Lifted Up

by Tomas the Betrayer

Sequel to 'Hammered Down'. Under the shadow of a heaven ruled by monsters, Rukia Kuchiki continues to fulfill her duties with new lives and hearts added to the mix. And above all, there is a mother's love.

21. Living World: Truth Be Told

Katsurou Arashi did not remember why he had come out to the garden. He sat on a veranda beneath a large umbrella erected to protect him from a light rain falling. The thin droplets created numerous rings on the dark gray surface of an ornamental pond before him, while a family of colorful Mandarin ducks swam busily across its surface, shaking their feathers in seeming enjoyment of this lowering weather.

The clan leader observed this charming scene for a while. It was quite perfect. And yet…

"This is a dream," he stated.

"And you are welcome in it."

He only then became aware of the person sitting under the umbrella beside him enjoying a steaming cup of tea. A single glance was enough to confirm his identity. Though having never met before, he instantly recognized Sosuke Aizen. Wearing robes of imperial yellow with gray cross-hatching stitched over the surface, the younger man turned a sardonic smile upon him. Katsurou misliked the confidence in that gaze, not to mention his choice in color scheme. It served to imply that Aizen had the advantage in this place, wherever it might be.

While he debated how best to proceed, the rebel leader had another sip of tea and continued to gaze thoughtfully over the gardens. Rain dripped off the rich green leaves of cultivated bushes and dragonflies flew over the water. "Will you indulge me in one matter before we continue?"

"I see no reason why not."

Aizen gestured out across the landscape. "How did you know this wasn't real? I would have thought the display quite convincing had I been faced with it."

Thinking quickly, Katsurou lied.

"Your attention to detail was lacking. I tend to dream myself whole." Lord Arashi held up his crippled arm as if for emphasis. A small noise from behind caused him to turn, but there was nothing more remarkable than a low table bearing a flower in a vase.

Aizen glanced in the same direction for a brief moment, as though in warning, before giving a nod to say he understood. "Ah. That explains it. We were trying to make you as comfortable as possible. There is no cause for self-reproach."

For some reason Katsurou had the impression he was speaking to someone else with that last admonishment. Regardless, he felt it was high time they got down to business. "What interest do you have in me, Sosuke Aizen?"

The exile did not respond. No longer did he project that aura of disarming overconfidence which Katsurou had been assured was his trademark. He looked, if anything, pensive. As though uncertain how to proceed.

At last he spoke. "My name is not Aizen."

Lord Arashi made no response. His potential captor finally turned to regard him directly.

"I am Sosuke Takuiyoku, Lord Arashi. The son of your late sister Manami. We are blood, you and I."

A sharp word. A violent blow. Anyone who knew him would surely expect Katsurou to lash out at such an absurd declaration.

Instead, the lord of the afterlife debated. It had occurred to him he must have been brought here to further some plot. Doubtless it would involve intending to ingratiate themselves to him. This particular tack, while admittedly unexpected, most certainly fell in line with that strategy.

"Ah." He stood up and began to stroll about the garden. It really was quite well-designed. Aizen rose to follow. Their reflections kept each other company in the surface of the pond, which was no longer disturbed by rain.

When further remark was not forthcoming from Arashi, Aizen continued. "Just before my mother's death, she was approached by Unohana Retsu, who convinced her to relinquish my infant self into her care. A simulacrum was left in my place. That is how the deceit played out, and Soul Society took my death at face value. But it was as false as any of the other lies bandied about by Yamamoto and his cohorts." Aizen studied the impassive nobleman a moment before continuing. "I was cared for by Unohana and raised to aid her in overthrowing the ruling order. It is my hope that you and I can come to an accord… O-ji-san."

Katsurou casually stooped to trail his fingers in the water. The disturbance caused their images to waver.

At last he said, "Is that all?"

Aizen stared at him, his face closed to all emotion.

"Have you brought anything which might serve as proof to this tale?" Katsurou continued in a languid vein. "Say, a snatch of cloth bearing my sister's blood? A hastily written letter? Perhaps a birthmark? Sosuke had none, you understand, but please do not let that get in the way of your masterful storytelling."

Behind him, those gleaming brown eyes narrowed a fraction. "This is no deception. I am telling you nothing but the unvarnished truth."

One hand waved in aristocratic dismissal. "As related to you since childhood by a madwoman bent on avenging herself at any cost. Yes, I quite appreciate your insistence. Lost children often fancy themselves to be princes in exile, awaiting only the slightest opportunity to step forward and proclaim themselves for all the world to know." He broke off a wisteria bloom and pretended to smell it. "If there is nothing else, perhaps you would be so kind as to leave me to my dreams."

He waited. But the man did not leave.

"I am who I say I am, Katsurou Arashi."

"You are who you believe yourself to be," the Tiger Lord corrected. He cast a stern look at this youthful offender. "Nothing more."

Far more.

The voice came from a twisted willow tree whose limbs dipped lazily into the water. When Katsurou looked at it, he spied from behind a knot in its trunk what looked to be a single eye glaring in challenge back at him, before it disappeared.

"Ask the shinigami. The high lords and ladies of the other Great Houses. See if they will confirm or deny what I have told you."

"And sow dissension at your bidding? I think not." Katsurou cast aside the make-believe blossom as though discarding the suggestion with it. "You would be better off killing me here and now."

For the first time, a flash of something akin to honest emotion passed over Aizen's face. Anger, or perhaps even grief. "I did not come here to harm you, Uncle."

Katsurou seized on this opening. "Did it never once occur to you Unohana might have lied? The appeal to an orphan's ears is easy enough to see; learning that he is secretly a prince, heir to a mighty empire. Such glory. And yet it is far more likely that you came of peasant stock. A bastard child beget upon some unlucky wench. When approached by a mighty sorceress willing to take that burden off her hands, she gave you up willingly. Knowing that it was for the best, and you would be far better cared for than she ever could provide, her mother's heart must have consented gladly to the deal."

This time there was no doubting the response his words had brought. Wrath flared up in that handsome face. "In your ignorance you are casting aspersions on your own…!"

"Or perhaps the witch gave birth to you herself?" He allowed a certain measure of pity to slip into his words. "The tale loses none of its potency. A casual tryst with some besotted underling yielded an unwelcome result, yet her keen mind saw the potential uses for such a misbegotten babe, and so–"

ENOUGH!

Katsurou spun and grasped what at first glance seemed nothing more than a strand of whippoorwills growing at the water's edge. Yet at the first touch of his fingers it changed, revealing the shadowy form that lay beneath. Wrapped in cloth of many colors, bearing only the vaguest outline of a human shape, there was nothing visible save for a great eye blazing out of a slash in the fabric wound around its head.

To his horror, Katsurou recognized the eye belonged to Kaito Takuiyoku, his long-dead brother-in-law. He released the shrouded phantom with a cry of dismay.

It collapsed in a heap, and immediately Aizen came rushing over. He knelt by the creature's side whispering in urgent tones, to which it gave back a shake of its head. A smooth white hand emerged to tug at some cloth wrappings, and the opening on its face closed. In counterpoint another strip pulled back to reveal a different eye on another part of its face, not quite in line with the first. When it looked up at Arashi, there was no longer a trace of resemblance to be seen. All the same, the indomitable hatred which lashed out at him was in no way lessened.

This thing, this creature, it is…!

"When you speak ill of my mother, you dishonor your sister's memory."

Aizen's words held a reproach that stabbed Katsurou to the core. Everything in the environment began to bleed together like paint running down a canvas. The dream was ending! This sudden realization caused Katsurou to leap forward with a cry, reaching out to grasp hold.

"SOSUKE…!"

There might have been gratitude in the sorcerer's face as he faded away…

Katsurou Arashi bolted upright in his luxurious bed, snatching feverishly at thin air. In a panic he peered wildly around. There was a sense of loss, regret, shame and euphoria, all fading fast.

He knew what to do. Before the dream could fade completely, the lord of the Arashi reached out to touch a small glass globe on a stand by his bed. "Claim!" he whispered desperately. At once the enchanted object warmed to his touch, and he knew the contents of his fading nighttime memory had been safely stored away.

There would be a chance to examine it later. For now, that mighty figure curled up in a ball and wept, uncertain why he did so, but unable to stop.

---

"Sabo-san, don't be afraid to yell! Like you're cheering at a baseball game, remember?"

The student in question squared his shoulders and lifted his shinai up proudly. "HYAAAH!" he declared as he brought the weapon down without rest, giving a mighty shout with every swing.

Ichigo Kurosaki stood against the wall watching his pupils practice their forms. Only about twenty students remained at this time of day. The majority were police officers, but a few enthusiasts of the sport could be found among their ranks, and he had decided to put them through their paces. As associate instructor at the Zoematsu Dojo, and speaking as one who knew how a nice exhausting workout could be just the ticket, he had embarked on a final regimen that would no doubt leave them sore and stiff for the rest of the day. But oh, how good that ache of abused muscles felt in the morning, telling you how hard you had worked and also the importance of stretching.

At last Ichigo drew to a halt at the front of the hall. He faced his class with arms crossed and a satisfied smile. "Good. That should be enough for today. Need to leave some energy for home."

All the students, even the ones older than him, lined up before their teacher. The redhead watched them with a sensation of pride. He then crossed to the office and tapped on the door. "Sensei? We're all heading out."

"Ah. Thank you, Kurosaki-san." Chikamoto Azuma looked up from her desk with a smile. A tall woman in her early forties, she had a vested history in kendo as long as Ichigo's was short. Numerous trophies, plaques and citations adorned the walls of her office, a testament to the Chikamoto family's enduring legacy in the sport.

The dojo head put away some paperwork and joined her employee outside to bid the students goodbye. Bowing in turn, the various kendo enthusiasts headed off to their lockers. Ichigo joined them, and after changing out of his uniform he emerged to meet Azuma back in her office. He took note of the papers that had claimed her attention before. "Are the new equipment orders nearly finished?"

"Done and done," his boss pronounced with satisfaction as she completed a final form before giving him a smile. "This really has been a productive year. Who would have imagined that snagging a famous employee would drum up so much business?"

"Well, nice to know you're squeezing as much as you can out of me."

"Nonsense. I wouldn't dream of taking advantage of my #1 employee." He flashed a blazing grin in return, though she didn't have the heart to tell him it made him look as though he were suffering from a toothache.

But her assessment wasn't off. Ichigo's experiences in high school kendo had been enough to get him an instructor's position despite only being a Third dan. Azuma liked to tease him that he fought like an Eighth. This showed in his track record. It was as captain of the Karakura High School kendo club that Ichigo Kurosaki took his team all the way to the finals of the All Japan High School Championships. There they managed to reach second place and won the school accolades for a sport it had not received in decades. Thanks to him and a few others in his class, Karakura was enjoying a reputation for fostering monsters in terms of athletic competitions.

Azuma laughed at their shared jest and slid the completed forms into an envelope for mailing later. Despite owning a computer, some things she still liked to do the traditional way. "But I won't deny that my life has gotten easier since you came around."

"Wish I could stay and help with that, but duty calls." Ichigo slung a duffle bag over one shoulder. "Got to go pick up the little prince."

"Bring him by sometime, and his mother too," she called as he headed towards the door. "Good night, Kurosaki-san."

He waved goodbye, joining a few of the departing clients on their way out. Initially Azuma had trouble believing a person of his age could be a father. Even more astonishing was to learn he remained unmarried. At first she had hinted to Ichigo that her niece was only three years younger than him and another aficionado of kendo. But upon learning his family situation she quickly gave up on what might have been any hopes at bringing him into the dynasty. A working relationship sufficed just fine.

Ichigo trotted through the parking lot and walked down the street, passing quickly through one neighborhood to another until he came to a modest district where several homes had 'For Sale' signs or looked as though they hadn't been lived in for a few years. This stretch tended to be occupied by older people, and it was to one house in particular that he directed his steps. The twenty-year-old knocked on the door of a small one-story complex and waited. Soon enough the door opened and a soft wrinkled face peered up at him.

"Hello, Mrs. Nadeshiko," he greeted her.

"Oh, the Strawberry Boy!" she chirped in response. "Yes, come in, come in, right this way." The old woman stood aside, allowing him to slip through as she closed the door behind before pottering off into the living room.

Mrs. Nadeshiko was short and plump with snow-white hair done up in a bun. Wearing a kimono and a handwoven shawl thrown over her shoulders, she walked with a stoop despite having a surprising sum of energy. She was such a typical example of traditional Japanese women she liked to joke her name might as well be 'Yamato Nadeshiko' like the old saying. But he knew for a fact her name was really Yurika. A retired garment worker, she supplemented her scant pension by taking care of a few local children from time to time while their parents were at work. This was a lifesaver for people like him, who couldn't afford professional daycare. At least, not yet.

When she led him into the playing area, only Kujaku and one other boy around his own age remained. Normally Granny Nadeshiko didn't look after more than three children per day that he could tell, this being as much as she could handle at her age. It meant slim chance of actually running into the other parents, which was fine by him. Japanese society did not always look kindly on someone in his abnormal situation.

But none of that mattered now as he watched his two-year-old son sitting in a patch of sunlight dutifully stacking blocks on one another. The other boy also watched with a sort of amazement at the fantastic structure being erected on the tatty carpet. Kujaku was absorbed in this building effort, taking no notice of his father's arrival. All the same, it only took one well-placed cough to draw his attention, and then his face lit up as he scrambled to his feet and came barreling over to collide with Ichigo's legs. "TOES!" he cried exuberantly, shorthand for 'To-san'.

"Nice to see you too, little mister."

By then Jaku had already taken his hand and led him over to inspect the building-block fortress. "Looka whut I mud!" he declared without even a hint of modesty.

"Wow!" Ichigo breathed in tones of amazement. "Did you make that?"

"Yesh!" came the enthusiastic response.

"He is such a creative little fellow." Mrs. Nadeshiko asserted as she came up to them. "Always making things and telling his little stories. He might be a novelist when he grows up."

"Or a mangaka," Ichigo asserted. When she looked confused, he added, "Because he loves to draw, and tell stories… never mind." He sighed when it became apparent the generation gap had been breached again. Soon after he had located their stroller which was left behind and gotten it ready. The old lady insisted on giving him some sliced carrots and pickles to take with him, which he accepted so as not to hurt her feelings. "Remember to say 'thank you'," he told his son, which Kujaku did. After this the boy popped into his rolling throne (which he might be getting too big for, come to think of it) and the two of them were off.

"Did you have a nice time, kiddo?"

"I frew the air-o-prane!"

"Sounds fun." After this came the obligatory recitation of what had gone on in his son's day, some of it intelligible, most rendered incoherent by excitement and youth. It was probably the most calming part of Ichigo's daily routine. Since Rukia had to keep the shop open well after this time, pickup from daycare fell mainly to him. It was a chance for father and son to be together every day. And considering all Jaku represented in his world, he would not have traded it for anything, be it wealth or status.

As he walked, Ichigo suddenly detected the sound of sobbing.

Instinct saw him maneuver the stroller into an empty lot ringed by bushes. Bits of garbage had accumulated here in the form of plastic bags, empty soda cans and the like. And floating among them was a small spirit hunched in a ball crying.

"Hey," he called out softly.

The child's ghost noticed him and grew still. Those who had been dead a while grew accustomed to being ignored by the living. This poor kid must have been gone for some time judging by the way he looked. The clothes gave it away.

"You can see me?" the boy asked in tremulous tones.

"Course we can."

Down in the stroller, Kujaku stretched out an arm and repeated, "Coursey khan!" His father chuckled at this mimicry, which was fast leading to full-on sentences these days. Perhaps it was the sight of the infant that caused the ghost boy to draw closer to them, hesitant, as though ready to fly if necessary. Ichigo knelt down to be on eye level with him. "What's got you so upset?"

The bereft soul sniffed and looked all around, then declared, "I lost my little brother."

Ichigo winced. He pondered while bringing what looked like a Pez dispenser out of his pocket. Could be the kid was talking about a sibling he was separated from ages ago. The dead were like that, often growing confused after being removed from their lives for too long. Of course, if there was another little soul wandering lost around here, it was a shinigami's job to find him. And speaking of which…

"Let me help you. My name's Ichigo Kurosaki. What's yours?"

The ghost stared at him uncertainly. "Shota."

Guess that's all I'm going to get. "Well, Shota, I can help look for your brother. But before that, I think maybe you might want to travel somewhere safer, just in case." With that he popped a gikongan pill into his mouth. A rush of spiritual transition later saw Ichigo Kurosaki floating a pace off the ground, adorned in black robes and with a huge sword strapped to his back. The kid's eyes grew round as this admittedly menacing figure rose before him in all its power. Before he could try and run, though, Ichigo had already unslung Zangetsu and tapped him gently on the forehead with its hilt. A glowing symbol appeared there.

"Don't worry," the substitute shinigami spoke kindly as the spirit began to shine. "You'll be with your brother again, just you wait and see." Moments later a butterfly flapped aloft before him. Kujaku watched its flight in awe, reaching out and making a whining noise when the ethereal insect began to ascend away from them. After making sure it had disappeared safely, a clearly relaxed Ichigo came on back. "Thanks for the help," he told his body.

"Pyon! Glad to be of service!"

A few moments later he was securely ensconced in flesh once more to make the journey home. Ichigo resolved to come back here once Kujaku was with his mother to see if he could locate the boy's sibling. If he was also a ghost, he would be easy prey for Hollows. On the other hand, if the little guy had indeed been confused and his sibling was long departed as well, he could seek the assistance of the Gotei 7 in locating him on the other side.

Such was the daily tasks of a substitute shinigami.

You haven't lost your touch, I see.

Been a while since I had to perform a konso. Nice to see you're still sharp yourself.

Always.

And modest too. You probably think we could still take Byakuya Kuchiki easily.

I would hardly call what we went through to best him 'easy'. Nonetheless, you have grown considerably stronger as a result of your atonement. I doubt any less than the Kenpachi could give us a challenge nowadays.

Don't let Rukia hear you say that, you know how defensive she is about Big Brother. And I might have reason to take him up on a sparring match soon enough. Word is something big might be in the works.

From Nirvana?

Or closer to home. There are lots of people after my head, y'know. More than I should be comfortable with.

Then now is the time to appreciate what is, and not what might be.

'Pyon!'

"You stay out of it," he muttered, stuffing the candy capsule back into its cartridge and resuming the trek back home.

---

It took a great deal to surprise Byakuya Kuchiki. Even more for him to show it. But when he received a hell butterfly from none other than Kenpachi Zaraki asking that they meet, he spilled his tea all over the documents before him.

Zaraki knows how to summon hell butterflies?!

I am as shocked as you are.

Someone had to have sent the message for him. His lieutenant, even. It's the only reasonable explanation.

He took a moment to recover himself and once he was composed, a response went winging out. The head of Tiger Company was still in Hueco Mundo. He had made no mention of coming home, so Byakuya resolved to go there himself. Once preparations were complete and a contingency plan enabled should he not return (because this was the Kenpachi, after all; the fellow was still quite mad) the head of the Gotei 7 traveled to a portal which led to the domain of Hollows.

"Welcome, soutaichou!" a bobbing menial grinned nervously as he rubbed his hands together. "Welcome to Hueco Mundo! Such an honor to have you here, truly, we couldn't be more pleased! Did you have a good journey? Would you like to rest before continuing your journey? I can see to it refreshments are prepared. By the by, my name's… Aramaki…"

Byakuya strode past him without a word. With great haste the hunched emissary rushed to rejoin him, walking a few paces behind. "Er… the captain said you'd come… just not sure when. He's out on patrol now, but… his orders were that you should… ah… go to meet him if that was the case… sir."

The regal nobleman paused at the top of a dune. A dry wind rustled his robes and hair as he gazed across the desolate moonlit expanse.

"I understand."

With that Byakuya disappeared, causing Aramaki to jump and look all about for some sign of his presence. But there was none, as the master shinigami shot across the shifting sands leaving no trace behind.

As he ran, Byakuya took note of his environment. Desert in all directions, and the deep black sky having only a cold moon to offer any form of heavenly light. Hueco Mundo had not changed to any measurable extent since his last visit here. At that time Sosuke Aizen had reigned unchallenged over this blighted demesne. Now he most likely held dominion over a much more fruitful realm. Not that this must come as any consolation for the would-be god.

The scent of blood drew his attention, drifting through the air like a ghost. Soon enough he caught sight of something huge and white in the distance. Byakuya finally crested the rise and found a huge depression in the sand, where a gigantic dragon Menos lay breathing its last, chest rising and falling as blood poured from its severed limbs and scores of wounds. By its head knelt Yachiru Kusajishi, lieutenant of Tiger Company. She was crouched down on her haunches, apparently engaged in conversation with the dying creature. It spoke back in tones too faint and garbled with blood for him to hear. Her earnest expression led him to believe she took its final words seriously. This truly was a day for surprises.

Not far off a fire had been built. There he found the Kenpachi squatting on a rock roasting huge cuts of meat over a spit. The thought of where it came from turned Byakuya's stomach as he approached, but as if reading his mind, the brute swordsman chuckled without looking up from his meal. "Relax. I'm not eating the fucker. My boys got a boar in from Soul Society. Feel free to grab a slice if you want."

"Your generosity is welcome, but I am not hungry." Which could be the truest statement he had ever made. Captain-Commander Kuchiki wasted no time and knelt to sit seiza across from his fellow captain. "You wished to speak with me."

The giant made a rumbling noise, firelight shining in his lone eye. "Heard tell you're thinking about a truce."

Byakuya's eyes narrowed. It had been a year since the meeting with Unohana in which they discussed possibly ending the longstanding animosity between them. He was by no means committed to the idea, and there had been no further contact from her since. But as the nominal leader of Soul Society and head of the Gotei 7, it would not behoove him to dismiss such a proposal out of hand.

Not that such logical arguments mattered to Zaraki. No, the real question was how did he learn about this? Isolated here and uninterested in the running of the afterlife as a rule, the head of Tiger Company was not much inclined to gossip. And Byakuya had expressly forbidden anyone outside a small circle of discussing this information. So…

"Who told you of this?"

"Guess that means it's true." That grizzly mouth twisted into a sneer. The sense of imminent danger behind it was undeniable. "Figures you'd try to wuss out of the deal. You never had the balls to follow through in the first place."

"I'll ask again, Zaraki-taichou. Who…?"

"BYAKUCHI!"

Next thing he knew an excited pink kitten was hopping in front of him gazing up with gleeful fuchsia eyes while pawing at his knees. Behind them the backdrop of the dragon Hollow was vanishing into numerous butterflies that disappeared into the night sky. Having completed her business, Yachiru was now free to turn her attention to another source of interest.

Well, at least it is less likely you two will draw swords now that she is in the mix.

I find that cold comfort.

"Did you bring me anything good? Huh, did you?"

Her enthusiasm shattered against the bulwark of his disinterest. "I was led to believe this meeting demanded immediate attention. I regret there was no time to think of sweets prior to my departure."

Her lips fell into a pout. "Awww! That's no fair. Happy brought me something!"

Byakuya frowned. "Who…?"

"Yo, soutaichou!"

At this, Gin Ichimaru emerged into the circle of firelight and flopped down on the sand.

Were Yachiru not sitting right in front of him, Byakuya would have wasted no time in drawing his sword and chopping the man's head off. Whatever doubts others might hold as to Gin's true allegiance, there was no question in his mind that this creature deserved to be executed without delay.

Remain calm. We are in no danger. Had he meant us harm, he would not have revealed himself beforehand. And we have the Kenpachi on our side.

Neither of these men holds any goodwill towards me. Be on your guard.

An accusing glare at the hulking war god sitting across the flames earned no response. Zaraki continued turned the thick cuts of meat, unaware or unconcerned at having invited his commanding officer into what was essentially a trap. It was now abundantly clear how Zaraki had learned of the peace proposal. But the reason for this conference remained unclear.

Gin's eternal smile was transformed into a goblin's leer from the shifting shadows cast by the bonfire. He looked so very pleased as always at having stirred up hostility. Just as troubling, he gave off no spiritual signature at all. This explained how he had been able to sneak up on them undetected. Was it something to do with those Sombras the Hollows liked to use? No matter. There were more important issues at stake.

"Zaraki-taichou," Byakuya spoke heavily, his wrath evident only in his eyes. "Why are you keeping company with this traitor?"

"Aw, shucks, Captain-Commander! Me and the Kenpachi have been tight for decades! Surely you oughta know about that, seeing as how you're married to the Queen of Spies."

"Spies!" Yachiru giggled as though she thought the word funny. Then her face lit up. "Spiders and flies! Put them together and you get… Spies!" Elated at her linguistic accomplishment, she hopped nimbly over the fire to land on Ichimaru's shoulders.

"Right y'are, fukutaichou," the grinning specter commented without any evidence that he resented this intrusion on his person. "And spiders eat flies! You reckon Lil' Byakuya's the fly who married the spider, or could it be the other way around?"

The child gave a delighted squeal before transferring over to her hulking accomplice's side. She crawled up his robes to whisper in the giant's ear, "Happy thinks Byakuchi's a fly!" and tittered with glee.

Yachiru was out of danger. There was nothing preventing him from attacking now. Gin watched him through slitted eyes as though welcoming any show of force he might bring. Yet even as Lord Kuchiki's hand drifted down to clasp the hilt of Senbonzakura, the Kenpachi finally spoke in a throaty snarl. "Food's ready."

He then took up his sword Honnou and used it to slice four strips of blackened smoking meat from the spit. As if using one's zanpakutō as a carving knife was no cause for concern, he handed one up to Yachiru, who took it and began munching happily with hot grease dripping down her chin. The other slabs he held out on the tip of his sword to the two captain-class shinigami.

It occurred to Byakuya this might be the Kenpachi's attempt at a form of truce between them. The sharing of a meal was a time-honored method of establishing trust between enemies. They would be oath-bound to make no move against one another so long as they remained together. It was an astonishingly subtle move on his part.

Just as he was thinking this, Zaraki suddenly said, "If either of you clowns try to pull any funny shit while we're here, I'll kill you both."

Ah, yes. Subtle as a brick.

Zaraki's reiatsu spiked at this threat, grown impossibly dense and malevolent since the Autumn War. Byakuya felt a shiver of warning go through him as he was reminded once again just how terrifyingly powerful this man really was. The Kenpachi had faced a vasto lorde in single combat and survived, something even Yamamoto might not have been able to accomplish. His individual strength was so great at this point he represented a threat to the stability of the afterlife in his own right. Add to that he commanded the worshipful obedience of the most unwholesome gang of warmongering pirates in existence, and you would have to be the King of Fools to discount a threat from him.

When Byakuya made no move and Gin just smiled pleasantly in the face of their impending deaths, the war god gave a grunt that might have signified approval and continued to proffer the meat. This time there was no talk of deferral, and Byakuya accepted the badly overcooked boar. Ichimaru speared the hot meat on his own dagger. He blew on it before taking a hearty bite. Repulsed at this lowly treatment of their own soul cutters, Byakuya resolved to hold the crude fare in his bare hands without bothering to acknowledge how hot it was. He would not be shown up by the likes of this. As they ate in silence, he thought.

Why did Ichimaru wait so long to inform Zaraki?

Perhaps he wished to see how you and Aizen would react to the proposal. If so, one of you must have displeased him somehow.

He is pitting us against one another. Does Gin honestly expect to be the last man standing when this war is over?

He might simply wish to observe the carnage that would result. Some men take enormous satisfaction at the thought of throwing lives into turmoil.

"War's what's needed."

The Kenpachi ripped off another bite of meat and chewed like a lion feasting on its catch. He threw a baleful look at Byakuya as if daring him to disagree. The Kuchiki lord matched this glare with one of his own. "Not everything can be resolved through battle, Kenpachi Zaraki."

Ichimaru did not interfere. He seemed content to let them feud. Meanwhile the Tiger Captain uttered a bark of laughter that fairly dripped with disdain. "Man gets married, has a kid, and just like that he's scared to fight. I remember a time not too long ago when you would've tried to kill Gin for sassing you like that, captain or no."

This got a laugh from Gin.

"There is more at stake here than ourselves," Byakuya retorted, angry at the reminder of the suicidal animus which had been his main preoccupation for so many years. "Soul Society has not yet recovered its strength since the war. Our charges are still in a precarious position. Ending the conflict peacefully is not something I can dismiss simply because you find the quality of opponents available nowadays does not excite you."

Zaraki settled elbows on his knees and leaned forward. "Listen up, rich boy. Unless you and me take care of this business ourselves, the kids are the ones who're gonna have to deal with it later. It's not going away, and it sure as hell ain't getting any better." He settled back on his hands. "You can't let up. This war… it's got to happen. Like you said, there's more than us at stake. The whole world's been waitin' on this for a long time." His eye drifted down to the sand, voice descending into a thoughtful rumble. "We need to set things right. That's what the demon said."

Even Ichimaru stopped eating to regard their hulking host with interest. Byakuya silently cursed his fellow officer for letting something like this slip. The topic of Jigoku's appearance was not something he wished bandied about for anyone to hear.

"Byakuchi." It was Yachiru who spoke. To his surprise, she watched him with clear eyes that held no hint of playfulness or immaturity. "We promised to help them, remember? A long time ago. All of us shinigami."

She included Ichimaru in this statement, which caused one silver eyebrow to rise curiously. "Help who with what?"

"Hell."

The tiny lieutenant said this so simply it made it seem obvious. She dropped down and stuck a hand in the fire, drawing it away to leave a glob of flame hovering on her fingertip before anyone could even speak up at this dangerous behavior. Yachiru proceeded to twirl it round and round until it became a circle of glowing light which she left hovering in midair.

The tiny lieutenant crossed her arms and stated matter-of-factly, "The demon had a hole in them. Not like a Hollow's. There was one empty, when they showed us what they really looked like." She pushed a hand through the circle for emphasis. "I counted. They had holes like cages in them, and a person in each cage getting toasted, but there was one more cage than there were people." Her pupils glowed a reddish-purple, and the fire ring filled in with energy of the same color. Yachiru then puckered her lips and blew out as if blowing bubbles. The circle stretched to become a sphere which went floating off on its own. "The missing one… that's who they asked us to go after for them. Because they can't."

Byakuya sat astonished at this information. Was she referring to the ancient contract between Hell and Soul Society? Inwardly he cursed the timing of such a revelation. Why did she have to bring this up now, when Ichimaru could hear?

"You get what we're saying?" Zaraki sawed off another strip of meat and began chewing on it.

"Maybe ya can spell it out for those of us who ain't that swift on the uptake," Gin said with a grin that managed to be both self-deprecating and derogatory.

"The thing that Hell lost is what's messed up all the worlds." Yachiru kicked at the sand, sending a spray into the fire that caused it to nearly go out. "Ours, and this one, and even the living folk. Once it's gone, things will get better!"

Byakuya couldn't help himself. "What does this have to do with Aizen and his cabal?" he asked evenly.

"They're in it same as we are," Kenpachi snapped back. He then lifted his longsword, examining up and down the length of polished steel. "I wasn't getting what the demon was trying to say, but Honnou did. Him and me, we were born in response to their problem. The one it needed a shinigami's help with. We're meant to fight that thing, whatever it is! The greatest battle! The big one, the one where there's nothing left afterwards! And every drop of blood in me is screaming that the fight I've been waiting for my whole damn life is the one that comes from finishing this war!"

If the Kenpachi seemed certain of himself, Byakuya did not share the sentiment. What the two of them said certainly cleaved to insights gleaned from the episode with Jigoku, in which it was revealed ancient shinigami had taken up the task of destroying something called the Escapee at Hell's insistence. No relevant data on the nature or identity of their target existed. The idea that it was in some way connected to Aizen's revolution… sounded like self-serving thinking on the Kenpachi's part.

"If you try to make peace with them, you're going to regret it."

This stiffened Byakuya's spine fast as only insolence could. "You are treading dangerously close to rebellion, Zaraki-taichou."

"So what if I am?" That battle-crazed smile lit up his face once more, and his eye glowed an eerie yellow the color of bone left out in the sun. Kenpachi's face held not even a drop of sanity at this moment. "Even if you couldn't put a scratch on me now, I'd be more than willing to kill you. Just don't give me a reason to revolt. Whatever has to happen, will, and my crew and I will be ready when it does." He then pulled a cloth and whetstone from his weather-beaten robe and began cleaning off the blade before running the stone along its edge. "I don't give a shit what games you guys play with one another. But if you lose sight of what's really at stake here, I'd be more than happy to remind you."

"A foot of steel in yer gut would be a pretty sharp reminder, I think," Ichimaru teased. Before Byakuya could retort he rose and dusted off his knees. "Well, this's been fun, but I gotta hit the road. Don't wanna be caught out after dark in this neighborhood. Guy could get knifed."

"Buh-bye, Happy!" Yachiru murmured lying flat in the sand, watching sparks snap up from the fire with a dreamy heavy-lidded expression. She, at the very least, was not put out at the talk of treason espoused by her captain.

"Taichou, fukutaichou, soutaichou," Gin bowed to each in turn. "Take care now." At that he turned and ambled off across the dunes, disappearing like a fox spirit into the night.

Byakuya watched the criminal depart angrily. When he cast an accusing glare at Zaraki, he found himself completely rebuffed. By now Yachiru's eyes had drifted closed completely. There seemed no point in further conversation. With that the head of the Gotei 7 stood up, gave a perfunctory bow, and turned to make his way back to the gate. This day had served to inflame his temper, not to mention stoke his fears. The Gotei 7 could hardly afford dissension in its ranks, but he would not have the policy of Soul Society dictated to him by a bloodthirsty rabble. Yet he had no doubt Zaraki would march to the beat of his own drummer if it came to that. Best then to handle the matter with utmost delicacy.

You would never have rested easy forging a peace with Unohana and Aizen. Don't even try to deny it. This makes the choice easy.

I have still come to no conclusion. And if Kusajishi is to be believed, we did gain some noteworthy information regarding the Jigoku affair. That could very well prove the advantage we need when hostilities resume.

Do not forget Gin is now privy to that tidbit as well.

I am in no danger of becoming absentminded regarding that man.

Then watch your step. He's still out there somewhere as we speak, and Kenpachi would not care overmuch now if one of you killed the other.

Byakuya chose to take this advice to heart. As he sped over the lifeless desert, he kept his senses open for any indication of foul play on Ichimaru's part. That no such attempt materialized was small relief. At this stage, he might even have welcomed an opportunity to rid himself of at least one source of concern. But kitsune were notoriously unreliable, and fate did not see fit to grant him that much this evening. His journey home held nothing more of interest.

---

"So this is the legendary Biblioteca Corviniana," Ulric mused.

As Ulric Sterne poured over treatises and land grants, he found a cup of hot madeira placed by his elbow. "Careful," a playful voice warned. "Don't knock it over, or I'll be the one cleaning it up."

Very carefully he moved back in his seat and directed a moody scowl at his companion. The boy they all called Bernie stood there grinning in a smock whose sleeves were smudged with wood wax and ink. His short red hair remained unruly, combined with bright green eyes that were out of place in this part of the world. His face seemed all mouth by the way he grinned so wide. Ulric felt certain there must be Gypsy blood in him with features like that. It would explain his status as an orphan, and why he had found himself here as one of the library pages.

"Thank you," the doctor admitted reluctantly and accepted the hot drink. He took the smallest sip. Its warmth was most welcome on this cold night, but there was something just a bit disconcerting at the way the kid grinned at him.

Bernie hopped up to sit on the tabletop. "No problem. I just thought our most determined patron deserved a little appreciation. After all," and here his grin became wider, "not like everyone loves a good story."

While not ungrateful for the offered drink, Ulric nonetheless bristled at this youth's company. Maybe it was the memory of another red-headed Gypsy that served to make him so cross. "Don't you have duties that call for your attention?"

"Oh, I'm finished with all that." Bernie was clearly in no hurry to pick up on any subtle hints thrown his way. He kicked his heels lazily for a bit, then reached over and picked up one of the bound volumes Ulric was reading. Opening the book carefully, an expression of boredom soon settled on his face. "Ugh. More law junk." He slid the tome back and scooted a little closer. "Hey! Want me to show you which ones have the raciest woodcuts? There's things in there that would make the Devil blush!"

"I believe our patron has more mundane matters to concern himself with."

Bernie jumped off the table and stood up straight. Oddly enough, Ulric found himself doing the same as they found themselves joined by the venerable Theodoric. The Master Librarian shuffled into the light of the covered lamp wearing a friendly smile. His heavy beard and sagging eyebrows gave him the appearance of a hobgoblin, though one more disposed to friendliness judging by the smile he now wore. He waved an idle hand to indicate they shouldn't act so honorably in his presence.

"We will have a talk about this later, I think." The old man threw a pointed look at his pupil. "I believe it is almost time for supper. You had best be on your way to rejoin the others."

"Yes, Master," Bernie mumbled. With a last quick look at Ulric he dashed off and vanished into the cavernous stacks.

"He wasn't bothering me," Ulric lied as the boy went racing off. For all his faults, he didn't like the thought of Bernie being chewed out over this.

"I suppose not." The head of library acquisitions made a seat for himself in the seat opposite. "The young ones tend to get distracted by our patrons. Not all of them have learned to appreciate the company of a good book."

"They seem to respect you a great deal, all the same," Ulric swiftly pointed out.

"There is that, there is that." Canny brown eyes gleamed at him from within cavernous sockets. "But in this case, I believe you are something more than a mere object of academic interest for young Bernadette."

"Berna…?" The implication hit fast, causing him to leap up in his seat and proclaim, "HE'S A GIRL?!"

A junior librarian stuck his head around a corner and whispered, "Shhh!"

Abashed, Ulric retook his seat while Theodoric merely chuckled good-naturedly. "Yes, yes. It's true. We accept anyone as a page now. It's my modest contribution to a more well-rounded and well-read society. Girls especially are in need of guidance at that age. And protection."

Sterne flushed at the implication. "I didn't come here looking for–"

"I know why you are here."

This was delivered in a heavy note of finality which caused the Quincy to regard the old man more warily. "Oh?"

"No need for alarm, young man. Your choice of reading alerted me to your quest as surely as if you had written a letter and handed it to me." The aged scholar leaned over to tap several thick leather-bound books. "The archives are not a common source of interest for laymen. Even an obviously educated one such as yourself. You have a broad scope of topics laid out here, matters both historical and social. But the common thread contained therein? They all center around the Transylvanian city of Târgu Mureș roughly 100 years ago."

A sense of peril saw Ulric slip a hand into his pocket in search of the weapon hidden there. "If you are implying that I am engaged in forbidden research…"

"No." At this the old man shook his head. "Merely futile research. You come late, young man. One hundred years late, as it happens. Representatives of the Church long since seized any and all records pertaining to that period and locale. They were quite thorough, one might almost say surgical. Regardless, you will not find a single mention of Radu Totholtz anywhere within the Biblioteca Corviniana."

A certain bit of information did not fail to escape his detection. "Then how do you even know the name, given it was expunged a century past?"

Theodoric blinked with toothless mouth hanging open. Then he smiled and shook his head self-deprecatingly. "Ah me, ah me. Truly those who think themselves clever are often the most foolish." He peered at the bespectacled doctor with a hint of challenge now. "You're no agent of the Church, else I would never have broached the topic to begin with. No, far too circumspect. They come flouncing in here whenever they want, and make no pretense at hiding their origins. Why, not six months past, we had a visit paid to us demanding access to certain restricted areas. Not that anything new was unearthed, I warrant. But… correct me if I am wrong, young traveler, but was this not about the same time that there came rumors of atrocities being committed in that part of the land? Villages sacked and burned, dark forces on the rise, terror abound once more? You hear of such things, even in a library."

The old boy was still playing his cards close to the vest, hunting for information. Ulric decided to cut straight to the heart of the matter. "Graff Totholtz has indeed left his dominion. His armies strike out across Wallachia and beyond."

Theodoric nodded. "Most intriguing. And what, pray tell, has roused that mythical figure at this late date?"

"I am more concerned," Ulric bit out, crossing his arms and frowning, "with finding a way to stop him."

"I see, I see." And here the elderly scholar drew himself to his feet once more. "Well, I am afraid you have made a wasted trip. As I said, there are no documents relating to that topic contained within these walls. You had best return home and look to your loved ones. There is nothing for you here."

As he turned to go Ulric stood up swiftly. "There are many people who might have cause for concern these days! If you expect this poison to remain in its borders, I'll wager you'd be disappointed! Even as far as Bucharest, it might find its way!"

"So you say," Theodoric slowly hobbled off down the aisles. "So you say. If so, we will look to the preservation of what we love. Librarians have experience with that, after all."

Soon enough Sterne found himself alone once more. His mood had soured from that conversation. If Theodoric spoke the truth, then his purpose in coming here was indeed wasted. Could Xiomara have been mistaken in sending him, or had he been deliberately misled? His suspicions regarding that woman might not have been misplaced no matter how Rania vouched for her. Then again, paranoia hardly ever yielded positive results. Case in point; Theodoric appeared to have marked him as some kind of agent, if not from the Church, then possibly acting on behalf of a more sinister power. The Biblioteca Corviniana was supposedly blessed so that no infernal creature could enter here. But the powers of darkness had many underlings at their beck and call, damned or not. Perhaps there was wisdom in such circumspection.

The slightest hint of movement caught his eye. When he looked over, Ulric spotted the page Bernadette watching from behind a pillar. For some reason he flushed at her perusal and sat down heavily in his seat, stubbornly determined not to yield to whatever forces ruled this archive. Had she been eavesdropping this whole time?

"It's not true."

Ulric paused in the act of opening a treatise on military uprisings. "What?"

Bernadette scooted closer to the light. It was easy to see how so many mistook her for a boy. Her clear green eyes seemed doubtful now, flitting over to him and around the silent stacks as though checking to see if they were being watched. "That name you both used? Totholtz? I've seen it before."

Excitement and suspicion leapt equally within his heart. He tried to keep his voice even when he spoke. "Where?"

Though able to pass for a boy, there was still something undoubtedly mature about the way she eyed him now. "If I told you, what would you give me?"

Ulric debated for half a breath, then turned back to his research with a frown. "I'm not inclined to trade treats for tricks, girl."

He heard her make a scornful sound. "You'd never have figured it if Old Theo hadn't made mention!" That was probably true, so Ulric said nothing, waiting to see what she might reveal. After just a few seconds, the girl scooted closer. "Hey… is it true, then? Are people dying 'cause of something we've got here?"

Sterne gave her a calm look then that was in no way condescending. "Thousands have perished, it's true. But not because of anything kept hidden in these walls. Not directly, at any rate. However I've been assured there is something you have here that might possibly help us in putting an end to the slaughter."

This admission caused her to ponder for a while. Gently he asked, "Bernadette, do you think you can tell me more?"

She looked at him, clearly debating. The devotion held by most of the staff for Theodoric and the library itself was something he had been quick to hit upon when he first arrived. They were equally protective of both. Perhaps generations of orphans and refugees had grown up in these walls under the old man's protection. Small wonder they would revere him and wish to protect him.

"Everybody here's got a secret stash of books they like to read. Hidden, so's that nobody can find them. It's always been that way. Even the Old Man. We all like to guess where he keeps his. When those priests came barging in a few months back, Old Theo was real upset. Those lot were a real bunch of scabbies. After they left I trailed him 'cause it figures he'd want to cool down and read a good book after that mess. Thought I'd be able to show up some of the older boys. So I followed him, late at night, and he did go for a secret trove, just like I thought. Once he was gone I snuck in and had a peak. But… it wasn't books."

"What was it?" Ulric pressed.

The girl laced her fingers together and lifted them high overhead, stretching from side to side as though to ease muscles that had gone sore. "Letters, mostly. And documents. Some of them looked really old, like way back from before the library was built, even. Written in languages that didn't match with anything else we've got. But some of it I could read just fine, and one of them had that name on it. Totholtz."

He frowned at her skeptically. "Out of all of those documents, you remember that one name in particular?"

His accusation saw her place both hands on her hips and glower. To be honest, it made her look more like a girl than at any time before. "Not on account of this stuff. It's 'cause I saw it came from the Trinity." Before Ulric could even ask, she bowled on. "That's just what we do for fun around here. We've got names for some of the people who wrote a lot of books and whatnot. As a joke, you know? There's the Scribbler, and Drips, on account of he dripped ink all over every page he wrote, and Blue Balls who sent a lot of letters to women in blue ink talking about how he wanted to…"

"I think I get the idea!" Ulric threw up a hasty hand to cut her off.

She smirked in satisfaction at his obvious discomfort before continuing. "Right. Anyway, last century there was this imperial councilor in the far Eastern part of the Empire who always, always made three copies of everything he wrote. He numbered them, see, and sent at least one here for safekeeping. It went on for decades: harvest reports, deeds of land ownership, taxes, local decrees. Everything. The bloke was obsessed. So they called him the Trinity. Anyway, I saw this one piece of paper, and it was written by him, see? Maybe one of the last things he ever wrote, 'cause about a year later he must've died since they all stopped after that."

"But I made sure to read it, 'cause it was the only one of its kind we ever got from him. That is, he must have overseen just about every form of official business that anyone's ever tried to do. We've got the papers to prove it. This one was different. It wasn't about wheat or land or any of that stuff."

"It was a marriage certificate."

"Well, isn't that interesting!"

Ulric leapt up. Down the aisle there came sauntering the succubus… uh… what was her name? Let me go back… oh, right, Semele…

A fit of coughing seized hold of Michiru Ohgawa that prevented her from further typing. The same cold had been dogging her for months, enough to cause Uryū to become anxious, but she insisted it wasn't that bad.

"O-jo-chan? I said we're here."

"What? Oh, I'm sorry!" She looked out the limousine's window. Sure enough, they had arrived at the sight of the book signing. Judging by the number of girls in red scarves, this was going to be a long one. Against her will, Michiru turned back to the laptop, and blanched at the page count. Twenty pages?! But I haven't covered half the things I wanted for this chapter! How could it have gotten this long without me noticing?

Nonetheless, it was time to stop. After bidding the driver thanks, she waited for him to come around and open the door, resisting a strong urge to jot down just a few more ideas in those precious seconds. Michiru wore a hooded cloak and white blouse with a leather vest tied together at the front. Her skirt was all ruffles and black silk, not exactly suitable for this season's weather, but Uguisu had come up with the idea that she should dress in whatever outfit Rania was currently wearing at these public showings. It meant getting to model more of Ishida's creations, which she adored, so the matter was settled. The trademark red scarf was wound around her neck in its almost permanent place nowadays.

As the door opened, a wave of screams hit her. The fans had caught sight of their hero. It was something she could never get used to, being an object of adoration. The driver held out a hand to assist her, and Michiru took it without thinking.

In doing so, the cuff of her sleeve slipped back, exposing the pink marks that dotted her skin. Quickly Ohgawa tucked the fabric back in place before anyone could notice. She exited the vehicle smiling shyly, feeling even more embarrassed than ever. It hurt to move so much when she got up this morning. Could I be sleeping wrong? Shouldn't have taken that nap on the couch.

The manager of the store had come out to greet her. He was all smiles and bows, but Michiru hardly heard him. Her head was throbbing, probably from all the commotion, and she wanted nothing more than to climb back in the limo and lie down for a bit. Get some rest. Uguisu would understand. Her agent was waiting inside. She'll probably take one look at me and insist we cancel this event. But we can't. It's the biggest bookstore in the district. I've got to press on.

Adopting what she hoped was a brave face, the fledgling author excused herself and went over to speak to the fans pressed behind metal barricades. Most of them were teens, but several must have been in college or even joined the workforce. And quite a few were girls smaller than herself; middle-schoolers and even elementary students unless she was mistaken.

So many smiles. How did I ever wind up making this many people happy?

Michiru signed books and pads extended out to her. She fielded several shouted questions as well as she conceivably could. "No, Rania's parents are not royalty. Lohengrin? He's been with the Graff since the beginning… I can't tell you that, but you'll find out in the next few chapters, I promise. What? Well… yes, some of the characters are based on people in my life, but I don't know about sharing proceeds. You'll have to talk to my manager."

The owner looked anxious behind that big flashy grin, and so she was forced to cut it short. Her body felt hot as he led her inside, talking about traffic flow and how hard it was to get approval for big events these days. And there was Uguisu waiting patiently by the table where she would be holding the event. Michiru took a step towards her trusted confidante with relief.

Next thing she knew there were people looming all around her. They were like trees, so tall… wait, why am I lying on the ground? Did I fall down? Or slip? Not now, why now?

My stomach hurts. I should just close my eyes…

A warm hand touched her perspiring forehead. Faintly Michiru Ohgawa heard someone that sounded like Uguisu, and yet not like her at all, say…

"Time's up."

---

Jūshirō Ukitake, Lord of the Kotetsu, was enjoying a late-night performance of string musicians under the full moon when a servant approached to a respectful distance and stopped, patiently but insistently waiting upon his pleasure.

At a sign from their lord, the music stopped and the servant moved closer. "Master," she said, "Her Ladyship asks you accompany her to a meeting of the Four Great Houses."

"Now?" Jūshirō could not hide his surprise. "It's the dead of night!"

The messenger made no response. Hesitating only for a moment, the retired hero decided to puzzle over any implications on the way there. He dismissed the evening's entertainment with warm encouragement and set off to join Isane. The walk through the darkened halls of the Kotetsu Manor gave him time to think. Jūshirō had been under the impression that his wife would be spending the evening at the Heron Company barracks to complete some work that had piled up. This probably had nothing to do with shinigami business, as the Great Houses did not bestir themselves on such matters. Could it be related to her sister?

As luck would have it, when he came to the front courtyard it was to find Kiyone waiting there with a palanquin ready. Her subdued expression told him right away something was wrong. Kiyone still wore her shinigami uniform. She must have come straight from the division grounds. His normally impish sister-in-law gave a nervous bow while wringing her hands. "We should hurry, Nii-sama," she urged.

No more motivation was needed. Ukitake quickly climbed into the waiting transport and Kiyone soon followed. In no time they were on their way.

Trying to maintain an air of reserve but burning with curiosity, Jūshirō waited for the normally effusive Kiyone to fill him in. Instead the sandy-haired gossip sat with legs crossed beneath her, clasping both ankles and staring at the floor between them.

"Kiyone?" he asked gently. "What's happened?"

She looked up in surprise, as though having forgotten he was even there. Seeing such uncertainty in her made him anxious. At last she said, "I'm not sure. The meeting was called by the Arashi, that's all I've heard. No one's talking." Her eyes flickered nervously, and she swallowed. "This could be bad."

Katsurou Arashi. The name gave him chills. Jūshirō had thought, after the incident with the aborted marriage and yurei duel, that there would be no further cause for alarm from that corner. Indeed, since then the Arashi had been much more willing to deal directly with the other Great Houses and the rest of Soul Society. They opened their Archives, and Kiyone herself had gleefully reported there might be something going on between Katsurou himself and Lady Kukaku Shiba, an unlikely occurrence if he ever heard one.

What could this mean?

Their journey was made in silence. Soon enough they arrived at the ancient edifice which had housed dealings between the clan for millennia. Having never seen the building at night, Jūshirō had to admit it was made significantly more unsettling by this late hour. They passed through corridors lit only by moonlight where not a sound was heard.

Upon entering a meeting hall where the clans traditionally discussed business, the white-haired elder was further nonplussed to find only the royal families themselves in attendance. No vassals or heralds of any kind were present. Instead he spotted his wife Isane, whose relief at seeming them both arrive was as evident as the worry which so obviously gripped her. Byakuya Kuchiki and his sister Rukia kept their own council, wearing that shroud of severe discipline which was the mark of their house. There too sat Yoruichi Shihoin, her and Byakuya's son Noboru close by.

The most preeminent members of their families, all gathered under one roof. So too was the man responsible: Katsurou, High Lord of the Arashi. He alone had come without anyone to accompany him, standing silent and notably removed from the other parties. Arashi spared not even a glance at Jūshirō. Not that it mattered. Like him, the younger members were mainly here for the sake of formalities. He was still unused to being asked to attend an actual meeting. Despite all the ceremony, his position in the household still felt ceremonial. Or perhaps even… decorational.

Katsurou continued studying a fire burning in a huge bronze brazier. He stood at the end of the room in front of those flames, arms behind his back and body outlined as a shadow. The anger he gave off was obvious even without being able to sense reiatsu. There was danger here, and not for the first time Jūshirō wished he still had access to his incredible shinigami powers. As he was he could do nothing to protect his new family from harm. Unohana's judgement still lay heavy upon him.

"Lord Arashi," Yoruichi spoke up. She and her son were both dressed in simple black clothes derived from the Stealth Forces. Apparently this meeting had proven unexpected for a great many people. "We are all here now. Will you tell us why?"

They all saw Katsurou's shoulders tense. Then he spun away from the fire and strode swiftly over to glare at them, one after another. Even Isane was not spared his wrath, which left Jūshirō more distressed than ever. What could possibly…?

"Is Aizen Sosuke my nephew?!"

The words were spoken in a harsh whisper. They made Jūshirō's stomach sick with dread. Oh, no…

The Lord of the Arashi looked between them, accusation in his very bearing. Though none moved to respond, their silence served to answer all the same.

"So it's true!" Katsurou spit. He leveled a look of pure outrage at Isane, who quailed back from his wrath. "How could you keep this from me?!"

Hurriedly Jūshirō took Isane's hand to offer support. He could feel her fingers squeezing back, almost painfully. Yet she still took care not to hurt him. Her consideration actually served to grant him strength in turn. "She did not know, Lord Arashi," he said in as calm and strong a tone as he could manage. Locking eyes with the outraged nobleman, the ancient soul managed to project that he would defend his wife against any form of attack.

"Didn't KNOW?!" For once he sounded more amazed than furious.

Byakuya took a step forward. "Lady Kotetsu was under a spell that kept her bound and insensate when we learned of this." He looked to Yoruichi, who nodded. "We decided against telling her afterwards, so that she need not bear the burden of keeping a secret from you."

Jūshirō kept his face neutral. It was true, up to a point; Isane had been unconscious, held fast under Unohana's protective spell at the time Aizen revealed his true heritage to Byakuya and Ichigo. What he failed to mention was that Isane learned everything after the fact, and promptly forgot it all thanks to the memory spell she and several other lieutenants consented to receive.

"So you admit to purposefully leaving me in the dark that Manami's child was still alive," Katsurou growled in bitter accusation. His eyes narrowed, voice going chillingly soft. "And you have plotted his murder ever since."

Beside him Isane closed her eyes, head dipping in sorrow. Seeing the pain this was causing her, Jūshirō spoke up. "Lord Arashi…"

"No."

Katsurou turned his back on them and strode to the brazier. Once more he contemplated the flickering flames without a word. Then as swift as before he swung back around to them.

"I will not countenance any move made against Sosuke." Katsurou raised a finger before them that was more intimidating for how it did not waver in the slightest, evidence of the iron control he now held over himself. "He is the heir to a Great House, and at this time, I declare him to be my heir as well. Should you attempt to make war on Sosuke Takuiyoku, you will find yourself at odds with the house of Arashi on every level imaginable."

"You cannot dictate the policy of our world at the point of a knife." Byakuya leveled an icy glare in return. "The Gotei 7 is beyond the purview of the Great Houses, and it is that which Aizen is seeking to assail. Do you deny he himself passed this information to you in the hopes of precipitating such a reaction?"

"Do with Unohana as you will. I care not. My nephew is another matter. Make no mistake, I will go to war for his sake." Lord Arashi crossed back to them, examining each in turn. "Bear that in mind whatever decisions you arrive at."

Without waiting for a response, Katsurou stormed from the room.

Byakuya remained adamant, while his sister had gone pale at the revelation. That's right, she doesn't remember Unohana's betrayal either. Just like Isane, Rukia had her true memories clouded by magic. It was done for her sake. Young Noboru kept his own council. Rumors of him being brash and headstrong might not be quite up to date. Speaking of which, Kiyone sat stricken beside them. She too never knew Aizen Sosuke was born from the fallen House of Takuiyoku.

Ukitake looked at the Kuchiki Lord, silently sympathizing with him. The tenuous peace they had held together over the last three years was fast unravelling. There would be little rest in that house tonight. For now, though, Jūshirō had other more personal matters to occupy his mind. Isane remained crestfallen. She hadn't spoken a word, making it clear to him there was much they had to discuss now. But not here. Not with everyone watching. As her husband, it was his responsibility to defend her. So with a brief apology, he helped her to her feet, Kiyone moving to her sister's other side, and together the three of them left that place to begin the journey home.

---

Rukia had gone out in the middle of the night and not returned. Her note let him know it was Kuchiki clan business and he shouldn't be worried, but all the same, Ichigo felt a touch of unease as he went about his daily routine. Dropping off Jaku at daycare, handling business at the Usagi Shoten until it came time to head to the dojo; he moved with the air of someone expecting an attack at any moment. Even Azuma called him out on it, offering to let him have the rest of the day off. He tried to explain it was nothing and he could finish up same as usual, but his effort to act convincing must have been even less impressive in terms of acting potential than Rukia's, because before he knew it she had shooed him out the door.

The only option left was to cut his losses and head home.

As he walked along the streets of Karakura, Ichigo strove to wrestle out of his funk. Why was he letting a little thing like this get to him? He knew Rukia had her duties in the afterlife. Asking her to stay here all the time, even with their child as an excuse, did him no credit and would have been a blatant insult. She was a shinigami. It was her duty to attend the dead and shepherd their existences in the next world. And if that was all it was, he could probably have gotten over it.

Except she didn't know what they were really facing. Only a year ago, a madwoman had been within inches of bringing harm to their son, and because of her own choices, Rukia hadn't even recognized it until it was almost too late. When she revealed the extent of the crisis in her own half-informed understanding, he'd been close to panic, very nearly blurting out everything right then and there. 'Unohana's a traitor! She tricked all of Soul Society, and orchestrated a war that nearly killed everyone you love! You can't let a little guilt and sentimental attachment keep you from acknowledging something that AWFUL!'

This from a person who carried his guilt around like a cattle yoke for years, and almost let it turn him into a nihilistic monster. Yeah, he'd realized that in time, and kept his mouth shut accordingly. In the year since he hadn't seen any cause for concern. Things had gotten into a good pace. He went to work, he saved, visited with family and friends. Together he and Rukia looked out for one another. They watched Kujaku grow, sharing in the frequent hassles, nuisances, and tiny joys of being young parents.

What if this is all there is?

Not in a bad way. I mean, could I live the rest of my life like this? Without having to dread some horrible attack bursting out of nowhere at any moment? It seems weird just to think it, but… maybe my role in all this is over.

They want this world. If I don't oppose them… who will? Someone has to when I've passed on. Maybe even my son.

The thought of Kujaku standing face to face with Aizen, blade drawn, that same studiously dismissive look on the rebel captain's face as their first encounter when he all but cut Ichigo in half… it made him tremble.

I can't let that happen.

It slowly dawned on him that he had reached Mrs. Nadeshiko's neighborhood. Must have been on autopilot. He walked up the steps and rang the bell. After a few seconds, when no one answered, he started to feel jittery and was just ringing again when the door opened and its owner peered out. "Oh," Mrs. Nadeshiko beamed. "You're here early."

"Hope that's not a problem," he grinned apologetically as she made room for him to enter.

"No, not at all." She sighed while leading the way. "But he's taking a nap right now. It might be a while 'til he awakes."

"I appreciate that." The two of them stood in the doorframe of the play area. Sure enough, Kujaku was snoozing peacefully on a cushion with a blanket draped tenderly over him. Another little boy was awake and turned to espy them before going back to staring at a ball atop a table.

"Would you like a cup of tea, dear?" Mrs. Nadeshiko pottered over to the kitchen nook in conscientious host mode. "I'll whip it up in a jiffy, you can relax for a bit before leaving."

"No, thank you. I should probably get home in case his mother needs to reach us."

She apparently didn't hear him, busying herself getting a large brass samovar ready. Ichigo watched her light a fire in the base of the foreign apparatus and start pouring in water while humming contentedly. What an odd way for a Japanese woman to make tea. Maybe her husband was foreign? Did she ever tell me about him? I don't remember seeing any pictures.

He shrugged and squatted down beside the slumbering infant. Should I wake him first or just put him in the stroller? The kid could be very fussy when he got up. Ichigo sometimes got the impression he had woken Jaku from a fantastic dream and his son didn't appreciate it. For a moment he just took in the sight of his boy stretched out quiet and neat. Completely at peace. But when you want something, that's when you break out the air raid siren, right, little guy?

He then noticed the other baby reaching up in a fruitless attempt to get his ball, which was frustratingly out of reach. "You want that?" Ichigo snagged the rubber globe and held it out. The baby's face broke in a smile, and he grinned back. "Catch!" He gave it a light toss, and the kid made a clumsy grab.

The ball went straight between its fingers, through the baby's chest and rolled across the floor.

Ichigo stared.

Finding its plaything gone, the baby looked wildly around and began to scream, falling on its back and shaking tiny fists. It looked all around, spotted the ball, and flopped around to begin crawling towards it. Upon reaching the prize, the baby sought to pick it up.

And just like before, its hands passed right through it, at which the baby started to wail once more. Kujaku woke up, blinked, and began to cry as well.

Somewhere off to one side the samovar hit the ground with a loud clang. Ichigo didn't register this. A ghost. That kid's a ghost…

"There, there." Mrs. Nadeshiko came rushing over to scoop up the howling infant. "Don't cry, my dear, you'll be fine. Nothing to worry about. All is well, let Granny take care of you, hmm? Give us a smile, my happy baby, shhh." She patted him on the back as the boy wailed into her shoulder. From over where the samovar had fallen behind the counter smoke rose. The oil in its overturned base had started a fire which was quickly spreading. The elderly retiree didn't pay any attention to the fact her house was in danger of going up in flames. "There, there."

"What's going on here?"

Mrs. Nadeshiko peered up at Ichigo where he now stood, blinking curiously behind her glasses. "Hmm? Did you say something, young man?"

"He's a ghost." Kurosaki indicated towards the baby in her arms.

"Oh?"

She held the sniffling, struggling toddler out at arm's-length before her, cocking her white-haired head curiously to one side. It blubbered and gasped, going red in the face. Mrs. Nadeshiko looked back at him.

"Are you certain? How can you tell?"

"Don't SCREW with me!" Ichigo dropped down and snatched up the crying Jaku, backing away a few steps as he did. His heart was racing with fear. Orange flames now climbing up the wall in the kitchen finally caught his attention. He threw a desperate look around the brightly colored playpen. For just a moment the whole room appeared dilapidated, worn and dusty, faded with time and dereliction. Then it was all back to spotless perfection.

"What a strange statement to make, young man." Across from him, old Mrs. Nadeshiko once more held the crying babe to her breast, bouncing it gently up and down. "Why, how could you tell if a ghost were before you or not? It isn't as if the living can see the dead. And if they could, how might they know the difference? A ghostly tail, perhaps? A triangular headband? Mayhap because they cast no shadow." She moved over to a window and held the baby up, moving it back and forth. Sunlight shed her shadow on the ground, but the child had none. "Ah, well, that settles it. Yes, dear boy, you are a ghost. It's true. But we still love you, yes we do." And she gave its tearful face a wrinkly kiss.

The way she spoke turned his stomach. Ichigo took another step back, pulling the gikongan dispenser from his pocket as he did. "Who are you?" he rasped.

The bent old woman turned about, her stooped posture now undeniably threatening. She regarded him for a moment, then reached up and removed her glasses, rubbing the back of a hand against her eyes as though tired.

"I must say, children are exhausting." The cracked, wheedling voice held a measure of rancor never heard before. "You give them all you can, and still they demand more. Of course, babies are at the stage of life where you must provide them with practically everything as a matter of course. But you, young man… well, I rather thought you were beyond that level of helplessness."

From out of that shrunken face, deep blue eyes peered at him. "Or have I given you too much credit, Ichigo Kurosaki?"

He knew her then, and in a flash Ichigo Kurosaki sprang forth in full shinigami regalia, Zangetsu bursting from its bindings. Behind him the Chappy piloting his earthly body had already raced down the hall and out the front door, bearing Kujaku with it.

This left Ichigo facing the ancient old woman he now understood was Unohana Retsu. Sheets of flame were traveling up the wall to engulf the ceiling and spread from there. The curtains caught fire. Once more the whole place wavered in the manner of heat haze, illuminating a rotted-out tenement which no one had lived in for years before slipping back beneath the witch's spell of a charming homestead.

"Why?!" the youth snarled, fingers clutching his zanpakutō's hilt 'til it hurt. Rage and shame burned inside him so fiercely it was all he could do not to leap forward and cut that fiend down. I left him alone with her, for months! What did she do to my son?! "Why the hell do you keep DOING this? He's just a BABY! Why can't you just stay in your precious heaven and just… LEAVE US ALONE!"

Standing there, in the gigai of an old lady, Unohana lifted her chin with regal slowness.

"Because you have put me in a cage, boy," her voice snapped, low and harsh with anger.

A strangled noise came from his throat that translated into words. "If you ever come near my son again, I swear–!"

"Did you think my entrapment a permanent solution?" She reached back and undid her hair bun, sending long white strands spilling down. Doing so finally dispelled any last trace of the woman he had known as Yurika Nadeshiko. "Or simply an easy one. No, do not stand there all strident and self-righteous, when it is your own failings which led us to this confrontation."

Unohana shuffled closer, bent and twisted. A wrinkled finger jabbed at his face hard enough to make him flinch in the face of her wrath. "You had your chance to see this matter resolved years past. You could have opposed us, fought with all your might until one side was finished for good or ill. Instead when Kisuke Urahara caged me, it met with your favor. Had you insisted he set us free to continue the fight, then the matter would have been settled. Am I wrong?"

Her plump face seemed to sag and stretch with every word, a mask in danger of falling off at any moment. One eye was vibrating erratically, almost appearing to glow as it did with a dark, fell light. The inferno had now claimed three walls of the room and was moving towards them in a burning, acrid tide. Even as a spirit, Ichigo felt fear at the sight of that approaching immolation. For her part, Unohana made no move to avoid the fire's approach. The infant in her grasp continued to screech.

"Do not preach on the sanctity of children to me! It is because of your failings that your babe will find himself immersed in this conflict! Had you fallen in battle it would have been one thing. Or even if we triumphed and let you all live, there would have been hope for them yet. Now you must continue in this fool's folly, knowing that any harm which befalls the children is due to your own inadequacies. If nothing else, boy, take this lesson to heart: always finish what you STARTED!"

Burning droplets fell from the ceiling to land in her hair, setting it on fire as well. Unohana didn't move to put them out. She simply stood there glaring at him with vindictive accusation.

Faced with this horrific sight, Ichigo leapt forward and placed a konso mark on the baby's forehead before he turned and fled.

"You are opposing heaven!" Unohana shouted from back within the heart of the conflagration. "And before this is over, you will realize what it means…!"

He leapt straight through the flaming walls to land well past the yard beside his gigai.

"…to stand against GOD!"

With a roar, orange flames burst from the windows. The roof of the house had been engulfed entirely, sending dull black clouds churning straight into the sky.

A butterfly drifted from the blaze and disappeared. No one else came out.

Shaken, Ichigo watched the building eat itself and its insane occupant as sparks and bits of burning fabric flew past him. Eventually he picked up on Jaku's frightened cries, and with a jolt of recognition quickly rejoined spirit to flesh to hold his son tightly.

He then ran from there and never looked back until he made it to the Usagi Shoten. Customers glanced around in surprise as the red-headed youngster tore through the storefront and into the restricted spaces in back, passing a surprised Ganju and emotionless Ururu as he did. The sound of a fire truck could be heard in the distance. Some people were standing around outside pointing at the column of smoke rising from another neighborhood.

Kurosaki didn't acknowledge any of this. He went straight to the room he shared with Rukia, hoping to find her there already. Instead nothing had changed since he left. The baby continued to cry, and he took to pacing back and forth, bouncing slightly to try and soothe him to sleep. He mumbled fragments of songs and commercial jingles.

The phone in his pocket rang, and in a frantic rush he pulled it out and answered. "Rukia?!"

"Kurosaki…"

He almost didn't recognize the voice. It took him a few seconds to finally make the connection.

"Ishida?"

"I…" There was a pause on the other end of the line. "I didn't know who to call."

Ichigo felt his throat go tight as a horrible presentiment came upon him. "What's happened?"

---

Timofey Sonnen, chief councilor for the city of Târgu Mureș, looked up from his desk and squinted through the candlelight. Had that been a knock at the door? About to call for one of his clerks, he realized the late hour and rose irritably to cross the room, muttering under his breath.

Taking no chances at this time of night, he slid open a peephole and peered out. "Yes?"

"Are you the councilor?"

A man and a woman stood outside. Even in the dead of night, he could make out this much plainly. The fellow was tall and wrapped in a traveler's cloak, while his companion wore a shawl that covered her head.

Having surmised this much, Timofey got right to the point. "Whatever your business, it will have to wait 'til the morrow."

"Please," the girl spoke, and Timofey received a shock as her accent revealed her to be foreign-born. Being on the front lines of two feuding empires, the councilor of Târgu Mureș knew when he was faced with an Ottoman. "We beg your indulgence."

Peering out at this strange pair lit by the glow of his candle, Sonnen asked, "What is this about?"

At this the man stirred. "We understand you can perform marriages in this region. We wish to be wed."

The peephole shut in their faces.

Before they could even consider departing, there came the sound of a bar being drawn, and the door opened to envelop them in warm candlelight. "Come in."

They did so. Timofey shut the portal and drew abreast of his guests. "This way, please." He led them back to the desk, drawing up two chairs for them to sit. "May I offer you wine?" he queried politely, trying not to appear overly excited. Both man and woman declined. Without further ado the chief clerk went around his desk and went straight to a cabinet with numerous drawers, from which he unerringly drew the correct documents for the matter at hand before coming back and setting them out for the couple to peruse.

As they read the statement of marriage, Timofey Sonnen secretly exulted. He had been a clerk of the state in Târgu Mureș for the last twenty years. As a duly authorized representative of His Majesty the Holy Roman Empire and guardian of his laws, Timofey took great pride in the role he played. While never inclined to bear arms against their enemies or being much interested in political affairs, he liked to believe his own contributions went a long way towards endowing the blessings of civilization on the population of the Empire. Having risen to the position of councilor, the highest rank a person lacking any claim to nobility could aspire to in the Imperial bureaucracy, he considered himself to be a worthy and satisfied member of society.

Yet there was one lapse in his career that left a sore spot. For twenty years he had overseen proper and legal documentation of all kinds, ranging from land grants, bills of attainder, travel papers, contracts between businessmen, and the registration of royalty in the bureau. According to a system he had developed, ready-made copies of all conceivable documentation were on hand for any clerk under his care to have available and thus make any business the townsfolk might have be swiftly ratified and made a matter of public record. In triplicate, of course. Timofey believed strongly in making sure any and all pertinent information relating to the running of the Empire be preserved and logged three times over in case of any happenstance along the way. How much less of a loss to mankind would the destruction of the Library of Alexandria have been were a progressive-thinking individual like him in charge?

But in all his long years of service, never once had he been asked to perform a marriage.

Such a thing was quite uncommon in any part of the Empire, really. For virtually the entire populace, the Church controlled such ceremonies and it was to them the people turned when it came time to be wed, from farmer to His Royal Majesty the Emperor himself. Owing to the region's longstanding transfer between the Ottoman and Holy Roman Empires, some lingering remnants of local law persisted from both governing bodies. One of which granted the chief clerk of Târgu Mureș the legal right to oversee a civil ceremony that would bind two people together in the sight of the Holy Roman Empire, if not heaven.

Timofey had overseen the use of every single form of documentation in his office the public might need. It was a point of personal pride that this be so. He had used them all. Except the marriage certificate. That alone lay untouched for twenty years. To his mild disaffection. But now, after all this time, when he had given up any hope of it ever really happening…!

"Does the document meet to your approval?"

Both agreed that it did.

"Sign here, please. And you, my lady."

They proceeded to do so. Thrice, at his insistence, which they accepted without complaint. Timofey was thrilled. With utmost reverence, he accepted back the clean carefully inked vellum and proceeded to affix his own signature where indicated. Then, feeling like a priest performing his order's holiest of rites, he took a beautiful red candle, lit its tip enough for soft red wax to drip upon the pages, and proceeded to reverentially affix his seal as an officer of the Empire to each.

"By the grace of His Majesty, protector of the realms of God's Faithful, and acting as his sworn representative and loyal subject, I do hereby decree you both to be joined in earthly wedlock. May you bask in his munificence and… be happy all your days!"

That last bit was thrown in on the spur of the moment, but he doubted it mattered legally. The newlyweds, now husband and wife, thanked him for his services and bid him good night. They looked so young as they left his offices with their copy of the marriage certificate, sparkling and fresh. Timofey allowed himself to feel a touch of pride. I did this. And it feels grand.

Sonnen returned to his desk where he indulged himself by admiring the freshly signed documents. The names of the applicants caught his eye. He had been too excited to notice at first. 'Suzan?' Strange spelling, but she was clearly of foreign stock, if of noble stock by his count. Still, not that it mattered. The man's name also held a note of royalty.

'Radu Totholtz.'

Smiling, he rummaged about and sought out two red leather envelopes which were usually reserved only for an official Imperial edict. Timofey had always admired their superb craftsmanship, and it was here he deposited both the local copy of the marriage certificate along with the one destined for the Biblioteca.

---

Six years passed. Tension between the two empires grew during that time. War loomed, and the Church exhorted all its people to brace themselves for yet another conflict with the infidel hordes.

During that time, Timofey Sonnen went about his work as usual, certain that all would be well. He enjoyed his status as an important man about town, although it sometimes irked him that people did not treat him with quite the level of deference owed a sanctioned officer of His Imperial Majesty. They behaved far more humbly to the local priests, especially the Bishop, whom Timofey considered a pompous and venal figure. It grated on him when folks in the street went out of their way to praise and flatter even the lowest rank of the priesthood while hardly bothering to notice when he walked by.

Whenever he felt himself becoming to worked up over these trivial social injustices, however, Timofey knew where to look for comfort. He would retire to his private office, and there, away from prying eyes, he removed the red leather envelope from its place of safekeeping and lovingly looked over every word. It always lifted his spirits, knowing that two people in this world could trace a bit of their happiness to him. He never bothered to wonder why they had been unable to seek a priest to perform their union. It didn't matter. He, Timofey Sonnen, had performed his duties well and faithfully. Never again did he lay eyes on them, and probably wouldn't recognize them if he did. That young couple had earned his eternal gratitude whether they knew it or not.

It was well after sunset one day in spring, when the town lay under cover of darkness and even the diligent councilor had put down his pen and hied off to bed, when he was awoken by a disturbance outdoors. Lighting a candle, Timofey went out into the hall and peered out a window. Despite the time of night he had no trouble seeing what was taking place.

A mob was gathered in the street outside. They bore torches and crude weapons which they brandished while shouting and baying. There was a struggle in the midst of the rioting villagers, and over the cacophony, a woman's frightened screams rang out clear to his ears. Frightened at this display of barbarity, Timofey hid out of sight at the eaves of the window but continued to peer out, fascinated in spite of himself.

"HEATHEN!" someone cried. "HERETIC!" came another. "BURN HER! BURN THE PERSIAN WHORE!" A hole appeared in the middle of the press of flesh, and even as a laughing rioter ripped the sleeve of her dress, a woman fell to her knees. Ringed around by fire and fear, she nonetheless looked up to heaven, face bloody and tear-stained.

Timofey recognized the face of the newlywed bride.

What came over him then was inexplicable. Before he knew it he was tearing down the stairs, afire with a fury so intense it burned away any trace of fear or self-preservation. The raging man made it to ground level and wrenched open the front door of his office to rush outside. "STOP!"

His roar tore through the tumult. All noise subsided, and every heard turned in astonishment to see the source of this cry. The sight of the unimpressive man in his nightgown clutching a guttering candle would have done nothing to dissuade them were it not for the look of wild-eyed frenzy he wore, enough to send those nearest him pressing back in haste.

"I AM A REPRESENTATIVE OF HIS HOLY MAJESTY THE EMPEROR!" Timofey screamed at the top of his lungs, transported by outrage and explosive wrath. "IN HIS EXALTED NAME, I COMMAND YOU TO CEASE THIS MADNESS AT ONCE! LEAVE THAT WOMAN BE!"

Without waiting for a response he strode forward. The crowd parted before him, struck dumb, or perhaps returned to sanity. They looked to one another in confusion and chagrin. Yet no one spoke out. He made his way through the mob unmolested until he reached the girl. Crumpled to the cobblestones, she looked up disbelieving at his approach.

"Hamsar-am?" she gasped through bloodied lips, blinking and sobbing.

Timofey bent and lifted her to her feet. He escorted the abused woman back the way he came. Both barefoot, dressed only in torn scraps in her case, nonetheless they projected an air of moral fortitude and authority that no living person watching could begin to challenge.

They were nearly to the door, and heaven only knows what would have happened had they made it inside, when a brick sailed through the air and smashed into the side of Timofey's head.

He staggered, collapsed, and with that the spell was broken. Venting a howl, the maddened villagers came surging forward. They attacked Timofey where he lay, pulling the girl away as they did. Fists and feet rained down upon him mercilessly accompanied by curses. Pain erupted suddenly in his spine with such savage force he couldn't even scream. But when they rolled him on his back and brought the burning brand against his face, he did so, long and loud, until darkness claimed him with its empty mercy.

---

The girl perished. They burned her at the stake, then vanished back to their homes as though nothing had happened. Assured that they were in the right and had nothing to fear. Not one of them who had been there ever spoke of it to another. The event passed from their memory in due time.

Timofey Sonnen did not forget. He could not. His reflection in a basin of water was all the reminder he needed. One side of his face was burnt into a horrific visage that held no resemblance to humanity. The injuries he suffered left him unable to walk, forced to rely on a servant to support him everywhere he might wish to go, even to and from the privy. The humiliation of it all went beyond words. A letter to the imperial capital demanding justice met with no response. The Church made sure of that. They were behind the foreign woman's death, he learned. A blow to the heathen, they called it. After this Timofey no longer left his offices for anything. The thought of being out among the rabble who had defamed him was more than he could bear.

In spite of this, he did not give up his position as councilor for Târgu Mureș, though he no longer worked with the public directly. From his bedroom turned office he commanded the clerks who worked under him to uphold the laws of the principality in which they lived. Though obedient to his wishes, Timofey could see the loathing they all tried to hide at being forced to work under a disfigured freak such as himself. He heard them muttering in the corridors as they passed, and knew it was about him. No doubt they all fervently prayed that he would die soon and allow one of them to take the reins. Had any of them been in the crowd when he was attacked? Timofey would have given anything to know. Vile creatures, the lot of them. Murderous scum. How he hated them! Yet he held his tongue, and never let on that he knew about their ill intentions. He would defy them all, and live.

They stole from him. He was certain of it. Silverware and items of value gone missing. But one thing Timofey made certain they would not take. One night, when he was alone, he dragging himself inch by agonizing inch down the stairs until he reached the hiding place of his greatest treasure. The red velvet envelope, which contained his greatest accomplishment. Nothing could take that away from him, be it born of Heaven or Hell. Councilor Sonnen made his way back to his sick chamber, where he feverishly pried up a floorboard and hid his precious gift beneath it.

Sometimes, when the pain became too great to sleep, he would take it out and gaze upon the beautiful lettering, done in the hand of three people, only one of which he knew to still be alive.

Exactly one year after the night that ruined his life, Sonnen lay in bed attempting in vain to sleep, when once more he heard a commotion from the street without.

A rumbling at first. Like a storm approaching. Then great bursts of sound that reminded him of cannonfire, only much greater. Had the Ottoman Empire launched an attack? Well and good. Let this pestilential city burn. I welcome it! They should all die, and roast in the hottest depths of Hell forever! Come! Bring the fires of retribution down upon us all!

He had thought nothing could be louder than those explosions from before. But when the screaming started, it drowned out even that.

Timofey sat up in bed as best he was able. Sweating and in pain, he listened carefully. It sounded as though every voice in Târgu Mureș was raised in terror. As though Hell itself had opened up so the voices of the damned could be heard. It made him think of that poor girl screaming for mercy in the street. His eyes burned at the memory.

A scratching noise came from out in the hall. Timofey stiffened, feeling dizzy and feverish. Someone was creeping towards his room! The servants! Damnation, they must intend to take advantage of the attack by stealing his only remaining wealth! They shan't have it! No one will take it from me!

He collapsed to the floor and reached under the bed to pry loose the floorboard. Behind him there came the slow creak of a door opening even as he grasped the leather sleeve and a dagger he had hidden there as well.

Firelight filled the reeking chamber. Three huge hairy shapes padded silently inside as Timofey lurched around and brought up his dagger while clutching the envelope possessively to his chest.

"You won't… have it!" he spit, brandishing the blade.

In response the first beast gave a growl and sprang forward. Sonnen's eyes were completely mad as he stabbed forward directly into its eye. The slavering monster jerked back with a howl, dragging Sonnen across the floor with it. One of its fellows slipped around and sank its sharp teeth into his arm, only to give a shocked squeal when the man twisted his head around and bit into its muzzle, tearing its nose off with a snap of the neck. The third beast joined in, making a lunge for his throat that wound up ripping into the maddened clerk's shoulder due to all the thrashing.

In doing so, the envelope went flying. The realization of its loss caused Timofey to scream in fury, and he attacked the intruders with every bit of strength and fury he possessed even as they ripped into him.

Another four-legged shape emerged at the door and looked inside, as though questioning what might be taking so long. This one's fur was dark red, and while it wrinkled its nose at the smell of the sick chamber, at the same time, its ears twitched. Noting the red leather case, the beast drew closer and gave it a curious sniff.

It then reared back, uttering a startled bark, and at this all three of the werewolves let go of their prey and returned to their pack leader's side. Timofey lay where they left him, bloodied and dying. The wounds he had inflicted upon them closed or regrew, and all three werewolves waited as the premier among them continued to inspect the contents of the red rectangle.

The werewolf leader threw back its head and emitted a bone-rattling howl. All four proceeded to sit back on their haunches and wait. Light from the fires outside created shadow plays upon the wall. They flickered and swam, melting into forms that teased the mind with their similarity to reality, until one of the shadows became a man wrapped in a black cloak who stepped into the room to glance briefly around.

An interrogative look at the red werewolf brought a whine in answer. It carefully picked up the leather envelope and held it out for its master's inspection. He withdrew the contents to inspect them. Dark eyes drifted over the words contained therein without a flicker of emotion passing over his face.

"Gi… back… t'me!"

The lord of shadows turned his attention to the man on the floor. Despite bleeding profusely, Timofey Sonnen clung to life. He glared at that towering figure in reproach. "S'mine!" the wretched figure gasped. "MINE! I… made… it. Damn… thieves… won't… take it… from me!"

Timofey reached out a quivering arm only to collapse immediately and lie panting. He shuddered in agony, weeping at his own disgrace. They take even this from me! The greatest thing I did with my life, and now that too is stolen away! Monsters! FIENDS! I hate you all! All of you, I hate you FOREVER!

Of a sudden a strong hand seized hold of his throat and lifted him to hang helplessly in midair. The looming figure locked eyes with Timofey, who found himself paralyzed by what lay in their depths. He could neither move nor speak as that cold, abysmal gaze pealed back his face and raked over his mind and soul, examining him with a cold detachment. Only when they found the night which left him broken did a semblance of feeling pass over those statuesque features only to subside soon after.

After a time, the dark lord spoke. "So… this is what they did… to you."

Timofey could only gurgle incomprehensibly. His hands twitched, while his useless legs simply waved back and forth. His eyes rolled up in their sockets as he fought to breathe. Death crept up his spine with painstaking slowness.

"Do you hate them?"

His heart, on the brink of stopping, began to pound at these words.

"Yes," he whispered, licking his gory lips.

"Had you the power," the ghostly voice continued, "would you kill them all?"

Timofey's jaws clamped shut, and a snarl of wickedest hatred emerged from between them. "YES!"

"The hatred you feel for all mankind… let it burn bright within your heart… let it consume your memory, your humanity, your past and future all naught but kindling for the fires of vengeance." The words were more than sound. They were a spell, a contract. A deed of ownership that formed between them, and upon realizing this, Timofey Sonnen wasted no time in signing his name to it. The words caught fire, burning away even as he finished. His heart roared a crackling bonfire of unending wrath against every soul in Creation.

Through the streets of Târgu Mureș, townsfolk fled from the stygian horde of demons and damned souls which descended upon them. A woman clutching her two children's hands pulled them into an alleyway as a winged nightmare bore past their position with a cage full of struggling victims clutched in its talons. About to venture out once more, she cringed back as four gigantic wolves came bursting out of the building opposite and went tearing down the street, throwing panicked looks over their shoulders.

Moments later a figure stepped through the same door. It resembled a man, but burnt black from head to foot. There were no eyes, and its mouth was an empty hole. But all the same, that horrible head looked towards the family hiding in the shadows across the street as though sensing their presence.

Without warning it burst into flame. One fiery arm swept out, and the mother and her two innocent children were engulfed in a conflagration that incinerated flesh and bone to leave only ash dwindling through the smoky air.

The Burning Man turned without a word and began to make his way up the street. The people of Târgu Mureș were incinerated at his approach. At his master's command, a wall of flame one hundred feet high encircled the whole doomed town, preventing anyone from escaping whether by land or water. When dawn arrived, not a living soul could be found in that once bustling burg. Târgu Mureș and its entire population had been erased.

---

Rania came back to herself with a start. She looked all around at Inglebert, Ulric, and Xiomara crouched around watching her closely. The little scholar-urchin Bernadette had wrested the marriage certificate copy out of her hands and now held it to her chest, as though she suspected Rania of having done something unseemly to the ancient missive.

"Did you see something?" Xiomara asked.

Rania shuddered with cold, touching the crimson scarf around her throat. The two wounds beneath it throbbed horribly. "I saw… Totholtz… as he was, briefly… until all this happened. And the one who… wrote this… him too. Before he became…"

She lifted her head, dark eyes shining with purpose. "I know how to stop the Burning Man."

The words were written in a notepad resting on a nightstand. Rukia couldn't help but leaf through the hastily scrawled content. It kept her from thinking too much about what was taking place here.

She and Ichigo stood together against the wall, watching the two of them talk in hushed voices. They had left Jaku in the care of his grandfather. Upon returning from Soul Society, Rukia found the note he left for her and wasted no time joining him in Tokyo via high-speed train. A taxi ride later found her at the hospital, where she was shown, at Dr. Ishida's request, to a hospital suite.

Michiru Ohgawa had always been small. Now, in a white gown with tubes in her arms and hooked up to all sorts of equipment, she reminded Rukia of a premature infant, one fighting to stay alive. She was so pale, flesh dotted with tiny red spots. Her limbs shook every now and then. Uryū had explained this was a result of the IV bags being lower than a human's normal body temperature, and then started shaking himself, teeth grinding and eyes shut tight. Michiru sat up in bed and hugged him, careful not to dislodge any of the needles.

Rukia looked around. The last time she had been in a hospital room was for Jaku's birth. Everything had seemed fresh and warm then. This was different. The lights were bright, almost harsh, and the accompanying ambient sounds coming from outside carried only a sense of urgency and despair.

How could this be happening? She's only a child!

When Uryū's crying had stopped (and that had been a disturbing sight enough, seeing that stoic soul weep), he and Michiru started talking once again. He told her about his classwork, a trip to a fashion show the group was planning, even the public debate over a new flavor of Kit-Kat set to be decided soon. She laughed at this last, and it made him smile. Ishida held her hand the whole time, until she clearly was growing spent, and he offered to leave so she could rest.

"Thank you," was all Michiru said, and closed her eyes as they turned off the lights.

The couple followed Uryū out of the room and to a waiting area. He had a furtive, restless air about him, like a nicotine addict forced to go cold turkey. This impression became even stronger when he pulled a red pen out of his pocket and began to chew on the base in a nervous fashion.

"Chronic myelogenous leukemia," he said abruptly, and then looked at them as though in search of confirmation. "That's what they're thinking. Radiation is a contributing factor to this type of leukemia, so we in Japan might be considered more susceptible having been exposed to fallout from two nuclear strikes in the last century." He turned his eyes away, gnawing on the pen. "I'm not a doctor, so I don't know what to say about that."

"Ishida," Ichigo said carefully, "Your father…"

"I yelled at him." The Quincy left off chewing. He blinked as though in a daze at the recollection. "I said, 'Why didn't you notice?' and he said… he said… I'm not a doctor, but even I… could have… the symptoms were all there… tiredness, sweating at night, she seemed so frail. I haven't been there for her. I should have seen it." Ishida paused. His features began to twist into something frightful. "Why didn't I see it in time?!"

He began to quake from head to toe. Rukia and Ichigo took an arm apiece and led their friend over to a couch where they all sat.

Ichigo went first. "Ishida, my Dad told me even trained physicians can't be expected to look at someone and know right away there's something wrong with them. He said doctors are human too. They don't treat everything like a symptom. Sometimes… humans just can't see the signs, especially when it's someone they care about."

"Your father also reassured me when I came in, Ishida-san," Rukia added in turn. "He said a woman of her age has a good chance of responding well to treatment. Believe me, I work with the ill every day, and what I can tell you is–"

"Illness…"

Ishida jerked away from them and stood up. "Illness," he repeated as he began pacing the floor. "Illness. Why didn't I think about that? What are the long-term effects of being near someone actively involved with maladies of the spirit? Abnormal elements, like Hollows, shinigami…"

"Hey!" Ichigo said warningly, casting a protective look at Rukia.

"… or Quincy!" Uryū came to a halt and looked at them as though not having heard. He wore an expression equal parts shock and amazement. "The supernatural… it's real! Not made-up. So it's a part of our world as surely as animals, plants and air! Nuclear synthesis, photosynthesis, psychosynthesis… it all comes together, to play a part in our daily lives without us even being aware of it! Maladies of the spirit… what if they really are affecting us? And they manifest in ways that we have come to term 'diseases'. While attributing the majority of influences to external factors like radiation, pathogens and the like, why have we never considered that the spirit realm has a hand in our health as surely as what we eat, breathe, and inherit from our parents? DNA of the soul… the spirit… fate written into our genes… I'm… I'm babbling… am I not making any sense? At all? Can somebody please explain…"

All of a sudden he came back and sat down between them as though that outburst hadn't happened. He then looked straight at Rukia with desperate eyes.

"Can you tell me why this is happening? Please?"

Rukia could only stare, momentarily unsure what or how much to say.

"She's 19 years old," Uryū continued. He took off his glasses and wiped frantically at half-formed tears. "Can you believe something like this happening to her? She's not even stopped being a teenager by society's definition! And look what she's done already! Isn't it amazing? So many people love her work, and she didn't even consider once it might take off like this. She thought maybe we could find somebody to make a homemade doujinshi out of it and that would be all. But then the agency called, and the offers started coming in, and we were swamped after a while, so I let her handle that, all on her own, without trying to really help, not really. Why didn't I stay with her? I might have seen… if I'd given her more of my time… we might not be facing this."

He shook his head, and said in a soft wispy voice, "She's too young to die."

Ishida slumped down and put his head between his knees. Ichigo reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder in comforting fashion. He looked over at Rukia. Understanding, she stood and left to give them some space.

Wandering around the hospital on her own seemed intrusive for some reason, so she went back to be with Michiru. It was a private room, allowing for no need to share with anyone. Dr. Ishida at work again, no doubt. She left the lights off as she came in. Rukia went over to sit beside the bed to keep her friend company.

"Am I dying?"

With a start she looked up to find Michiru awake and watching her. "Ohgawa-san?" Rukia moved closer to the bed. "Can't you sleep?"

Those tired eyes closed, and the girl gave a small shake of her head. "I feel too sick." Her eyes opened again to look around. "Is Uryū here?"

"He's outside discussing matters with Ichigo. Do you want me to go get him?"

"No." She lifted a hand. "Talk to me?"

Hesitantly Rukia reached over to entwine her fingers with the sick child's. They felt so weak. It made her anxious. To cover this she asked, "About what?"

"Heaven. The afterlife. Soul Society. What's it like?"

"I don't think there's any need for you to worry about that right now." As troubling as this line of conversation may be, still she tried to make the best of it. "Things have changed in the past few years. Before, everyone who died went to the Rukongai, where they lived in one of eighty rings, with the shinigami residing in the center. Now we have Heavenly Relocation Oases where souls take up temporary residence until we can find them a home in one of several paradises fashioned out of the ether. They're based on earthly representations of mythical planes such as Shangri-La, Atlantis, and El Dorado."

"That sounds nice." Michiru's voice was distant. Her unfocused gaze rested on their hands.

"It is," Rukia sought to reassure her. "There's no hunger there, unless you're a shinigami. And we take care of everyone we can. Which means that–"

She stopped when it became apparent the girl was crying.

"I'm sorry," Michiru wept. "Please, it's not your fault. I just didn't think… this was all I would get!" Her face held a multitude of questions when she looked at Rukia next. It was heartbreaking. "Even when I didn't think my life would amount to much, I still… thought there would be more of it than this! I never thought I might die so young! What was even the point of it, anyway? What, I just… graduate high school, and write a few cell phone novels, and that's it? I thought…" Here she pulled Rukia's hand to her chest, tears slipping down to fall upon them both. "I wanted to get married! I want to start a family! I want more than this!"

"But you won't die!" the anxious shinigami protested. "You're in a house of healing, there is medicine that will save you!"

"What if it doesn't?" Michiru gasped. "What if I die and that's it?" She gazed at Rukia in a panic. The machines attached to her were beginning to beep more wildly. "Will you be here for me? Will you make sure I don't get lost as a spirit, or turn into a Hollow, or anything scary like that? Will you be my shinigami, if I die?"

Rukia didn't know what to say, except…

"Of course." Trying to affect a confidence she didn't feel, Rukia managed a soft smile like she was encouraging a rookie shinigami out in the field. "I will be by your side in the worst-case scenario. You have nothing to fear, Ohgawa-san. Whatever happens, your friends and family will take good care of you."

This served to calm her down, such that the instruments went back to their normal sedate droning. Michiru shut her eyes and breathed a shaky sigh as though this conversation had drained what little strength she had. "Thank you."

They stayed in this position for a while. After about a minute Michiru declared weakly, "I think I can get some sleep now. Will you stay with me until then?"

"Of course."

"When I wake up I want to do some writing. Not much. Uryū's worried about me overworking again, but I just want to jot down some story ideas I've had. So that… we can read them later." Michiru let go of her hand then, and pulled the blankets up around her mouth. "Hey, Rukia-chan," she mumbled from beneath the sheets. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Certainly. If it helps you to share it."

"It's about… um, it's about m-my story." She delved further beneath the blankets, speaking so low Rukia had to lean in to hear her. "The thing is I kind of… sorta… love Rania… I mean, her character! A little… like, if she was real, I'd almost want to… kiss her." Michiru sounded embarrassed at this admission. "Do you think that's weird?"

Rukia smiled at the memory of a long-lost friend. "I think it's… beautiful."

The young writer grew quiet then, and after a bit Rukia realized she had fallen asleep. True to her word, she stayed there to make sure everything was alright.

It felt strange, watching someone who might be about to die.

Why did she feel so helpless? And why did death frighten her so much? Never before had Rukia seen a living human she was acquainted with die. What made that prospect so horrifying? She knew for a fact Soul Society and all its wonders awaited Michiru should she succumb to this disease. What was the problem, then?

'Would you say that the living are better off dead?'

The thought made her shiver. It didn't sound like the sort of thing she would usually allow herself to think. Feeling frustrated and upset by this situation, Rukia stood up to leave.

She turned, and saw a shinigami walk down the hall.

The cut of his uniform identified him as being from Leopard Company. Rukia noticed this about him, along with the stern set of his jaw as he flowed past the door's small window. And she realized, somewhere in the building, a human must be dying. This death god was going to that person in order to facilitate the soul's passage to the great beyond. He didn't even notice her as he swept by, standing there next to another sick girl's bed.

Children shouldn't die, she thought suddenly.

Michiru made a small noise. Rukia turned around in response, and froze when she recognized Unohana Retsu sitting across the bed from her.

The legendary shinigami was dressed like an office worker. Businesslike, with a clasp holding up all that long dark hair. A pearl necklace encircled her throat, visible from the open collar of her starched white dress shirt. Unohana wore glasses connected with a chain, and she had on lipstick of a pale pink shade, her eyes…

"Why are you here?" Rukia found herself wrestling with disbelief.

Unohana shrugged. "It's my job."

The tiny shinigami shook her head in confusion. "Are you…?" For a moment Rukia found herself wondering if she had been mistaken and this was some other person altogether. The attire was strange enough. But combined with that was a sense of… familiarity with the apparel. Like she belonged in this world in a way Rukia never could and she had to accept that.

They stared at one another.

Then the older woman tilted her head, and a slight smile came forth. "Well," she sighed, "At least I didn't have to spell it out like I did for your husband, Rukia-chan."

So saying, Unohana turned her attention to the sleeping Michiru. She reached out and brushed her fingers tenderly through that short bob-cut hair. There was such an aura of maternal affection in the gesture. It served to dispel any doubt Rukia might have had as to this eerie figure's true identity. She could have been wearing a theme park costume and Rukia would have known it was her.

"I'm honestly surprised she got this far," Unohana said while running silky brown strands between thumb and forefinger, smiling all the while. "What a delightful child. The stories she told… could you ever imagine yourself being turned into a comic book character, Rukia-chan? Such a brave little heart, to toy with her betters in such a fashion. Quite the revolutionary, wouldn't you say?"

The smile took on a trace of pity. "It's tragic the world might never know how her story ends. But then, not every author can bring themselves to finish their tale. Better this than dragging the narrative on without cease or reason, I say. I prefer my manga to have a solid finale."

She then leaned over and kissed the sleeping girl on the cheek.

"Rest easy, little one. It will all be over soon."

Still unsure what this might be about, Rukia felt a sudden flash of inspiration. "Save her!"

Unohana turned to regard her strangely.

"Unohana-sama, please! You are the greatest healer of all time! You must know how we can save this girl. I beg you, whatever might have passed between us, can you not see your way to helping a soul in need?"

The ancient spirit turned back to the teen resting peacefully between them. "Would that it were so easy…"

It was maddening to just be standing here having this conversation when a life might go out right in front of their eyes. Striving to get ahold of her emotions, Rukia sought to learn more. "Is there something you need? Or can you tell the physicians here what they must do to cure her? I am certain Ishida-sensei would put great stock in your diagnosis once he learned who you are. It's not too late, surely you of all people…"

"I cannot help her."

Rukia's tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth upon hearing this. For several seconds she staring speechless at the strangely garbed sorceress.

"Magic is severely limited to me in this form." Retsu leaned back with a sigh, hands crossed in her lap. "Even were that not the case, I am no longer in any position to be of aid in such matters. My current state…" she touched the skin around her right eye, "… is not disposed towards healing."

"Can you not try?" Rukia asked desperately.

Two forbidding blue eyes rose to train on her. They appeared thoughtful, as though measuring the sincerity of this request. "You are not above… asking for aid. When my strength proved insufficient, I sought the help of another. And I can… do so again. It gives me no shame to… admit my own failure."

After a time spent in silent deliberation, Unohana leaned forward to pin Rukia with her gaze. "I can do nothing, Rukia-chan. But the same is not true for you."

"Me?" She stared back in perplexity.

Retsu nodded. "For a soul in flux like Michiru Ohgawa, or any faced with death, our arts can be of some aid. As a shinigami you have the power to heal as well as harm. Indeed, I know of a way to see that she is completely cured of the affliction currently dooming her."

"But…" Rukia looked at the sleeping patient with new concern. "It's a malady. Not a wound. And she is mortal. I've never once heard of shinigami being able to address that."

"I did so often in the distant past, with great success." A scornful smile twisted that beautiful face. "Of course, nowadays it is forbidden for a shinigami to use their abilities in such a manner, just as it is forbidden to share death god powers with a human. The laws of Soul Society prevent it. This is done in order to keep us from behaving in a manner too reminiscent of the gods we were once recognized as being."

The Heron lieutenant swallowed. Could it be true? She had healed damage Ichigo received while in mortal form, of a certain. But those were caused by malevolent spirits. This was something else entirely. Ishida's words resurfaced in her mind. Might a shinigami truly have this kind of power? Was there a greater link between mortal and spectral kin than she ever thought possible?

What if I fail, and Ohgawa dies?

"Will you defy the dictates of Seireitei again, Rukia Kuchiki?" Unohana spoke softly, like a gentle teacher. She held out her hand. "Will you take my place in this world, and become a god of healing to those in need?"

The challenge in those words seemed aimed at the source of both her convictions and insecurities. Overwhelmed and, if she was completely honest, terrified, Rukia protested, "But I am not a captain-class like you! It's impossible for me!"

The goddess tilted her head to one side. "Say that after you've failed."

Wide-eyed, Rukia swallowed down a lump of fear. What am I afraid of? Breaking the law once again? Failure? Or learning that I really do have this power? One that could have changed the world if we only let it.

Go on.

She reached out and grasped that offered hand before the nagging fears could stop her. With a dip of her lashes that held a measure of approval, Retsu placed their palms upon Michiru's chest. Rukia could feel it rising and falling in a slow but reassuring fashion. She gazed upon that tiny, ravaged body fighting a war against itself.

What am I doing?

"Repeat after me." Unohana took a deep breath, adopting a hushed tone that conveyed the sense of imminent spellcasting. "Crooked course of a narrow stream…"

Rukia did so.

"The two stars, Vega and Altair, dip their lines on opposite banks…"

As she spoke, healing magic began to unspool from Rukia's soul and flow down her arm.

"Travel between the twain. Finding your way, recovering the course, departing the strain."

Beneath her touch, it entered Michiru's body, and began to spread.

"That which is lost, Vega catches. That which remains, Altair ensnares."

It was more than she had thought. Almost like a song. Unohana's student could feel the spell's purpose, wrapping up her energy and using it to call out to the part of Michiru which was making her ill, inviting it to die, while at the same time coaxing the healthy aspect to remain and grow.

"Round the rocks, empty into the plains. A crop nourished, the stalks rise high, and wither in due time."

Anything that could harm her patient fell asleep at the death god's power and drifted into the arms of death. What was left held no trace of sickness. Life and death were a part of the instrument she played.

"Across the river forms a bridge. Walk from one star to the other without missing your step."

Almost hypnotized by the beautiful medley of this arcane weaving, Rukia heard and recited the final stanza. The glow of magic faded as the room fell back into shadow.

Still dazed at what she had experienced, it took Rukia a while to notice Unohana no longer held her hand. Upon looking up she found herself alone in the room with Michiru. The enchantress had vanished without a trace.

She then noticed Michiru, and her heart lurched at the sight. The girl lay abed, eyes shut. There was no sign she had even registered what just took place. But when Rukia looked closer, it was readily apparent how much healthier she seemed. Her pallor was greatly improved along with the absence of any skin discoloration. No longer did she tremble, and each breath came easily as the one before.

Rukia touched Ohgawa's face, feeling the warmth of life that now ran uncontested through her veins.

I did this. Me, I… I saved her! It worked!

I have to tell Ishida!

Throbbing with excitement, Rukia tore out of the room. Upon noting Ichigo and Uryū were no longer in the waiting room she raced to find a nurse who might tell her where they had gone.

Light spilled in from the hallway as the door shut. And where it passed, darkness returned, revealing Retsu Unohana once more.

She stood up to lean over Michiru, touching the girl's forehead and throat as though to assure herself all was well. It had worked. Rukia was able to perform the spell properly, something she had not been certain of at the time. The evidence lay before her, dreaming away. The sight brought a smile to her lips.

How willingly children trust their elders.

Unohana selected a pillow tucked against the bedside. She fluffed it out of habit before bringing the cloth down towards Michiru's face.

Such guilt from one small act. Such loss, to save a friend only for them to perish soon after. Worse still the hope Rukia would foolishly engender in the Quincy. How much greater his grief and outrage towards her once the truth was revealed. They would part ways forever under a cloud of bitterness, reproach and self-recrimination. And all it took was the death of one negligible child. A little girl who liked to write stories about things she barely understood. A spring flower cut before her time. A baby suffocated in the crib.

The pillow halted a breath away from its target.

Just a baby…

Unohana fought to push down and smother the life out as she had intended. To no avail. Lips twisting into a snarl, she struggled to master her own inner torment long enough to see this wicked deed done. Her right eye was now black as pitch. Red tears ran from their fount while clear droplets fell from the other.

Dead. A baby lost. Helpless. Slain by me. Just a baby, just a baby, just a BABY!

"Just a… baby!" she sobbed.

All of a sudden Unohana whipped around and flung the pillow away. Without hesitation she dashed across the room, one fist pressed hard against her bleeding eye as she leapt, propelling herself forward, into the window, the glass shattering entirely from the force of her impact. Wind rushed by her with a hollow wail…

A minute later Ishida Uryū came racing in to kneel by Michiru's bedside. He gazed at her sleeping form in shock, then at the diagnostic devices, hardly believing what they were telling him. His father Ryuken Ishida followed soon after, accompanied by Rukia and Ichigo. They clustered around the hospital bed in search of confirmation for what they had just heard.

"Miraculous," Ryuken whispered after completing his examination.

Uryū scrambled around the bed and hugged Rukia with all his might. She hugged him back, elated by everything that had just taken place. Ichigo stood to one side watching their joy with a small grin, committing to memory his intention to tease the valiant Quincy later over his uncharacteristic emotional outburst.

As he did, a breeze tickled the back of his neck. He looked behind him. For a moment nothing seemed off. Then he finally noticed the curtains moving ever so slightly, and realized there was no glass in the frame.

Ichigo slipped over while everyone else was occupied and looked out. He could discern little below. Streetlamps in the parking lot shed some light, but not enough to see clearly. Something glittered faintly on the concrete. As he watched, a homeless man pushing a grocery cart came along. He stopped suddenly and bent down, picking up something that looked to be a woman's shoe. The hobo went rummaging around an empty parking space, finally collecting what might have been a white shirt and coat that had been left there for some reason before trundling off with his new goods.

Quietly Ichigo drew the curtains and went back to be with his friends.

---

When they arrived home Jūshirō took Isane straight to bed. He bid the servants depart so he could attend to her himself. His wife had not spoken since they left the council chambers. Even Kiyone could not get a word out of her. The two of them had shared worried glances while the Kotetsu matriarch huddled silently in their midst.

Without asking he helped his wife out of her captain's robe. At his gentle coaxing she sat on the bed, allowing him to remove her shoes and socks. He massaged her instep, knowing that Isane often suffered from foot pain, a side effect of being so tall…

"We should have told him."

The white-haired lord looked up in surprise. Isane gazed downward with stricken eyes, barely even noticing him. "How could I…" she whispered, sucking in an unsteady breath as tears began to fall. "How could I have done that to him? He lost so much, and when I learned who Aizen really was, I should have…"

"Isane." Ukitake touched his beloved beneath her chin in an intimate gesture. "We all made that decision. It wasn't just you. There was so much to take into consideration at that time, you can't blame yourself for not thinking of Katsurou."

"But I knew!" Her breast heaved in half-sob, half-gasp. "I knew how much his family meant to him. Whatever else, I should have made a greater effort to argue on his behalf." She gave a forlorn shake of her head. "Now look at how things turned out."

"We'll find a way to make it work. You won't lose Katsurou, my dear." Jūshirō returned his attention to massaging her calve. He became absorbed in his business, concentrating on the little sounds and tells which let him know he was pleasing her, at least physically.

Hold on…

Warm flesh yielded to his ministrations. And while they did, Ukitake pondered. We did debate Aizen's connection to the Arashi. Right after the war, when everything still seemed so uncertain, some of us feared Lord Arashi might have been involved based on his relationship to Sosuke. Everyone consented not to broach the matter until new evidence arose. Isane agreed in the end, though it took some convincing. That was shortly before the traitor lieutenants were put on trial. I remember because a representative of my family came to check up on me the day prior, and Lord Arashi sent his regards. I made it a point to go speak with him while the trial was taking place so I didn't have to be there in the event they decided on execution for them.

So how did she…?

Jūshirō grew still.

A few moments passed where neither moved. Then gradually Ukitake rose upright. He contemplated Isane with silver head bowed before him. Like she was awaiting judgment. And that was what made him certain.

"You knew!" he exclaimed softly, brown eyes wide with confusion.

His wife said nothing.

He knelt before her once more, striving to master his shock at this epiphany. "The decision to hide Aizen's ancestry… we made it before you cast 'Cloud Over Moon' on yourself and the others."

"Yes."

The room seemed to spin all around him, and he closed his eyes quickly for fear of collapsing. "But how?" he demanded. "The spell should keep you from remembering what transpired prior to its casting! It worked on all the others… didn't it?"

"It did." Isane finally looked up at him. The despair he saw there cut through him like a knife, so sharp it rooted out any budding fear he might have about her trustworthiness. It told him this woman, whom he had known for millennia and loved for only a handful of years, was suffering.

Jūshirō sat carefully on the bed, drawing an arm around Isane's shoulder to bring her closer. "What happened?" He made his voice as gentle as possible so as not to cause alarm.

"The spell worked," she spoke in a hushed voice. "For them. Not me. When I awoke, I still remembered… everything."

"What does that mean?"

"There was only one reasonable explanation." Isane buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, clutching at his robe for fear of causing him injury in a momentary loss of control. "'Cloud Over Moon' cannot have multiple castings on the same target. Which means… I already had the spell placed on me beforehand and had forgotten it."

Ukitake felt sickened at the implications. "By whom?"

"I was almost too afraid to learn the answer. But I had to. So I gave myself a complete checkup. Down to the core. I found out the spell, and learned who cast it."

A shudder went through her large frame. "It was me."

"Something happened in my past, Jūshirō," Isane's breath ghosted against the skin of his neck, making his flesh tingle. "Something I wanted to forget so badly that I resorted to extreme measures upon myself. I don't know when or what it was… but I do know that whenever I think about it, the only thing I feel is dread. And I know, somehow, that should I ever remember it… the knowledge will destroy me."

There was nothing more said between them that night. They lay together on the bed for a while, just gazing at one another, exchanging soft caresses and tender looks. And they made love, eventually. When it was over, Jūshirō Ukitake clasped her in his arms while she slept, knowing that he could never reveal her secret. If the others knew, Soifon, and especially Byakuya, it would turn their suspicions against Isane for certain. And he would never countenance that. His duty was to stand by her side, defend and support her, for the rest of his days. Whatever burden she labored under was also his to bear.

He hoped that would be enough.

---

The small dome of flame now encased her completely. Rania gazed forward in desperation. Before her, the Burning Man watched the Romany's every move. The glowing lamps that served as his eyes did not flicker. The building they found themselves in was now transformed into a fiery labyrinth, and somewhere even now her friends might be dying!

Rania began to feel light-headed from wrath. She felt the curse responding in kind, and in desperation strove to suppress it. But the memory of what this foul creature had done just to reach them caused her canines to lengthen into spikes, eyes glowing a wild scarlet. Her heart pounded at the thought of leaping across the way and sinking her fangs into that charred neck!

Oddly enough, the dizziness began to get worse. All of a sudden she found it hard to breathe. Rania's vision swam. She stumbled and fell to her knees, panting in and out in what she recognized was an unnatural effort. Her eyes roamed around the flaming prison. There's… no air in here! Is this… his doing…? What…?

Before a solution could present itself she had already passed out, crumpling spent to the ground.

The Burning Man considered her lying there. He created an opening at the top of the dome, and air rushed back in with a whoosh. Unconscious, Rania began to breathe freely once more. Having satisfied his master's primary order, he allowed the flaming walls to rise, forming a column of destruction through which no mortal could safely pass.

Once this was accomplished, that disfigured soul stepped beyond the perimeter of the cage and turned his attention to the remaining humans.

Xiomara sprang back at his reappearance. "RANIA!" she screamed. "CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

No response. She cursed wildly. The gigantic guild hall was in flames around them. If they didn't get out soon, there would be no escape. Even as she thought this the Burning Man sought her out with his merciless orbs of searing judgment.

A silver flash shot across the room. The moment it touched the aura of immolation surrounding the Graff's minion, however, Ulric's desperate shot melted, spattering in beautiful but harmless drops of liquid metal against him. Their enemy gave no sign he had even felt anything as he turned to focus on the archer in his position on the upper balcony.

Then the Burning Man noticed Bernadette on her knees digging frantically through collapsed debris.

"BASTARD!" Xiomara screamed as the beast started towards the girl. In an instant she had transformed into a stag with huge antlers and dove at the flaming fiend's back, hoping her enchanted horns were capable of penetrating his armor of fire. Before she could even reach him, however, floorboards weakened by the blaze gave way with a snap, sending Xiomara tumbling helplessly into the basement.

The Burning Man came on without even noticing her plight. More of Ulric's desperate shots aimed at his back only to be rendered useless. In a panic the burnt archer began to hobble down the curving staircase. "RUN, BERNIE!" he howled.

Down on her knees, the little redhead struggled mightily to heave a blackened beam off to one side. As she did, a shout of triumph burst from her lips as she saw the red leather envelope unharmed. Bernie snatched it up and spun around.

In doing so, she found the Burning Man standing right behind her.

"Oh," the girl whispered, red-rimmed green eyes growing huge. She saw one flickering orange hand rise in preparation to reduce her to ashes.

Transfixed, Bernie dipped a hand into the protective case and drew out the copy of the Graff's marriage certificate.

The moment she did, the Burning Man grew still. Those shining eye-pits shrank down to embers. For the first time ever, a sound came from the area of his mouth. A moan, high and needy. The sight of that paper had halted what no force of man or God had been able to stop in a hundred years.

Bernie scarcely dared to breathe as the monster stood harmlessly in front of her. They were right! Holy shit, it really IS him! The Trinity! The man whose name was signed at the bottom of this very document! Timofey Sonnen, another one of the Biblioteca's orphans, just like me!

Flaming hands suddenly reached for the certificate, and with a start of comprehension she jerked it back. "NO! You'll burn it!" For a moment she feared he might kill her anyway, and in desperation she shouted one of the library pages' strictest rules: "NO OPEN FLAMES!"

The Burning Man hesitated. He looked down at his hands enveloped in cursed fire. Then before their eyes, the blaze around his fingers began to shrink. In mere moments scarred black skin beneath was laid bare. He flexed those ruined hands, now capable of doing no harm, and held them out again with an imploring whine.

Awestruck, Bernie proffered the precious parchment, and he took it.

With palpable reverence the Burning Man gazed at the words written there one by one. The guild hall was collapsing around their ears, but neither he nor Bernadette seemed to notice. A shudder went through his flaming frame. The twin burning suns of eyes began to dwindle. At the same time, his suit of flames shrank as well, until at last there crouched before the library orphan a burnt wreck of a human being. Bernie had never seen anything more ghastly. She nearly threw up at the sight.

"M…"

The glow in his eyes was gone. Tears dripped down the burn-slick flesh of his face. In that moment, Timofey Sonnen looked over the top of the page straight at Bernadette, and said…

"Mine."

Before she could respond, blood spattered Bernie's cheeks. She blinked in surprise as the Burning Man emitted a croak, the point of a silver arrow sticking from his mouth. Blood dripped down it and more sprayed from his lips, gushing all over the marriage certificate.

Bernadette gave a scream of pained outrage, just as another arrow exploded through the fire-scarred chest, and the Burning Man toppled forward.

She dove to catch him. Crying without being sure why, the girl helped that sad creature come to rest on the floor. He was still alive, his fingers wiping vainly at the surface of the paper, trying to clean off the blood. But it was too late. The page was ruined, its contents besmirched beyond repair. Any competent librarian could see that.

When this became apparent, the Burning Man uttered a horribly human sob, and died.

Bernie leapt up and threw herself at Ulric as he finally managed to reach them. "YOU DAMN LIAR!" she screamed, flailing wild punches at the shocked archer. "YOU SAID YOU'D PROTECT THE LIBRARY'S PROPERTY! NOW IT'S RUINED, AND HE'S GONE! HE WASN'T GONNA HURT ME, HE WAS COMING BACK! I COULD SEE IT, HE WAS ALMOST THERE, HE WAS ONE OF US LIBRARY KIDS, AND YOU KILLED HIM!"

The outraged girl was then lifted off her feet and tucked under a strong arm. Xiomara, having recovered from the fall, now looked around the burning building. Several fires which had been sustained largely by the Burning Man's power were dying down, but they were still at the center of a holocaust. One which by now had no doubt spread to the surrounding neighborhood.

"Go," she ordered the archer. "Before the roof comes down."

"What about…?"

"I'll get Rania." The shapeshifter watched him limp towards the great doors leading outside. When Bernie started to wriggle, she laid a charm on the girl that put her to sleep. Xiomara took note that the gigantic tower of fire in which the Burning Man had sealed Rania was almost completely gone now. It might be possible to jump over the top, but the possibility of taking another dive through weakened floorboards made that tactic undesirable. Just wait. In a few seconds it'll be safe to retrieve her.

She stood before the flickering cage, estimating how much time she had before the building collapsed under its own weight. Come on, die down, will you?

At last the column disappeared entirely. Relieved, Xiomara stepped forward, only to halt in disbelief.

The floor before her lay empty. Rania was gone.

Well, wasn't that an unexpected turn of events?

Yasochika Iemura placed the readout in a drawer and got back to work. He had been on duty since well before dawn, so a brief break was not out of order. As Third Seat of Heron Squad, he felt it was his responsibility to emulate good behavior for those he generously thought of as underlings. Since the Autumn War's conclusion, he no longer felt an innate sense of inferiority in regards to other squads, and it was his greatest desire to ensure his crew never gave the others cause to reconsider their newfound respectability. So that no one else looked down on Captain Unohana's command again. He often imagined how impressed his old captain would be, should she actually return one day, at how high the former Fourth Division had risen.

'"Yasochika-san!" Unohana exclaimed, bringing a lovely hand to her cheek in astonishment. "I'm… impressed! Never did it occur to me that anyone could achieve such a perfect blend of cold command and efficient mercy! Truly, you have fashioned Heron into the paramount company of shinigami in my absence! Even Zero Squad could not compare."

"I am honored that you find it so, Taichou," the steely-eyed master healer and military genius grunted, one foot planted on the unconscious body of Captain Zaraki, a bloodied zanpakutō resting on his bare shoulder. "Perhaps in the future the Kenpachi will not be so quick to throw shade at our division… when he regains his senses, that is."

"Oh, but you are wounded!" Unohana rushed to his side, soft fingers rising to hover hesitantly over the slight cut on his cheek. Her matchless eyes sparkled, as though eager to aid in his recovery but unnerved at the prospect of doing so without his express permission.

"It is nothing, Retsu-sama." Square spectacles flashed as he turned an appraising eye upon her fair form, noting the subtle signs of smoldering attraction which only his god-like perceptiveness could uncover. "Although," and here he spotted how her pulse quickened eagerly, "it would not do for me to let such a minor blemish linger unnecessarily."

"Then please, dear Yasochika," she uttered breathlessly. "Come to my room, and permit me to… tend your wounds."

A satisfied smirk let her know this was exactly what he wanted. Affecting no great haste, Iemura proceeded to follow the healer goddess back to her quarters, while a humiliated Captain-Commander Kuchiki watched them depart under a storm cloud of mingled inadequacy and burning envy. His sexy wife, on the other hand, was slyly considering how best to insinuate herself into the mix and thereby…'

Yasochika jumped with a squeak as a dark form appeared in front of his desk. It's Soifon, she heard me again…!

"Third Seat Iemura. I have come to deliver a message from the Captain-Commander."

He relaxed. Just a messenger. Nothing to be worried about. "Of course." Iemura sat up straight and strove to present an image of cool composure. Since they had sent an actual person instead of relying on hell butterflies, it must be something of great import. "Unfortunately, neither Captain Kotetsu nor Lieutenant Kuchiki are in right now, so if you wish to…"

"The message is for you." The masked courier took a step closer. "By order of Captain-Commander Byakuya Kuchiki, the lieutenant of Heron Company Rukia Kuchiki is hereby stripped of her title and placed on indefinite suspension from shinigami duties. Captain Kotetsu will name her replacement. Until then, you are the acting lieutenant of Heron."

Having fulfilled his function, the messenger vanished as silently as he came, leaving one very shocked Second Seat shinigami behind.

Well… that was really unexpected.

Arc 5: FIN