenger responded. 'The Kyoraku are still in negotiations…'
'That is not what I asked,' Yoruichi said. 'Have the Kuchiki…'
'They too are still negotiating,' the man dryly answered; Yoruichi lowered her glance, and unwillingly nodded. There was no way of ascertaining that the man was telling the truth; on the one hand, Kuchiki Byakuya had always kept himself on a stiff moral high horse, and was not a man to easily surrender. On the other, his persona had always been split between his duty as head of clan and his duties towards the Gotei, and he'd often let his sense of family honour take precedence over the Gotei's business and interests.
It did not matter, Yoruichi thought. If Aizen had yet again muddied the waters between Sereitei and the noble clans, the specter of the Kuchiki heightening their influence should have been concerning to any Shihouin, and too good a blackmail weapon for either Aizen or her clan elders to pass on. Under the circumstances, the truth became irrelevant, much like everything else.
For now, the letter continued, the armed guard of the Shihouin had been given the quarters of the 1st Division, while their special contingent had been openly welcomed back to the ranks of the Omnitskido. A new age of opportunity awaited all those who were ready to welcome it; it was the time for the Shihouin heiress to further strengthen her family's position, and act upon the chance of making herself useful to Aizen-sama before the Kuchiki heir did.
She smiled, and shook her head.
New Central, the letter casually continued, was in the process of revising Central 46's previous judicial edicts; it was not unlikely that in sign of recognition to the Shihouin's wisdom, Yoruichi's name would officially be cleared, and she would be allowed to return with the full honour her rank and heritage befitted. Unofficially, New Central had gone as far as to indicate that depending on Yoruichi's level of commitment further pardons could be issued as well, for it was the time for those who had been unfairly treated by Yamamoto to stand together and slowly resolve past differences.
The chance, the clan elders wrote in a harsh change of tone, was too great to miss, even by one who'd scarcely demonstrated wisdom in her past dealings. The window of opportunity was narrow. If they acted before the Kuchiki did, the Shihouin would completely upstage them, and grasp the possibility of negotiating their military strength past previous, artificially imposed quotas. Being allowed direct intervention rights into Sereitei was already a huge step forward, and more than the clan had gained in the past two thousand years of Yamamoto's rule.
In case of a refusal, the family, whose prospects had been severely handicapped by Yoruichi's past indiscretions, and whose patience, kindness and loyalty had been stretched to its farthest limits, would have to consider her continued position as clan leader under the sternest of terms.
As, indeed, would New Central.
The parchment had ended at that, and it made perfect sense. Threats didn't require such things as politeness anyway.
'The offer will stand for a week,' the man said, keeping his forehead bowed. 'Daimyo-sama, I have been urged to impress upon you…'
'Since when do messengers deliver orders?' Yoruichi snarled, spinning about herself. The man shirked under the implied threat of her reiatsu, but firmly held his position.
'The offer will stand for one week,' the messenger repeated.
Unseen Hollow wailed in the distance, then vanished; Yoruichi sensed the closing of the Garganta as if her ears had popped at a change in pressure after a swift descent. Not a moment too soon, she thought, once more turning to face the milky white horizon. The electrical lights of the city below fizzled and turned off, in the arrogant assumption that the time of ghosts was over, and real life was getting ready to begin.
That, Yoruichi knew, was just another illusion; since Aizen's ascension, Hollow had been pouring in by the hundreds, sometimes in numbers so great that not even Ishida's bow could keep them at bay, and certainly not for too long. The attacks were not strong, perhaps because Hueco Mundo had been emptied of its most powerful entities, and the Hollow who crossed were simply seeking to flee the wars of the rising dominant creatures. Nonetheless, the barriers had become so porous that Hollow invasions manifested almost every other night, without reprieve.
The small troop which had confronted Aizen had been forced to scatter, their wounds still unhealed and their hearts led by nothing but grief, and bitter, immediate sense of purpose. Half of the Vaizard and Kurosaki had remained north, while Yoruichi and Kisuke, along with Ishida and the rest of the Vaizard had thought it wise to go further south, where none knew them and where Kisuke could attempt to re-create his passages into Sereitei without arousing immediate suspicion.
Yoruichi wondered whether he was doing that because he thought the pursuit had merit or because he could not bring himself to let the children down, just yet. She suspected him of the latter, but could not truly blame him, the woman thought. Kurosaki, Ishida and Inoue were human, and the massacre of Karakura had brought about the very real loss of family and friends; unlike Yoruichi, Urahara and the Vaizard, they'd lost the present and all their hopes for the future.
She sighed.
All the young humans had left now was their hope for revenge, and though he'd never said as much, Kisuke was probably pressing with his work just because he could not bear telling them that Aizen was, by now, well and truly out of their reach. That it was over.
From any perspective, staying behind when her first and best instinct was to go as far away from the group and as deep into hiding as she possibly could had been foolish. Yoruichi had never been one for sentimentalism; she'd been born and bred to ignore it, and always followed her practical sense – she'd certainly seen enough betrayal and defeat to be hardened against both. They – no, she reminded herself, the Gotei, Yamamoto's Gotei had lost the war, a war that, from their perspective, had never included her, or Kisuke, or the Vaizard, or the foolish human children who'd aligned themselves to a side without understanding what they were getting into. It had not…it should not have been her war, to either fight or lose.
'Who is heading the Omnitskido?' she asked, lifting her chin and allowing the warm morning light to caress her features.
'The Cuarta Espada, Ulquiorra Schiffer,' the messenger replied.
'Soi Fon?' Yoruichi inquired, then shook her head, involuntarily running her hand over her face. 'No, don't,' she hastily added, dismissing her own question. 'Don't…never mind.'
'Aizen-sama has privately indicated that he may be amenable to returning the Omnitskido to Shihouin control, in time,' the man said, not guessing the true intent behind her question.
'The human world…' she began, looking out on the living city which stretched all around them, but seeing nothing but the ashen ruins of Karakura.
Indeed, the human world…when had she grown so attached to it? Yoruichi wondered.
'The human world is not a prerogative of the Shihouin clan,' the messenger dryly interrupted.
'But I am a Shinigami,' the woman breathed, turning to face him.
'With all due respect, Daimyo-sama,' he responded, for the first time lifting his chin to meet her fiery glance, 'that is not true. You have not been a Shinigami for a century and a half.' The incomprehension in his eyes was so sincere that it was impossible to grudge.
Yoruichi Shihouin had never been one for sentimentalism, so she found it hard to accept that her heart was breaking. She remained silent for a few moments longer, not wondering why she was unable to entertain any thoughts but the fact that it hadn't been her war to fight, that it had not been her war to lose; the world Aizen had conquered had brutally expelled her, she'd owed the Gotei nothing, and yet…
'You may tell those who sent you…' she began, feeling uncertain of her voice. 'You may tell them that I understand their choices.'
'Daimyo-sama?' the messenger asked, softly shaking his head.
'That is all,' Yoruichi said, nodding to herself.
The man stood and straightened, then stiffly bowed to her turned back; just like the elders, he did not feel the need say a farewell, nor did he address her by her title before he vanished. She suspected it was because the man already knew she no longer possessed it.
Her long hair fluttering about her features, Yoruichi remained on the roof, distractedly listening to the sound of traffic which rose from below; she noticed that it had started to snow – a wide, light flake rested upon her cheek, lingering there for a second before the warmth of her skin turned it into a droplet of clear water. It ran along her cheekbone, and clung to her chin for a second, before dropping onto her sleeve.
She knew she was still not alone.
Snowflakes danced wildly in the hot steam which rose from the small bowl of noodles that Urahara Kisuke offered her, before he sat by her side, on the edge of the roof.
'Yoruichi-san,' he greeted, in his lightly unconcerned, nasal tone.
'Kisuke,' she nodded.
He passed her the chopsticks.
'I will need to leave you for a while,' Yoruichi said, softly; the man nodded in his turn, his gaze obscured by the rim of his hat. 'My clan may prove a hazard to us all, and I do not wish to expose any of you to business that is only my own. I shall be back in due time.'
'Kurosaki will be most disappointed,' he casually answered.
'I know,' Yoruichi shrugged. She put the chopsticks aside, and took a sip of the soup. The noise of engines and horns, and the indistinguishable voices of humans floated upwards in the wind, along with the snowflakes. 'Aizen will not be coming for any of us, Kisuke.' She said. 'We no longer matter. Perhaps we never truly did.'
It was Urahara's turn to answer 'I know.'