"Inform the guards not to allow a single Elder passage into this place," Byakuya related to his paige, and the words barely fell from his lips when the double-screen doors of the parlor room were flung wide open as if their width was insufficient to allow the slight old man standing just within the threshold through.

"Lord Kuchiki Sama," Kaito thundered, or he would have thundered were it not for the beating he received two days before. Kaito's sutured-sown lips dribbled beads of blood from the effort of speaking, which the old man dabbed at with his black handkerchief immediately after speaking. The workings of his bandaged jawline resemble the unnatural movements of a marionette on strings under the influence of a puppeteer.

The Elder was smartly attired in a long-sleeved, dark silk robe, with the only color adorning his outfit being a gold obi tied at his waist. His once jet-black hair was pulled back into a loose cue, draping the ponytail over one shoulder. The black strands continue to lose their war with the grays slowly overtaking more territory as time's fingertips skip across the decades untethered.

Reading his spiritual pressure, Byakuya could tell that the man was of a stern demeanor, but he couldn't have told that from Kaito's voice or his bandaged face. Thanks to Byakuya's fist, his throat whizzed, creating a high-pitched, squeaky outcry as his octave increased with the pulse of his emotions. The tone of Kaito's voice would probably have inspired a comical reaction if the setting were different. Still, Byakuya couldn't recall the last time his face registered amusement in its features.

"What scandalous shame and destruction have you brought down on the Kuchiki Clan this time because of your inaction and refusal to heed the words of your elders?" Kaito went on, pointing in the general direction of the wide windows to Byakuya's right. "What is this disgrace?" The older man demanded, and if it hadn't been for the injuries he sustained to his jaw and throat, Byakuya was sure that the Elder would be screaming flying droplets of spittle at him right now.

"What are you doing here, Elder Kaito?"

It was a measured response in the wake of the silence that ticked on following the elder's accusations, the words having to take their time climbing out of the younger man's throat after being processed in the reserves of his patience.

Byakuya's voice was calm, the opposite of what had been writhing around in the nuances of his spirit since this day became his living nightmare. The weight of his anger is a relentless press down on the lie he'd allowed to be his umbrella for the better part of more hours than he cared to count as he battled with the surge of his emotions constantly. Like crashing waves, they pulled at his better nature, threatening to rip it asunder, to expose the darker parts of himself he's learned how to tame over decades.

He's been telling himself to remain calm, keeping forbearance, logic, and reason in his direct precept. But if he had no tolerance for women, this whizzing old man trying his hardest to scream at him after bursting into his ' relocated quarters', throwing accusations and acrimony in his face, was dangling at the shorter end of his fortitude.

Did Kaito really not have the wit to sense the tempest barely kept at bay with parchment-thin formalities like titles and consideration and respect for traditional outdated positions such as an Elder?

Or...

Have you become so comfortable in your position that you've grown more bold than wiser? I see. Very well, Kaito.

That itch was back with a vengeance—so seductive, so inviting—and Kaito was yet to earn back favor with him.

Instead of the Elder coming in person to Byakuya seeking reconciliation for his vile misconduct, he sent his equally vile son to smile in his face and to spy on him, using a watered-down excuse to stay at his estates long enough to hatch whatever scheme the both of them were cooking up, hoping no one would be the wiser. But Byakuya Kuchiki is no fool.

For as long as he's known his cousin, Kalon Kuchiki did not move an inch without his father's permission. The man's existence is to please his disagreeable patriarch, no matter how impossible that goal is for him to achieve. A crawling vermin had more backbone than his cousin.

What are the both of them up to? The thought stained his mind like the strong scent of smoke after being trapped in a room for days.

Byakuya found his fingers brushing against the hilt of his sword intrinsically. All of this week was a little too convenient. Not for him, of course! But what is problematic for one person is an advantage for another. If he analyzed the problems he's been having from a different perspective, it would be as if he had finally taken off the blindfold while playing this chess game and was now seeing the moves his opponent executed clearly for the first time.

First, this bid about him marrying Rukia was advocated, unprecedentedly, by Kaito, for if ever there was a Kuchiki that rejected Rukia's acceptance into the clan, none was more fiercely and openly vocal against her adoption. Then Kaito's careless remarks about his wife and his sister.

No matter how much an aristocrat dislikes someone more powerful than themselves, it is more apt for the noble to whisper at their backs or cause a scandal by proxy than to suicidally and openly disrespect the household's family member of his superior in power. Not even brain-dead idiots make that mistake unless they have a death wish in urgent need of fulfillment.

And now Kaito was here again, on the heels of his insulting behavior in the middle of this catastrophe happening at the Main Branch Estates, and the man was being unnecessarily obnoxious, pointing his gnarled finger at Byakuya as if daring him to kill him.

To make matters worse, Byakuya was not in a charitable mood. That need to break things, to tear into someone, to make their blood soak the ground around his feet, was running its sales pitch in his head again, and he had barely managed to tamp down its sweet allure before. With Kaito standing here, behaving this way, it was as if Byakuya was a thirsty alcoholic, two steps away from a tall, inviting glass of the strongest, most delicious sake in all the worlds, and it was calling his name like a siren.

With their last interaction fresh in his memory, Kaito should watch himself; he must be particularly meticulous so that the eggshells he's standing on do not crack.

As if to break his mind out of the trance-like tunnel state in which it had already found itself, the younger man shook himself out of his fantasy. Byakuya barely stopped himself from laying the foundations in his imagination of how intensely pleasing it would feel to split the old man down the center from graying crown to groin; the sweet sounds of pain he would make as he struggled in the last moments of his pitiful life; and the last time he would give Byakuya grief.

"How did you know I was here?" The lord of the clan decided to ask instead. It's no easy task to dissuade one's mind of its enticements, especially on a day like today when the world is tilted on its side. "Who told you of my whereabouts, Kaito Kuchiki?"

When the older man's response was less than satisfactory, Byakuya told Kaito in that eerie, calm tone. "I will not repeat myself."

He wants me to do something. Why? It was our second meeting in less than a week, and here he was again, provoking me to reach for my sword. Why?

A pair of forest green eyes framed by fanned-out deep wrinkles tracked his movements. Seeing Byakuya's hand resting on the hilt of his sword, Kaito scoffed through his broken nose, then winced at the action.

"Do I serve a brute for a Lord?" The older Kuchiki's tone could slice cheese. "Faced with an implacable foe you are inept to do anything about, you turn your blade on your own people? For shame, Byakuya-Sama!" Kaito scolded him in that whizzing voice of his that was no longer remotely comical to listen to. In fact, every word that spewed from the Elder's lips grated against Byakuya's now pink ears. "You should resign from your position as the 28th Head of the Clan. Allow older, wiser heads to manage what you obviously cannot."

In the second it took Byakuya to clear 26 inches of steel from its sheath and slice it through the air, something flashed between the space where he and Kaito were standing, and his blade bit into pale flesh.

"My Lord Kalon-Sama!" Yelled Kalon's Aide. The older man was still in the hallway, left behind by his young charge, who was just beginning to bleed all over the tatami mats.

"Apologies, my Lord Byakuya-sama," Kalon said, lowering his hands slowly from the cross guard he held up a second ago to shield his face from Byakuya's sword.

"Why are you here, Kalon Kuchiki?" Byakuya asked his cousin simply.

The room was shocked into silence by the sudden display of violence. In his peripheral vision, Byakuya saw his grandfather's and Elder Mito's faces frozen in shock, their eyes wide. Several other Elders paused in their procession down the expansive hallway, as if they were mice in the dark, stunned by an unexpected blast of light.

The combination of Byakuya's actions and, more importantly, Kalon jumping into the fray and taking the blow directed at his father brought the activities in the apartments to an instant halt. No one moved. Silence reigned supreme over the stillness.

Did the Elders believe he would forever combat Kaito's taunts with empty threats? Answer the old man with insults and his fists alone.

Did they believe I had gotten soft in the intervening decades? Tolerant of insults, perhaps? Who do they think they are?

"Apologies," Kalon repeated, as beads of sweat broke out over his face from the pain notifying every part of his body that something had gone horribly wrong. The cut was so clean that it took a few moments for his cousin's hands to become aware that they had been sliced to the bone. Muscles, tendons, and nerves were all rendered asunder.

"This is not how I planned to greet you this morn, my dearest cousin." The man grunted in pain even as he tried to jest. Kalon took in a breath to stave off the heat of the agony stinging through his body, then swallowed. "I beg your forgiveness on my father's behalf."

Byakuya did not put away his sword; the look in his eyes could rival the chill on a snowy night.

"I felt my father's spiritual reiatsu and came to greet him, only to inject myself into this situation. Please forgive my rudeness, my Lord; it was not my intention to be a nuisance." Kalon bit his bottom lip as a painful grimace stole over his face, leaving beads of sweat streaming down from his forehead to the bridge of his straight nose.

"Yet, here you are," Byakuya stated flatly, one brow arched in question.

"My Lord, Kalon Sama!" His manservant was rushing through the hallway to be by his charger's side, held back only by the procession of the rest of the Elders, Byakuya's personal guards, and a few servants in the way, attempting to get a glimpse of what's happening in the parlor room.

From the feel of his spiritual pressure, it seemed like Kalon's Aide was ready to bulldoze over anyone between him and his master and die before he closed the distance. If not from the guards, then perhaps his life would expire at the hands of one of the impatient Elders standing in the way, who would find the servant's actions offensive.

Kalon must have calculated as much because he called out sharply in a commanding voice, "Isamu," a deep breath coming to his assistance as the next words traversed over his tongue with an effort. "Keep. Still."

With his acknowledgment of his servant fresh on the beat of the silence still lingering after the flash of steel, all heads turned to the old Aide, whose eyes were glued to the end of the hallway, straining to get a glimpse of his charge, anxiety written all over his aged face.

From what Byakuya could pick out about Kalon's Aide, despite the passage of time's embrace, the man's build was formidable, and his body radiated strength just from the sample of the spiritual pressure he was allowing to spill out even in this situation. His control is fine-tuned; Byakuya would even say mastery.

Kalon's servant's attire was not fitting, and most would miss the well-developed physique cloaked as a humble servant, but Byakuya's trained eyes knew better from the first time they met. Kalon's Aide is a trained killer restrained only by the thick cords of loyalty holding him fast to his young charge, whom he regards as a son.

Isamu had the smell of blood on him, and his normally downcast eyes were more than familiar with watching the dying light fade from others as his hands wrenched the life out of them. The house of Shi, where Isamu hails from, is a small, lesser noble house, and not much is known about it. Byakuya was still investigating, especially now that Kalon and his retinue were nesting at his estates.

Kaito was either still too stunned that his son was bleeding at his feet or that Byakuya had attempted to casually kill him on the spot, or he didn't care either way. The man could have been a stone; his spirit betrayed nothing. He just stood amid the maelstrom he contrived, acting like an innocent bystander to the proceedings.

Byakuya ignored Kaito in the interest of his reputation that the old man clearly came here to sully with such an aggressive position towards the crisis happening outside, choosing to blame his Lord instead of being offended by all that was transpiring and making a laughingstock of their ancestral estates and of Clan Kuchiki.

One might say that Kaito is being a fool with his behavior, but Byakuya would call it strategic. The man had anticipated his reaction perfectly. Kaito is an old sword veteran, and while Byakuya had swiped at him savagely with a sidelong up-sweep of his sword, the old man wasn't so injured that he couldn't move to block with his sword or at least duck. Suspicions grew in Byakuya's mind like unruly weeds toward the Elder. Kaito might have his hands submerged up to his elbows in the disruption happening just outside, too. Whatever it was, Byakuya was going to get to the bottom of it, and when he did—mercy will not be on my budget.

Perhaps Kaito was hoping to distract Byakuya from whatever scheme he and his son were cooking up. By creating a stink unexpectedly in a different area to lure eyes away from what they were really up to, he gladly kicked over the chamberpot in the middle of being pressed by the noblewomen outside. Initially, Byakuya doubted any of the Elders' involvement in the stirring up of the noblewomen outside, but now he had to wonder with new factors coming into play as they were.

The snake's tail cannot strike without its head. Byakuya thought, narrowing his eyes down on Kalon, his bleeding hands left open and limp on both of his folded thighs. The blood pooling around his cousin's knees.

It would be Byakuya's own damn fault if he danced to the tone this elder was playing. Instead, he tilted his head at his cousin kneeling before him as if studying a curiosity—not many of those over the centuries of his lifetime. The man's knees had buckled to the pain registering through his body, the cloth of his robes thirstily drinking in his blood.

Unfortunately, Kalon did not dress in anticipation of blood stains as his father had, and the powder purple cotton robe he selected to wear this morning, lavishly studded with white lotus petals, was absolutely ruined now with the blood pattern reaching to his mid-thighs.

"That blow is designed to slice another soul in half, yet here you are, suffering only a few minor injuries to your arms and fingers. Impressive, cousin." Byakuya saw Kalon's eyebrows shoot up, his green eyes darting back and forth in thought. Startled? Everything in his spirit tensed, testifying that he was. He just revealed something he wasn't ready to, something he didn't want Byakuya to find out—or could it be his father?

Curious. Byakuya mused, following the thread of his thoughts. For the decades he's known Kalon, Byakuya has never known him to get startled. What are you hiding from the world, Kalon Kuchiki?

"Thank you, my Lord Byakuya-Sama." Kalon said, his voice a bit shakey, his face in shadow as he hung his head. He was attempting to pivot with gratitude to the reason he was bleeding and close to passing out. With such self-mastery over one's emotions, despite himself, Byakuya couldn't help the jealousy flashing through him. That Kalon could manage to drape decorum around him like a shield in this situation is remarkable. Anyone else would be furious; Byakuya knew he certainly would be. If not fury, then most would be begging for medical healing if only to stop the excruciating pain Kalon was brushing off like it was nothing. Yet his cousin was doing neither.

How extraordinary for an administrator, a diplomate at that, to stop a blow I've used to slice through thickly padded training dummies like a hot knife through cheese with his bare hands and still have hands left. You've been secretly training, haven't you, cousin? To what end, dear Kalon? Byakuya wanted to know; his curiosity roused.

Only by blocking Byakuya's sword blow with a condensed concentration of reiatsu could Kalon survive being halved in two. A third-seat officer could do what Kalon did if they were a prodigy. An average lieutenant could also do the same if they had 30 years of intense training and reishi harvesting to block a blow of the same intent from a captain-level soul reaper. Add to the fact that Byakuya allowed his anger to sway his choice as he swung his blade, emotionally comprising any restraint or mercy he might have extended to Kaito.

Well, well, cousin, congratulations! You are more interesting today in my eyes than you were yesterday. Byakuya continued to peer down at Kalon, then slowly lifted his gaze to his Aide, who was coiled tighter than a cobra ready to spring. Damn the consequences and his life into the bargain to the lowest regions of hell as long as the man could get to Kalon and get him safely away from anything and anyone that meant him harm.

Perhaps the heavens heard Byakuya's plea earlier for a strong enemy. If so, Isamu of House Shi is that opportunity. The man's knees were slightly bent, his weight shifting to the balls of his feet. A fighter stands; his form is perfect, leaving no openings.

And I can see now who has been teaching you in secret.

It is a lord's prerogative to use any that he wishes for whatever purpose he fancied at his whim, but Byakuya had resisted using that benefit if he didn't have to. No one will help Kalon without Byakuya's saying so. And if he had a cruel mind, he would let Kalon's Aide watch him pass out from blood loss. His cousin wouldn't die, but it would be painful as 9 hells to leak out his essence like that and harder to recover the lost reiatsu. His Aide might try and fight his way to his charge, but he was outmatched and outnumbered whatever his skill level, even if Byakuya didn't step in to stop him.

If he wanted to, Byakuya could use Kalon's life as a bargaining chip and force Isamu to entertain him in a fight, working out the frustrations of the morning on the skilled assassin as Kalon bleeds out, his life's essence at time's mercy.

As his aide, Isamu would know everything that Kalon does, including what Kaito was scheming. Aides are excellent assistants, and finding a loyal one who's also competent is a gift from the heavens to any lord, but they are also a glaring vulnerability to their masters and their secrets.

It would be laughably easy to point the tip of his sword at Kalon's throat and make the old servant spill what he knew, and Kalon was making it easier for him too by just kneeling there at his feet.

Byakuya sighed softly. If only I were enough of a cruel, soulless creature to exercise all the 'prerogatives' my title affords me. If only I were shameless enough to use a man's life, even if that man is Kalon, as currency for information, then my problems would be fewer today.

He tried not to notice Kaito constantly and the tempting target of his throat. Twice now, the Elder has forced him to demonstrate his darker nature. Would it be better to just end him right here and now? Byakuya wonders. Will the day come when I will be forced to use the benefits of my prerogatives against my better judgment to stop Kaito's machinations?

Looking at Isamus's face—a dichotomy of anger and pleading emotions competing for supremacy—Byakuya addressed him directly. "Attend your master."

Isamu didn't have to be told twice. With protocol flung out the window, the man dashed to Kalon's side, paying attention to no one and nothing else.

"My Lord Kalon Sama." The concern in his aide's voice was palpable. The older man checked over the injuries sustained by his master's hand.

"I'm alright, Samu." Kalon's voice was lazy and carefree as if he were drunk. He raised his head slowly, barely as if it weighed more than he could manage. "Just a little blood loss. Worry not."

Isamu was shaking now, whether out of rage or concern. Byakuya couldn't tell; maybe both. Blocked by the traffic in the hallway, he wasn't able to see the severity of the blow Byakuya had intended for Kaito, but up close now.

The man's voice was strained as he responded. "No, you are not, my Lord. You are not."

As if forgetting where they were and in whose presence they were, Isamu stripped off his ever-present gloves. Byakuya couldn't remember a time when the man did not wear thick black gloves. Removing them now seemed like a disembodied gesture. And what was left in the wake of this action was a sickening sight to behold.

Whatever movement or sound alerted Kalon to what his manservant was doing sobered up his cousin suffering from blood loss instantly, giving his neck the resolve to lift his heavy head. "Samu, don't". Kalon weakly protested, an indiscernible series of emotions swimming in his green eyes.

Byakuya heard Elder Mito gasp as she arrived on the scene. "Goodness!" the lady exclaimed, turning away with the back of her hand pressed against her mouth as if to keep down bile.

"Why not take your master to a healer?" Ginrei suggested kindly, though his grandfather looked decidedly uncomfortable but was unable to tear his eyes from the man's hands; they have that effect.

Byakuya found himself unable to look away from the horrible sight as well. It captured one's attention completely. The sight of Isamu's mangled hands causes questions to bubble to the surface of anyone's mind, misfortuned to behold what remained of the man's hands. Questions like:

Had an animal done this?

A hollow attack, perhaps?

Wouldn't it have been more humane to just cut off his hands instead?

What did this servant do to deserve such a punishment?

Byakuya saw Kalon look away as tears streaked down his cheeks unchecked, but not from the pain. His cousin's spirit was permeated with a sadness so profound that it caused Byakuya physical pain just to feel it through his spirit. And it reminded him excruciatingly of when he lost Hisana all over again.

Byakuya sheathed his sword quickly before his slackened fingers dropped the thing to the tatami mats with a dull pin. He found himself walking away from the pair as far as he could manage. When he'd inadvertently sampled Kalon's spirit, Byakuya had to stop himself from clutching at his chest at the memory of a pain that took decades to alleviate from his spirit.

The strike Kalon caught on his father's behalf severed the relationship between nerves, muscles, and bones; Kalon had brushed it off like it was nothing. Yet his Aide removing his gloves and revealing the awful sight they hid caused his cousin the rawest anguish Byakuya had ever felt in another soul apart from himself. It was as if a dull blade had entered through his stomach, and it was relentlessly trying to find the exit through his back. It's slow, it's painful, it's horrible, and that's just from reading Kalon's spirit. The clearest he's ever read his cousin's spiritual reiatsu in the centuries they've known each other.

For reminding him of this pain alone, Kalon has become that much more hateful in Byakuya's eyes.

Did he plan this with his servant? The whole thing seems a little too convenient. Like this entire week has been so far.

In response to Ginrei's question, Isamu replied in a stern, soft voice, "Great Elder, I apologize, but if I move Lord Kalon with such an injury, he will go into shock, unheard of for a soul, but I cannot risk Kalon-Sama having a—" He stopped himself mid-sentence, as if realizing that he was saying too much. "I'll take full responsibility if necessary, but please let me heal him right here."

"You will be the one to heal him? You are skilled in the healing arts." Ginrei said, not bothering to hide his surprise. It's almost unheard of for an Aide to be a healer or to at least have the basic training of healing in his repertoire.

Isamu's response was succinct, as his mien transmuted from absolute panic and worry to total focus. It was like watching the ripples in a lake, caused by a boulder falling from a cliffside and subsiding quickly back into its natural flat glass surface. Isamu's concentration was mastery as if he zoned out everything instantly as he started healing Kalon.

Where does that come from? Byakuya was awed, jealous, and amazed in the same breath.

It was such a swift shift that Byakuya could feel it sieving through his spirit without trying to, like fingers plowing through sand; it was easy, soothing, almost a sensation lulling. Having experienced the healing arts from the best of the best in the Soul Society, including the cream of the crop herself, Captain Unohana, Byakuya can reliably judge that, had Isamu of House Shi joined the Goeti 13, the Squad 4 captain would find herself hard-pressed for her position.

It was only because he was watching the man out of the corner of his eyes that Byakuya bore witness to the change in Kaito's eyes, and what he saw in them was utter hatred peering out at his son and his aide. And if Byakuya wasn't mistaken, jealousy was there too for their relationship.

Leaning against the door frame, Kalon looked up at his manservant attending to his wounds; his face was paler than normal, and the flesh hanging off his wrists and forearms were like unfitting clothes. Three fingers on his left hand were missing a few inches. "Samu?" The question in his voice spoke volumes beyond that one word.

Why? Don't do this here. Byakuya read in Kalon's tone.

The state of Isamu's hands and possibly the rest of his covered body is perhaps a secret between them alone and whoever tortured Isamu.

Isamu was tortured. He had to have been. Byakuya had no other way to describe the pattern of scars and poorly healed flesh on the older man's hands. If whoever did this still lived, either Kalon or Isamu cannot find him, or whoever they are is more powerful than both to touch. Byakuya suspected the latter.

From the tone of Kalon's voice and the absolute horror and pleading in it, Byakuya could tell that it wasn't he who did that to his manservant. Kalon is a lot of things, a slimy snake among them, but he is not someone Byakuya would describe as a psychopath. The person who did this to Isamu of House Shi is someone who took pleasure in exercising their cruelty on another soul.

Kaito was the only one unaffected by the sight of Isamu's hands; Byakuya noticed. Clucking his tongue rudely at this display of affection between his son and his aide, he intoned. "Always where you're not wanted." Kalon's father turned his bruised nose up at his bleeding son at his feet. "This is a meeting of the Elders of the Kuchiki Clan and the Lord of the Clan, of which you are neither. Yet you make your presence manifest—to what end? I must know, my son." The word 'son' an unmissable insult, even in his whizzy voice.

Byakuya's back stiffened. Instantly, he was on guard; he felt the death threat rolling off Isamu's being in the wake of Kaito's harsh words. It wasn't spiritual pressure such as it was a raw need to end Kaito in the slowest, most painful way possible. He was sure he wasn't the only one who felt the change in the air, swift like dark wings, like a shadow's touch before the blow. If Kaito felt Isamu's murderous intent, he did not show it.

He's not threatened by it. Byakuya surmised as realization dawned on him. His mind racing at a dozen thoughts per second.

"Samu." It was Kalon's weak voice that broke the tension, silenced so abruptly by the shift from calm, concentrated focus to chilling hatred.

Ah, Byakuya's mind finally clicked all the pieces together. So that's it, then. It was Kaito who tortured Isamu. Isamu will not kill Kaito out of respect for Kalon. But that only means that Kaito has something over his son, something that's stopping my cousin from taking off the muzzle from his pet assassin and releasing him on his father. What though? What is it that Kaito has as a bargaining chip, big enough to spare his life even so close to Kalon's instrument of death, just begging for the chance to end Kaito's existence with one command?

"And what's this?" Kaito continued unheedingly, "What does the servant propose to do?" Green eyes turned to Kalon's injuries, and a deeper, even more spiteful look dawned in them. "So your servant is also a healer. Interesting, Kalon."

Kaito said it in the way Byakuya imagined a snake would sound while they were contemplating wicked thoughts.

He only lacks the forked tongue and the hiss. Byakuya mused.

As the injuries on his son's hands healed quickly, as if the cells of Kalon's skin leaped at the opportunity of being mended by the skilled, invisible hand sewing the fabric of his flesh neatly back together, leaving not even a scar in its wake, Kaito continued savagely. "Yet you allow your father to suffer like this? Are you certain you are my son?"

To deny Kalon's legitimacy before the entire clan and the lord of the clan to boot was too much, even from Kaito who should have known how to govern his tongue better. Following the Elder's insinuation, shocked murmurs ignited throughout the gang of other elders, servants, and guards who had cleared the hallway and who were gathered in a semi-circle about the scene and in the adjacent rooms as the parlor room became too crowded. Rumors of Kalon Kuchiki being a bastard might emerge from Kaito's careless remarks, damaging his son's reputation.

Kalon grinned broadly at the insult before breaking out into a harsh series of chuckles, quieting the rising whispers. Byakuya could see that his eyes remained cold as they fixated on Kaito. Turning to Isamu, Kalon asked his servant nonchalantly, "Samu," his voice stronger since his healing began, "I'd like you to heal my father. Please put him out of his misery with your skills. Can you do that for me, Samu?"

It was so casual, and if he wasn't paying attention, Byakuya would have missed the true meaning sandwiched between the seemingly inconsequential tone of Kalon's words.

For the first time since crouching before his charge, Isamu turned his attention away from Kalon. Craning his head around to fix his gaze up to the Kuchiki Elder glaring daggers at him, Isamu's answer was delivered with utmost sincerity: "Of course, my Lord Kalon-Sama. It would be my pleasure, and I will do my very best."

"You dare!" Kaito snarled.

"It begs the question, does it not?" Ginrei spoke up, stopping whatever scalding, acidic response Kaito was about to spew from his battered lips. "Why rush, risking life and limb?" Byakuya's grandfather gave Kalon a pitying look, then shook his gray head. "Literally," he cleared his throat," to save such an ungrateful wretch like this, Kalon, even if he is, unfortunately, your father?"

Kaito's expression was as if Ginrei had just slapped him, then followed up with a backhand for good measure.

"Ginrei-Sama!" Kaito snapped reproachfully before painfully clearing his throat through a series of coughs before reaching for his black kerchief again to dab blood from his mouth.

"And you obviously have not learned the wisdom of governing your tongue in the presence of our Lord, Kaito-Sama." Mito's serene voice chided after making a graceful bow to Byakuya. "How could you, without evidence, disounce your only child before his clan and his lord? For shame, Elder Kaito."

"And yet no one asked your opinion, Mito-Sama." Kaito spat, and a droplet of blood fell from his bottom lip onto his dark robe, making an almost invisible footnote on the fabric. "Even though you are an Elder, a woman should know her place, especially when to be silent."

Mito's condescending smile never wavered in the face of Katio's retort, though Byakuya spied one perfectly shaped eyebrow twitched under the influence of a vein in her forehead. "My place as a woman?"

"Does that burn you, my lady?" Kaito reposted haughtily. "Was it your guidance that has led our Lord to indecision in the face of this matter happening at our very doorstep?" The Elder suddenly pivoted the argument.

"I had no idea that you spoke nonsense so fluently, Elder Kaito." Mito-Sama volleyed back. "We've all just now come into our Lord's presence. When would I have given him advice on this crisis that began this morning without warning?" the elder lady challenged. "Or are you trying to ascertain answers due to your prejudice toward my sex in regards to our current situation?" Mito's lips pursed prettily. "Are you saying that I organized that indecency outside? That I had a hand in it? And if so, what advantage would it provide me or my house to mobilize an army of women against my Lord's estates when I am already in favor of him marrying Lady Rukia?" She swung her gaze around at Byakuya. "At his earliest opportunity," she smiled at him before inclining her head slightly.

Byakuya reminded himself not to stiffen at her forceful endorsement.

"So you admit to it, then?" Kaito was quick to jump on an insignificant point: "I made no such claims. It was you, Elder Mito, that made that connection all on your own. We all heard clearly your words."

"Elder Kaito, it is not proper," Mito-Sama continued to address Kaito as she raised her head from her respectful bow, "to aggravate your Lord while he's in the middle of formulating a response to a crisis." The Elder lady beamed that constant condescending smile back to her fellow Elder. "In my opinion, our Lord has shown restraint towards you and your rudeness by staying his hand on his sword rather than swiping at you a second time." She turned her eyes down at Kalon, "There would have been no one on the second attempt to save you, now would there?"

"Enough," Byakuya interjected before Kaito's battered mouth could form its next insulting response.

"Indeed," Ginrei agreed, speaking as a representative for the collective elder body. "It is our responsibility as advisors to come together and combat this situation happening on our very doorsteps, not fight among ourselves like based human creatures. Is this what older, wiser heads can bring to the table?" He asked, looking pointedly at Kaito, who quickly found something interesting about the pile of letters in the corner to studiously contemplate. "If so, then perhaps the meaning of "Elder Advisor" has waned in the intervening years since its inception and our responsibilities have mitigated to pointing fingers rather than providing solutions to the Lord of the Kuchiki Clan."