The proud noble sat in peaceful silence on a sturdy branch of an ancient tree. He caressed the bark idly with his thumb, outlining letters he himself had carved there centuries before. He had been such a hot headed and reckless boy in his youth. He had known what was right and what was wrong, and to hell with propriety.

He had matured once his parents began taking notice of his skills. He was naturally gifted, even by their family standards. He was a quick learner and powerful as well. His father had demanded he be put through the family's most rigorous training and education. To iron out his wild side and make him the perfect noble.

It had worked all too well, and in a matter of years, he had mastered himself. His temper was calmed and tradition and law dictated his actions, not his heart or his passion. They doused his inner fire in favor of cold steel. His grandfather had not entirely approved.

He was able to take his grandfather's position as the head of the family and Captain of the Sixth Division at a remarkably young age. Not a record, but close. He was renowned as the perfect captain. The image of nobility. Cold. Calm. By the book. No emotional actions. Follows orders to the letter.

Then he met a peasant girl who could crack the ice and feed the flame. He smiled again, for what felt like the first time in decades. His father opposed the marriage wholeheartedly. His grandfather supported it with equal conviction. Her death extinguished his fire and thickened the ice around his heart.

He dare not look at his new sister, for fear of the pain her resemblance would cause him. Cold was easier. His father had made it clear that his rebellious streak would only lead to his demise, and he had been right.

Then he met that boy who seemed to have more fire in his heart than a thousand men had any right to. Fire enough to spark his own once more. Enough to thaw enough of the ice for him to see clearly. He resented the boy for resisting every effort to curb his passion. He wished he had resisted just a little harder. He wished he had not given up his fire for nobility so easily.

He trusted that boy. No, that young man. That young Shinigami. He trusted him with the fate of the Soul Society. He trusted him with his sister.

When the winter war ended, he almost smiled. When they returned power to the boy, he almost smiled. When the blood war ended, he almost smiled. When the boy asked him for his sister's hand in marriage, he almost smiled. When the vows were spoken and the boy became his brother, he almost smiled.

When he held his nephew in his arms, he smiled again.