Hey everyone! Sorry for the late update but I was catching up on chapters and the next one will come very quickly!

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters.

Lets jump in-

I awoke to a harsh banging on my door.

Dawn had not yet come, and I was angry at the unknown figure on the other side of the wood. And that was evident as I threw back the door with a force.

To find Clark standing in full dress, not even a slightly tired look in his eyes. The hall was a pitch black behind him, I could not even make out the usually shimmering marble floor beneath him.

I was acutely aware of my bare legs, sticking out of my long sleep shirt, of my hair nappy and wild. Yet the embarrassment was nothing to the feeling of my heart stopping clean in my chest mid beat. He had not come to my chambers since I was a young girl, still blissfully unaware of the horrors of the world. And now here he stood, his eyes still while they watched me.

So many reasons for him to be here now, and the only ones I could think of led to my head on a spike.

He motioned inside, and I slid back quickly, letting him pass. He looked about my chambers for a moment, his hands formally behind his back. I looked to the windows, where the moon had been shining in its light only moments ago, yet now, the room was as dark as the outside hall. Not an inch of light. I didn't dare breathe, to let that darkness swim down my throat and suffocate me. and my lungs were close to collapse when he finally turned to me.

"I have made a mistake." His words made me blink, and I was nearly relieved until I realized that they did not eliminate pain from my immediate future. I watched his throat bob as he gulped. "I am a man who can admit when he's had a lapse in judgement. I should have come to you the moment I learned of it, and I apologize for my lack of faith."

Did I nod? I must have, yet I could feel nothing of my own body.

"Our future alliance with the North has been tested. Lucas was attacked just outside our borders, his men killed by savages."

Recalling Ryley's face two days ago, and how he had been sure to avoid me since, I didn't think rebellion was the only thing our engagement had stacked against it. I shook myself out of my relief, "What do we know of them?"

"Inbetweeners. Lucas can't recall much, and says their faces were covered, yet that much he gathered."

"Do you trust his information?" My mask was finally forming. I had been shocked when he arrived, I had forgotten what he would expect from me when hearing such news. And I would try my best to make up for my moments of silence.

"I trust that he is angry, and that's an emotion I can back. There has been a rising in The Inbetween, and words of their rebellion have reached me."

The right amount of surprise showed, and a slight hatred. "I will annihilate them for you, Father." Bronzes face flashed in my mind's eye, lingering.

"I am not here to ask for your help. The trail has gone long cold, anyway. I am here to inform my general that war is approaching, and to make sure you have not forgotten how to swing a sword in these years of peace."

My jaw clenched, "I have not forgotten."

"Splendid. Hopefully your recruits are ready." I said nothing, only squinting my eyes; a request for clarification. "For their tasks, of course. With war on the horizon, I need all the abled men I can get."

I willed all my attention to my face, to the features threatening to collapse with an immense worry. "All due respect, Father, but none of them are ready for open combat."

"That is hardly a concern. If they can wear armor and hold a sword, they will do just fine."

"They would be slaughtered against an army of Inbetweeners."

I had seen a great many horrors in my life, far too many than most my age, and less than I deserved. Men cut open, trying to shove their organs back inside their bodies. Piles of the dead, stacked high on blood soaked fields, stretching so high I thought they would reach the Gods. Yet, none of those compared to the look my king gave me, the smile that I had somehow learned to mirror over these long years, a smile of a mad man.

"Soldiers die, my dear. That is what we raise them to do, what you will lead them to do. I will paint the world with their blood, and yours too, if that is what it takes." He ran a finger down my cheek, and even with all the strength the world believed I had, I could not meet his eyes. "I created you for this. Do not disappoint me."

The room suddenly felt cold, and darkness swam over every nook and cranny of the large space. It took the entire world away. And when Clark left not even bothering to close the door behind him, that darkness followed him. As if he had leashed it to himself like an untamed beast. I should not have been surprised, Clark had a way of leashing even the most wild of creatures.

I stood where he left me, staring at the vacant bed a few feet away, yet I could not bring myself to step towards it.

There are certain moments where your thoughts take over your entire body. When your mind simply does not have the space needed to hold every thought swimming inside yourself. Standing there in the pitch black, cold and slightly shaking, I thought through thousands upon thousands of scenarios. I thought about Hisagi and how he was not ready for his next task. I thought about Sam and how he had barely survived the last war we'd fought together.

And then, though I tried and tried to avoid it, I thought of Bronze and Ichigo, I thought of us on opposite sides of a battlefield, I imagined how I would feel to kill either of them- if I could.

They were useless thoughts, thoughts that would solve no problems, and save no lives, yet there they were, occupying my immediate focus. Eventually, I made it enough steps to fall into a reading chair. Weightless and heavy I sat in that chair, allowing for this small amount of time, for my thoughts to overtake me. I swam in them for hours, feeling their full weight on my neck and shoulders.

And then, a very traitorous thought emerged.

What if we lost this war? I had seen a small fraction of Bronzes army, and The Inbetween was a well known place for raising warriors. Its harsh climate and unruly people was the ideal environment to form a hostility of the surrounding world.

And Bellator was clearly no ally of ours. Kisuke made his alliance very clear, and with Clark's known hatred of Bellator, I knew that, after this, it would be wiped clean off the map. My name would cease to be attached to anything but myself.

For my entire life I was kept from the East. I was told I was not welcomed, that they would spit on the bastard of their most beloved princess. Yet, Kisuke was always warm to me, inviting me to come to his city filled with flowers and songs. Perhaps, it was a lingering love for his only sister that fueled such kindness… Though, I did not know if they were close in their youth. I did not know their age difference, or really anything about her, in general.

I had heard over the years that I look a great deal like her, yet never from Clark himself. Who avoided every indication that she had existed at all.

Having made up my mind, I hurried to my closet, dressing with a newfound purpose, that followed me through the dark court. My echoing steps all the sound in the world.

The library was, as always, empty. I knew it would be, I used it often, when I needed a little bit of quiet in a loud world.

Interesting enough, a city surrounded by culture and history, had no interest in the words of all the people who came before them. Even my father, who had spent years filling this library with knowledge, who'd taken a little bit from everywhere. Books from every corner of the world. Bellator, the North and South, even books from the dark pits of the Inbetween, they all had a home here.

And I was the only one to read them, the only one who sought them out.

I suppose, on this instance, their lose was my gain.

I took my time walking through the winding shelves, the towering heights of what felt like miles of books beckoning me deeper. Whispering to me, taunting me with all the secrets they all held within. But I ignored their call, for now.

Because today, I searched for a specific piece of history.

My own.

I knew the book had to be somewhere, that no matter how cynical Clark was, he would want his Heir's trial documented and stored, so that the world would never forget what he'd created. Though I'm sure he'd been hoping that it would be the Madoc name stamped into the pages of history.

Perhaps, he should have thought of that before having a bastard born with the Princess of Bellator. Men and their inability to look past immediate gratification.

Finally reaching the Bellatonian wing, I reached for the book with the least amount of dust on it and settled in. Only to find my name no where in it's pages. Snapping it shut, I moved on to the next- still nothing. My third option had me getting warmer, it talked of my uncle Kisuke and his late wife. And a few mentions of my mother, though never by name. Which slightly infuriated me.

They referred to her as 'Daughter to King Legatee Inoue' or 'Sister to Kisuke Inoue'. As if she did not have a name, as if her only worth was her connection to the men in her life.

Not that I knew much about my mother, but from the scraps I'd been thrown over the years, I knew she was a powerful woman. A warrior not of combat but of mind. Sharp and tactical. A planner. She'd been the strategic mastermind in all of the Bellatonian battles of her time.

And yet they only wrote her as a daughter, a sister, a mistress. Why did they have to write her as an appendage to the men in her life? Why couldn't she just be?

I couldn't help but selfishly wonder: would I be written the same way?

Would I not be known as 'Orihime Inoue, General to the Western Armies'? But instead, 'Daughter to Clark Madoc' and later, 'Wife of Ryley Vilantrio?

Would I be just another forgotten woman in history?

I knew it shouldn't matter, I'd be dead, so what difference would it make, what the world knew of my existence. Who cares if their facts were true?

Well, it seemed to matter to me. Because it sunk in my gut, like a brick in the pit of my stomach. Lainey Inoue had made a place in life much higher than I had. She'd been far more accomplished in her younger years, and yet I found nothing about her; save from her history with my father- which led to her inevitable downfall. It was odd to read my father's name in Bellator's history. I often forgot he would be mixed up even in their pure name.

I set the book down, slowly. Realizing an hour too late that I would not be mentioned in the thick pages of these books.

I did not belong to Bellator.

I found what I sought in a far bigger wing of the library. The history of the Madoc family was long and bloody. And its members were sure to document every second of it. I often forget that, in the eyes of most of the world, I was considered a Madoc. Though the name itself would never belong to me- or me to it- it was still in my blood. And that was not something that could be washed away, no matter how hard I scrubbed.

I looked at the thick leather cover of my chosen book. The words staring up at me were like a sharp slap to the face.

Madoc Family Tree.

The book was large, it's pages not all filled, yet they were yellow from years of passing from hand to hand. It was hard to open, to accept my place within its pages. But open it I did, flipping through the years until I found the beginning to it all.

"Clark Madoc, first born to Warren and Salph Madoc.

Lilliana Madoc, second born to Warren and Salph Madoc."

I ghosted my fingers over her name. Clarks once beloved sister, whom he'd butchered in the fight for the crown. Clark had been seventeen, her only thirteen. Yet another woman Clark avoided.

"The oldest, best in charm and wit, chose between Blade and Gold.

He chose Gold.

The youngest, given innocence and love, chose between Father and Brother.

She chose Brother."

She chose wrong. I skimmed the very detailed, bloody summary of their trials, not needing any more fuel to hate my father and his obsession with power and wealth.

"Klaten Madoc, first born to Clark and Farran Madoc.

Sora Madoc, second born to Clark and Farran Madoc.

Orihime Inoue, first born to Clark Madoc and Lainey Inoue.

The oldest, best in strength and force, chose between Family and Wealth.

He chose Wealth.

The middle child, soft of heart and soul, chose between Power and Knowledge.

He chose Knowledge.

The youngest, gifted with beauty and brutality, chose between Silk and Steel.

She chose Steel."

It had been a very long time since I thought my brothers names. Even longer since I felt the crippling loneliness that came with them. Sora had always been kind, he had been nineteen in the trials, far older than I, and he had willingly faced Klaten first, so that if he was the victor, he would allow me to win against him. And I had been forced to watch Klaten break his neck.

I pushed the book away from me, leaning back in my chair, suddenly overwhelmed. Just as abruptly, I found myself with an odd knowledge; I was now older than my older brother. I had a few years left to survive to surpass Klaten, who had died at twenty-three, but Sora… More of me had died that day in the arena than I cared to remember.

Though I couldn't help but read the summary of my victory, which on paper seemed far greater than it was.

"Orihime Inoue, thirteen years of age, battled Klaten Madoc, twenty-three, in the trials for the crown. Showing an immense tactical mind and strategic mastery, Orihime took advantage of Klaten's brute strength by narrowing his range of motion. Allowing the 200 pound male to tackle her, she had access to the most vulnerable parts of him. The battle was over in minutes."

It was not at all how I would have told it. In fact, I had known I had zero chance, no possible attacks that would work against him. It had not been strategy as much as desperation. I had been prepared to die in that arena, with my brothers hands around my throat…

And if not for his pride, I would have.

Klaten was Clark's first born son, and he had never known what it was like to live in fear. He had never known what it was like to be the weakest one in a room, to be sneered and spit at. To be a Bellatonian bastard in a city of purebloods. He had forgotten what he was fighting for.

And it appeared that I had now done the same.

My chair scraped against stone as I stood.

I returned to my solitary table with arms full of books, taken from multiple wings, some from Bellator, others from the North- yet all would be used to educate me against an unknown opponent.

Stories of witches were once told to me on late stormy nights. When the nights were long and dark, where anything could be prowling in the shadows. I was told of Screechers, Bug-crawlers, and Steel-bloods. All only a few species of the ancient witch covens.

Screechers could enter a person's head, sending their whispers clear across the world. Entering a mind and leaving it completely desolated. Breaking down even the most powerful of psyche.

Bug-crawlers, the most vile of them all, are the mistresses of insects. They use their little beasts to spread disease and decay. It was said that when a Bug-crawler is near, the sound of millions of parasites scattering over walls and floors could drown out every other sound in the world.

Steel-bloods have held onto the hierarchy of the witch world for thousands of years, through sheer force alone. The fiercest warriors this world has ever seen, they wear the blood of their conquered like paint on the canvas of their immortal bodies.

And as if their iron skin and poisonous blood wasn't enough, they are most known for their inexplicable beauty. Their complete and utter wildness carefully crafted underneath skin as smooth as silk, eyes as deep as the wide sea, and lips as red as the blood they've spilt.

Beautiful murderers.

Bronze believed there were such creatures within the city walls, yet I was not fully convinced. Clark would have to be reckless beyond words to employ witches. Not to mention, that his mistrust and hatred of women rang clear across the world. Yet, despite it, he had been keeping a close counsel with a foreign woman.

Who glowed from the inside out, who reeked of death, whose eyes had shoved thoughts into my head.

The woman in black.

Devon burst free from the winding shelves, his chest heaving, his usually controlled features showing me true worry.

"General," Was all he said, but the tone- the clear desperation in those cold eyes.

It was enough to get me up, to get me running.

What I would find at the end of that distress, would alter me forever.

.

.

.

CLIFFHANGER

Let me know how you felt about this chapter and what you think could have Devon so worried!

Till next time-