Ugh, I am a trash bag for forgetting this story. Sorry fellow readers. Well, here is a long awaited chapter!
He went to bed in a turmoil of emotions, deciding that speaking out loud would just confuse him even more and cause him to overreact to the situation. Yoruichi and Urahara simply watched the orange haired boy as he stood without a sound and head upstairs to bed, his door shutting quietly as he obviously settled himself down for the night. An atmosphere of worry settled over the both of them.
They knew that it was going to ultimately shock him. The fact that he stayed in the house and didn't run or voice any anger was a surprise, and even more, he just went to sleep. Perhaps this was for the better that he slept on this new information, and reflect on his own before approaching them the next day. Urahara convinced his wife to similarly retired to their room, deciding that rest was more important than stressing over their foster son doing anything rebellious. The violet haired woman showed clear acquiescence to going to bed, but relented and followed her knowledgeable husband.
The next morning three out of five members in the household were tired. Ichigo looked miserable and on edge ever since the great reveal, and his foster parents were similarly empathetic to his emotions with the restlessness that left bags underneath their eyes. Ichigo was stimming, his leg shaking as his fingers were tapping nervously while his gaze was transfixed on some intangible object. Yoruichi was the first to stop him from his fidgeting. Ichigo gasped in shock, gripping the table as he gazes at the dark skinned woman. Her amber eyes still yielded a maternal warmth.
"Ichigo, I know that you are on edge, but you need to let us explain everything. At least, let me begin to explain some of the story." She softly smiled as the boy relaxed visibly and sighed, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes as he settled in his seat. The children were out doing chores anyways, and won't be back until later that morning. Urahara was at work, so the two of them could speak in silence, and tranquility. Yoruichi took a calming breath, nipping her bottom lip before mustering the nerve to speak.
"Ichigo, it is true that you are the heir to the Kurosaki throne. You have taken the name Urahara for two years to hide your identity. It has some magical value, to keep your appearance and resemblance to the prince to a minimum. That's why you have been able to walk out in the streets and not be recognized by anyone. The last name has kept you safe." Yoruichi explains, brushing her bangs out of her eyes while she gazes intently at the boy, wanting to make sure that he was handling this. To his credit, he was. But his emotions were written on his face and there was a sense of hurt and turmoil on his young features. He passed through many more emotion, but the look of being lost pained her. Such an expression wounded the dark skinned woman, but she pressed on, regardless of her maternal hurt.
"Two years ago, there was an assassination on the prince. Do you remember the story?" The woman asked. Ichigo's eyebrows knitted together, his honey brown eyes closing in mild frustration to remember. The story was slowly coming back to him, along with very few memories of the day that Yoruichi and Urahara found him. He sighed hotly, and gnawed at his lower lip, his defined jaw flexing.
"There was someone who broke into the castle, and reached the prince's room, stabbing him in his sleep. The assassin was caught, and the prince is now bedridden for life in his chamber." Ichigo states as he opens his eyes, to which amber eyes close softly as the action was followed by a nod.
"That is not the real story, my boy. You were indeed targeted, and the assassin in question attempted to end your life in your chamber. By a miracle, you were saved, but badly wounded, and ended up being thrown from the castle into the Karakura river. On that fateful night, my husband and I found you on the bank, frozen and half dead." Yoruichi sounded quite shaken to remember that night, and visibly shuddered. She steeled herself with a small sigh.
"We took you in, because we knew that you can never go back to the castle, given that the assassin took your identity, and is now ruling as the prince of Karakura. He is planning something wicked, to over throw the King and lay ruin to the land. We could have fought against the assassin, but to risk saving you and the kingdom would have been a great sacrifice. He is strong, and you were too important to simply pass over." Yoruichi softly says, almost expecting some sort of cry of shame from the boy, and even some outraged fit. But….none came.
Ichigo surprised his foster mother by gripping her feminine hand within his own, gazing at her with grateful and warm eyes. He was silent, but his expression spoke words that his voice did not. A feeling of guilt still lumped in her throat, but she swallowed tears and smiled thankfully at the boy.
"To give insight to Urahara and I, we knew you from when we both worked in the castle for your father, King Isshin. He was a blacksmith before becoming a merchant, and I was a weapons master for the stealth squad in the castle grounds before I became a mother of three." She suckles lightly at that. The orange-haired boy similarly smiles with mirth.
"We both worked along side your father, and we respect him greatly. He treasured you so dearly." Yoruichi fondly smiles, a pained look in her eyes as she recalls just how distressed Isshin was when he found out his son was almost murdered. Now he never leaves the castle, in fear of his only heir being assassinated again. At the mention of his biological father, Ichigo smiled absently as a part of him seemed to recall the deep laughter and playfulness of the man from his early years. Unfortunately, most of the memory was lost, to which a great sense of distance settled over his heart.
Ichigo absorbed all of this in quiet shock, simply allowing his foster mother to speak and answer the mental questions his mind has plagued him with for two years. What bliss to actually get an explanation. The boy sighs, his expression darkening as he fell in on himself for a moment.
"I am the true heir. So the feeling of not belonging here...was actually me longing to return to the castle?" Ichigo practically murmurs, but thanks to the silence on the household in the early hours of day Yoruichi heard him clearly. In the sunlight her eyes warmed as she at last smiled.
"Yes, you are my boy. The castle is where you truly belong, and it is not a feeling to be ashamed of. You may not remember, but that is your true home." Yoruichi says, then smirks knowingly as she continued to speak. "I bet that when you were fighting those men you felt strong and disciplined, yes?" The amber eyed woman asks. Ichigo is set back on his heels after hearing this. How did she know? The boy slowly nods, a prideful grin on his lips as he countenance brightens significantly. Yoruichi notes the fighting spirit in his eyes, smirking as she recalled all those days of cursing her through training and the fire that he showed when duelling the swordsman in the castle. She was anxious for them to meet again.
"You have been trained quite well by the swordsman that used to work in the castle, but after your disappearance, he retired and became reclusive. It is time to rekindle your training, then reclaim the throne for yourself." She enjoyed the look of complete shock on the boy's face, the pride melting away to complete in-credulousness.
"That is suicide! I can't just march in there and challenge the royals! I'd be killed!" Ichigo yelled, to which Yoruichi just laughed heartily and arched a fine purple brow. Ichigo felt his neck flush at his outburst.
"You haven't the slightest clue of the power that resides in you, my boy. On the morrow, you will start your training. You must be well prepared to handle the swordsman, and even further prepared to handle the weight of this task. If you do not follow through, Ichigo Kurosaki," Yoruichi purposely called the boy by his actual name, seeing the flinch of unfamiliarity from the sound. "That very name, will be the bane of this entire nation. The world as you know it, will fall to destruction and chaos at the hand of the impostor that wears your name." Yoruichi says firmly, rising to grab something from underneath the stone floor, a tile coming loose with a practiced motion.
Ichigo watches intently while still mulling over the fact that his foster mother called him by his actual name, a name that felt familiar but equally foreign to him. He swallowed hard as Yoruichi pulled out a slender and perfectly balanced ebony blade, the hilt adorned with a deep blood red leather and chains bound at the end of an steel cap. Despite being handled, the chains were silent, and the blade was dull in appearance. Just by seeing the very sword Ichigo felt his heart pound in yearning as though he has seen a best friend after a millennia apart. The orange haired boy stopped breathing, his brown eyes fixated on the blade. His fingers itched to hold it. Yoruichi smirked.
"This very blade, is the one true key to saving this nation, Ichigo. You wielded this very sword a long time ago, and you are out of practice. Trust in me, when I say that this swordsman will help you regain your identity." Yoruichi finished, handing the dull blade to Ichigo's anxiously quaking hands. He was almost afraid to touch the metal of the completely ebony blade. But his excitement gave him courage, and he grasped the handle and gingerly caressed the sharp end of the blade.
In an instant the sword brightened and shone brilliantly, the chain-links audibly chiming together as though it excitedly greeted the return of its master. Ichigo smiled and laughed in shock, his eyes brightening significantly as he felt a mental bond with his weapon. It was like a sense of strength was rooted in his soul, and he felt significantly more stable than before. Ichigo set the blade down on the table, the shimmer not diminishing in the slightest, and hugged Yoruichi. The dark skinned woman made a muffled noise of surprise, but hugged her foster son and ushered him out for his chores after lecturing him for a few hours.
Ichigo was excited now that he had a weapon in his possession, a great honor, considering peasants were not ever given a blade of such worthy status. Ah, right. "I am a prince." Ichigo murmured, looking at his blade for confirmation of his thoughts. The black blade seemed to hum in accord, a feature that surprised Ichigo. Was this blade sentient? Ichigo chuckled in bewilderment and ran his callous hand through his hair, arching a brow as he gazed at the blade in amusement.
"Can you talk?" Ichigo quietly asked, expecting an answer. He listened for quite a while, but did not receive a verbal answer. Ichigo simply assumed that mirrored excitement and basic emotion was the most he was to receive from such a beautiful blade, which was plenty enough. The boy set the blade down in the shed and took up a broom, getting to work on his chores.
Little did he know, about the snow white figure that had been watching over him for the past two years, was actually smiling and barking laughter like no tomorrow, golden eyes over an abyssal darkness glimmering in rekindled hope. The figure couldn't wait for his aibou to see him after all this time.