A/U: Thank you for the interest of the story. An interest twist of Ichigo going back in time to meet Hisana and Rukia.

Guest: Wait and see.

Fifth Horseman: Interested indeed.

Gianella: Interesting is the right word.

Lightningblade49: Yes it is.

Epyon111: Thank you for liking it so far.

Jake Wolf: I will continue this as well.

Enjoy the chapter!

"Steady your hands, girl," the old potter said, her voice stern. Her expression was a contrast, a small smile on her face as she held little Rukia on her lap. The infant herself merely watched her sister work, mesmerized by the sheen of wet clay rotating on a potter wheel.

"Yes ma'am," Hisana said, wiping sweat from her brow with her forearm. When the wheel began to slow, she pushed the side of the wheel to make it spin faster. Then she dipped her hands into a bowl of water and then brought them to the clay, in order to keep it wet.

Hisana and Rukia now lived inside of the potter's home, a small hut that was in the Inuzuri district they had been assigned to live in. While there was no way for the law—that's to say, Soul Reapers—to enforce them living there, there was nowhere else for Hisana and Rukia to go.

Hisana suspected that she was being particularly hard on her because she had tried to abandon Rukia on her doorstep. Whether it was because she had left the responsibility to the older woman, or because she'd abandoned her sister in general, didn't really matter. Hisana couldn't help but believe that she honestly deserved to be punished for the attempt. If that orange-haired fellow hadn't intervened, she would have made a great mistake.

"Focus, girl!" the old potter said. "You're letting it collapse in the center."

"Ah! Sorry!" She tried to save it, but she ended up making to worse in the end. That was disappointing.

"We're wasting clay if you can't learn to stay focused," the old woman lectured. "This is an art, and while substandard is the norm this far out, I will not have anything less than superb."

"I'm sorry," Hisana said again. "I'll do better, I promise."

The old potter brushed her off with a wave of her hands. "Just clean up for the evening."

She nodded, and then cringed at the scent lingering on her hands as she brought them towards her face. The water had been recycled for her practice, so it had a bit of a repugnant odor to it. She feared it would soak into her skin permanently, but it couldn't be helped since water was scarce out here.

There were only a few out of the hundreds of thousands in the district that needed to eat or drink for survival, although recreational sake was relished by anyone who could get their hands on it. Clean water had to be bought, and kept squirreled away to prevent it getting stolen. The only reason they managed to get enough for her practice, along with the extra clay and paint, was because of the young man who had stopped her that night.

"Come back here you little brat!" someone yelled, beyond the thin walls. "I'll only cut off one of your hands if you stand there and take it!"

"I need this!" another voice said. It was a young one, probably a child. "You're just going to waste it on getting drunk!"

"Ignore it," the old woman said, this time with her voice laced with bitter resignation. "That's how it goes out here. The adults are thieves, drunkards, or killers, and the kids that survive are left to their own devices and end up growing up to be the same. It's a consequence of living away from those that could enforce the law."

Hisana frowned at that. A few times in the last month they had been staying with her, they'd heard similar noises. People being beaten in the streets, mugged, threatened, and other things—and everyone else seemed to take it as the norm. It wasn't by any means an ideal place to raise Rukia, but it was all they had.

"GERK!" she heard the man's voice let out, almost raggedly.

Right afterwards she heard, "Quit chasing around some kid."

The voice was familiar, strong and sturdy. How could she forget it when she was on the receiving end that night a month ago? She found herself on her feet, leaning out to look past the wooden bars of the window.

An older, scrawny man was sprawled out on the ground face-first, with the orange-haired young man glaring down at him. His hand was outstretched in a chopping position, showing he had knocked him out from a blow to the back of the neck. He then hoisted the fallen man over his shoulder with great ease, most likely planning on ditching him in a side alley afterwards.

"Straighten up, brat," he told the kid as he walked away. "There's no guarantee you'll get away next time."

The kid with green hair nodded, and then he ran without looking back. He disappeared around a corner, outside of her view.

"Pointless," the old woman muttered, rising onto her feet with Rukia nestled in her arms. "Things will go right back to the way they were once he's out of sight and out of mind…."

"At least he's doing something," Hisana pointed out, looking at the others who had been watching the altercation and chase prior. None of them had lifted a hand to do anything. "If there were more people like him around, things could be better."

"Bah! Optimistic fools like that are the first to die out here," she said, before peering at Hisana's hands. "You're cleaning that window, by the way."

Hisana looked down to see that she had gripped the frame of the windows with her grey-colored fingers, the wet clay clinging to it. She groaned inwardly, knowing that was going to be a pain to clean. She set to work with a cloth, burdening the already sore muscles and joints in her fingers and wrists, until it was as clean as she could get it.

Her stomach, and the hunger nipping at it, made itself known by the time she was finished. The scent of the rice being cooked only served to make the growl audible, much to her shame. More so when there was a knock on the door, and the old potter told her to open it.

She did so, ending up face-to-face with the orange-haired fellow from before. He was dressed in the cloak that he had worn when they first met. With the hood thrown over his head, the shadows pooling beneath it obscured his face well.

"You're late," the old woman said.

"I intended to come earlier, but there was a thing outside and I wanted to wait until no one was watching to avoid drawing attention to you." He stepped inside and shutting the door behind him. "You're keeping my secrets, so being discreet was the least I could do."

By secrets, he meant the fact that he was one of those Soul Reapers. Like the one that sent them both to this world. Hisana hadn't seen any out here in the last month, and she didn't know why he wanted to keep it a secret, but they all agreed.

"It was still a nice thing to do," Hisana told him."If he'd gotten his hands on that boy…."

"Well, I've never been someone who could stand-by and just watch something like that happen," he said, taking a seat. He pulled out a pouch and handed the old potter it.

Kan was the currency they used in this world, coins of copper, silver, and gold. The pouch only had a few copper pieces, but it was enough for the time being. With it, she could afford training supplies and extra goods.

The old woman took it without a word and stood up, heading to her room. That left Hisana, the Soul Reaper, and Rukia alone with each other.

"Hello, Rukia," he said to her little sister. His eyes were gentle as he did so. "How are you today?"

Rukia responded with a coo, her little hands shifting beneath the sheets she was nestled within as though she was trying to reach out to him. Hisana found it cute, but also a little curious. It was strange how comfortable he seemed with her. Maybe a little too comfortable, given they only met that night a month ago.

She'd wanted to ask him more about why he helped her, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to risk it. He was basically paying their way, and she knew nothing about him. In fact, she didn't even know his name. It nagged at her on a few levels. Still, pushing the issue could cost them their current lifestyle—and as lackluster as it was, it was still better than a lot of others had.

He looked up from Rukia, his eyes focused on her now. "What is it?"

Hisana blinked. "Huh?"

"You were staring at me," he said, clarifying his previous statement. "If you have something you want to ask, then you can just ask me."

"…who are you?" she finally asked, her voice small after the pause. "Why are you doing all of this for us?"

"Is it really that important for you to know?" he asked. There was no bite to his words, but to her it felt like he was asking if it was really wrong to just trust in what he was doing. Was it wrong to believe he was simply being kind?

Hisana bit her lower lip and nodded, grabbing her little sister just as she managed to get a hand free of the cloth and tried to grab his fingers. Innocent eyes stared into hers for a moment in confusion, and then a smile quickly formed on Rukia's face as she giggled. It made Hisana smile back and hug her sister close to her chest.

"We… no, I owe you so much for everything you've done," she said. "But, I just can't figure out why you've gone out of your way to do so much for us when we've never met before. I don't even know your name after a month has passed, yet you seem so comfortable around us."

He sighed, scratching the back of his head in thought. Looking out the window, he spoke with a memory guiding his words. "Before I came to the Soul Society, I had sisters… two little sisters."

"Is that so?" Hisana's thoughts coalesced into a picture of the same young man before her, only with two little girls like Rukia. It would explain why he was so good with her. "You must have loved them dearly."

He nodded. "I wanted nothing more in the world than to protect them. I wanted to make up for letting our mother getting killed by a Hollow."

Seeing the confusion on her face, he explained. "It's a creature that feeds on the souls of the living and dead. Our family was born with strong spiritual powers, so it was inevitable that we would be targeted. I… would have failed again to protect them, if not for a Soul Reaper helping us. She sacrificed herself so that I could have the strength to protect them, and I took her place until she regained her strength."

He began to tremble, muscles tensing beneath his cloak. "She was strong, brave, and never ran from helping others when she could… and, in the end, she died doing that when I couldn't reach her.

She could hear the pain in his voice now, even with the shadow of the cowl obscuring his expression. It tugged at her heart.

"My sisters, my family, and my friends are all dead now." he said, his fingers curling into fists. "The people I wanted to protect the most in the world no longer exist, leaving me behind with nothing. For someone who has to protect others to not be able to do so, it's a different sort of Hell in itself. So when I saw you about to throw everything away…."

She finished where he trailed off. "You couldn't bear it after losing everything yourself."

"It might be self-serving of me, but I thought that if I could stop you from making a mistake, then it would be fine." He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, throwing back the hood and letting her get a good view of him in the honey-colored light. His features were sharp, but obviously young. He couldn't have been older than her, but she'd heard that people here sometimes looked younger than they were. "If I looked out for you, then you'd be able to live without regrets until you got back on your feet. If you don't want me around after that, then—"

Hisana shook her head. "Whether or not it was self-serving, you stopped me from making the biggest mistake of my life. You're helping us at personal cost, and you haven't asked for anything in return. So, I—"

Her words were cut off as her stomach made itself known. It gurgled loud enough to fill the room, demanding food lest it repeated itself. Embarrassed, Hisana closed her mouth at the giggle of her sister and lowered her head to hide the blush on her face.

He laughed, his mood becoming lighter. For all the embarrassment, it alleviated the somber mood that her question had wrought. Standing up, he pulled the cowl back over his head and made for the door. "I've kept you away from your meal long enough. I'll be on my way."

Still too embarrassed to speak, she gave him a single nod.

"By the way," he said, standing at the opened door. "My name is Ichigo."

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him. Hisana sat there, slowly feeding herself while thinking over the conversation. She turned to Rukia, who yawned and would need to sleep soon.

"It's a nice name, isn't it?"

The baby cooed in response.

[-oOo-]

Ichigo made his way back to the abandoned hut he claimed as his own in the dead of night, slipping into the door and settling down near the pit in the center. Scrap wood was set alight, crackling fire coming to life and driving off the chill of the night air. He stoked the flames in silence for a moment, staring at wavering orange glow as he readied himself.

It was through Rukia's sacrifice that he became a Soul Reaper. It was through his bonds with his friends that he became stronger. It was through the Vizard's guidance that he was able to tame his inner Hollow. And it was through his father's guidance that he gained the Final Getsuga.

Now, it was through his mother's legacy that he would do what needed to be done and prevent all those sacrifices and losses from being repeated. The time he had come from was forever changed, and he would never forget them, but he could only move forward now.

He reached and pulled up a board, grabbing his larger Zanpakuto. He had kept the smaller one on him, tucked safely behind his back in the event that it would be needed. In this area, having what looked to be a large knife was easier to explain away than a large sword. Crossing the two blades on top of his legs as he took up a lotus position, he cleared his mind in preparation to dive into his inner world.

Ganju, who it turns out he was related to through his father's lineage, had taught him how to dive into where his power dwelled the first time they raided the Seireitei. It was good advice, and remained useful to this day. He began with that step, falling into the yawning darkness that was devoid of light.

The vast abyss that was the depth of the soul, and the spiritual power that was born within it, was difficult to traverse. His father had taught him how to go deeper, to weather the depths of darkness until he reached the end of it. Sinking in the abyss like a weighted stone, he eventually reached a membrane and then broke through it.

Thunder rumbled, and lightning flashed behind the curtain of grey clouds that were heavy with the promise of rain. The inverted city that represented his inner world was now a land of eternal gloom, the losses suffered marring his soul to this level. Only the thought of a better tomorrow kept the downpour from flooding everything.

He landed on top of the highest building made available. That high up, the wind billowed and whipped around the tattered black coat of the only other figure to be found in the lonely world at present. "Has enough time passed, Old Man?"

"We've been here long enough to adapt." He turned around to face Ichigo, the tinted glasses obscuring his eyes. The normally closed black coat was now perpetually opened, revealing a plain white shirt and black pants. It was proof that he no longer hid the truth.

The old man no longer called himself Zangetsu, as that was a lie that had come to light. When Ichigo had been given an asauchi to forge his actual Zanpakuto, he admitted the truth. He was a mote, a fragment of his Quincy heritage through his mother.

Somehow, Ichigo felt Uryuu would be laughing with a bitter smile if he was still around when that revelation came to light. They were related. If things had been different, how would the first meeting between them had gone?

It turns out the old man had been hindering his true Soul Reaper powers, in an effort to protect him. Then he had begun to fade away, allowing the restrained and stunted powers to fully manifest at the cost of his existence. He believed that it was needed, in order to solidify the transplant of new powers after he lost them to defeat Aizen in their timeline.

Ichigo didn't allow it. He reached out and grabbed the old man before he could completely vanish, not willing to let go. He may not have been the true Zangetsu, but he protected Ichigo all the same. In essence, his presence of his mother's presence, continuing to protect him long after her death. He couldn't simply cast that away.

So he clung to as much of the old man's existence as he could. It was nearly impossible, like water slipping through his fingers. But Ichigo refused to give up, and this was the end result.

The spiritual weight that the old man had was reduced to near-nothing. He was but a fragment that still lingered within the heart of the smaller blade. But it allowed him to remain even now, and continue to guide Ichigo with his wisdom. That had to be enough.

The old man gathered spiritual power into his hands. It manifested into a solid form, wavering like flames that had been forced into the shape of a sword. "We can begin with the Quincy training whenever you wish, Ichigo."

Ichigo concentrated, manifesting the smaller of his two Zanpakuto inside the inner world. There was only one way for him to learn what he needed, and that was through combat. "Let's go then."

The old man charged.