The Moon Goddess and The Acolyte

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A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead. Ichigo pants. His lungs burn from the exertion. It is too dark to see where he is going.

"Kaa-san! Where are you?"

He squints at the void, guided by his instincts. Adrenaline surges through him. He thinks he can hear someone further down that path. His name–

"I-Ichi-Ichigo!"

He quickly halts. He recognises that voice. It's his mother calling him. It is getting louder too. He must be getting closer. She's there- right in front of him!

A burst of energy carries him through the dark, propelling him into the unknown. He crashes into her arms, shoulders sagging in relief as he buries his face in her familiar warmth, greedily inhaling his mother's scent.

Only–

Something isn't quite right. The scent of copper and stale air is overpowering. And Kaa-san–

Why isn't she hugging him back?

His heart hammers against his ribcage. He raises his head at her, horrified when his mother's body falls limp against him, pinning him down under her weight. The metallic scent of blood fills his nostrils, thick enough to make him gag. Fear chokes him, causing his vision to tunnel.

"Kaa-san?"

He screams when icy fingers grip at his forearm, pulling him forward. He hears a harsh whisper in his ears, tilting his face up to see a bloodied face staring right back at him, her brown eyes wide with unspeakable horror.

"I-Ichigo! R-Run!"

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Ichigo wakes up drenched in cold sweat despite the warm rays of sun beaming through the blinds.

The sun?

He gets up with a start, swearing under his breath when he realises it is too bright too late. He panics, throwing his wardrobe doors open, scowling when he realises that the clothes that he had left there the night before are nowhere to be seen. His shoes have gone missing as well.

He slams the doors shut, resisting the urge to scream. He should have known.

His roommates probably think it would be a funny prank to pull: leaving him to sleep in, hiding his clothes and shoes away on the day of the Ascension ceremony.

Ichigo scowls. It is too late now to cry over spilt milk. He grabs the first set of clean clothes he sees, making a mad dash for the shared bathroom, deciding to ignore the missing shoes for the time being.

Today is the day of the Ascension ceremony- the day that he officially becomes an acolyte. He will be matched with a master to serve under and learn from in the hopes that one day, maybe another 300 or so years down the line, he too will become a god- a proper celestial being in his own right. Then, he can finally hold his head up high and proudly serve the Heavenly Court as one of them. No one would ever dream of judging him, deeming him inferior and unworthy ever again.

He grips the set of clothes in his hands tightly. It is the most important day of his life thus far- the day that he has spent the last 150 years waiting for.

And he is already running late.

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"You are late."

The disapproving glare from Master Komamura makes him bow his head low, curling his toes in hopes that the zanjutsu master will not notice his mismatched shoes. Tall and broad-shouldered, the man's true form prior to ascension was a giant wolf. His senses are keener than most and he sniffs the air warily for traces of alcohol, shaking his head at Ichigo's messy clothes and even messier hair.

The gentle giant sighs. "The ceremony started hours ago! How can you be late on a day like this?"

Ichigo bites back his retort, digging his nails into the meat of his palm. He tried explaining himself before to other professors at the Academy. It never amounted to anything. The perpetrators would say that it's just a funny prank and all they would get is a few stern words. Ichigo has written enough appeals requesting a room change to know that resistance is futile.

After a quick reprimand, Ichigo is dismissed. He awkwardly pushes past the rows of people already seated to find an empty chair. He shrugs off the dirty looks he receives, retaliating by accidentally stepping on their toes.

Ichigo barely settles into his seat when a loud booming voice shatters the peace. Much like the students gathered, Ichigo's gaze falls on the source of the noise- a thin roll of parchment with an otherworldly glow suspended in mid-air above them.

Tattered at the edges and yellow with age, the Scroll is, at first glance, utterly unassuming. Yet, its creation predates that of the Heavenly Seal and its purpose is evermore important. The only one of its kind, a sentient book capable of speech, dictating from its inkless depths the path of destiny for all.

The Fates speak through it and they are never wrong.

Ichigo watches a little enviously as a classmate's name is announced. She straightens, blushing when she suddenly finds herself the centre of attention. Her master and patron has been decided and she will now make her way over to join them.

It is her honour and duty to serve as an acolyte and learn from her master.

Still in a daze, the novice summons a wispy carpet made of clouds, floating across a mirror-like lake to reach the lone island levitating above it. A podium is set up at the front while gods and goddesses of all manners and forms, holders of authoritative positions within the Heavenly Court gather behind it.

Ichigo tears his gaze away as the novice descends from the clouds, eagerly heads toward a tall, statuesque woman, who steps forward from her peers and greets the nervous novice on the podium with a reassuring smile.

The bond between disciple and master is sacred. The influence they will exert on their disciples is far-reaching and no less important than that of a parent to a child. The master is responsible for the novice's education, to lead by example and to instill within them pieties and decorums as befitting of future gods and goddesses. They are also patrons, supporting disciples in the fierce competition for resources and opportunities. Having a master who is willing to put in the time and effort to cultivate and nurture disciples is paramount, especially when some gods and goddesses already have other disciples serving under them.

Ichigo heaves a sigh, leaning back against his seat. A niggling sense of worry and anxiety shrouds him again. He wills himself to be patient as another student's name is called out.

Waiting is always the hardest part.

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By the time Ichigo's name is called out, the sun is already at its zenith.

Ichigo clenches his jaw, wiping his clammy palms against his robes. Insecurities have been eating away steadily at him from the moment he sat down. He has never heard of a novice leaving the ceremony masterless, seemingly forgotten by the Scroll, but there is a first for everything.

The relief flooding his veins is palpable and he clambers to his feet, standing tall and proud.

"Kurosaki Ichigo, son of Isshin of no clan- you have been chosen to serve the Moon Goddess, Kuchiki Rukia."

Across the lake, Ichigo sees an outbreak of whispers erupt among the celestial beings seated. Unlike his peers, no one steps forward to claim him.

His heart sinks. His mind has jumped to the worst conclusion possible: he has been rejected by his master- the first and only of his kind. His jaw clenches, fighting against instincts to rage against injustice and the Fates.

"The goddess is absent from the ceremony."

The sudden announcement from the Scroll momentarily restores his faith in the world. He raises his head in disbelief as the voice drawls on.

"You are to report to Guang Han Palace at once."

Ichigo nods tersely, trying his best to appear unaffected as he leaves the ceremony.

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"Guang Han Palace?" His godfather arches a pale eyebrow at his request. "Why'd you need to go there?"

"Why'd you think?" Ichigo scoffs, folding his arms. "I've been asked to serve the goddess who lives there."

"Oh! Rukia-chan?" Urahara shakes his head, frowning as he lays a set of metal cogs down on his work bench. "Now that's a name I haven't heard in a while! A bit of recluse, she is. Nobody has seen her in years, not since the Great War."

"Why's that?"

Urahara clicks his tongue. "You should pay more attention during lessons. The Kuchiki lands border the shadowlands. During the Great War, the clan was tasked with delaying the advances of the demonic army. They succeeded, but at a great cost. Rukia is the only one left of her clan. I'd be careful if I were you." Urahara leans in to whisper conspiratorially, "They say that place is haunted."

Ichigo rolls his eyes, pushing the older man away. "Just tell me how to get there."

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"Fuck!"

Ichigo swears as he is hit in the face by a low-lying branch. His loud swearing causes a rustle in the bushes and scurrying footsteps flee the scene. Rubbing at the sore spot, he scowls, endeavouring to be more careful as he makes his way deeper into the forest.

The forest is dense and the tree whose branches smacked him in the face look no different than the tree whose roots he narrowly avoided tripping over just a second before. Ichigo easily loses track of time in the forest.

He grimaces at his torn sleeve before he tears another shred of it off, leaving it even shorter than before. He ties the strip of white cloth to a branch. There is a trail of them that he leaves behind him: markers to map and track his path. He would have easily gotten lost without them.

The professors would be appalled if they were here now to see him with his face smudged and dirty, shredded robes and all. They would click their tongues and shake their heads in dismay, declaring it to be most unbecoming of an acolyte.

Ichigo curses his luck. It was already dark when he finally arrived at the grounds outside Guang Han Palace. The palace is pure white and built on a rocky mountain, surrounded by vast forest grounds just below it. There is a powerful seal placed as the palace's defensive mechanism, barricading the perimeters against destructive hado spells and prohibiting the use of shunpo by unwelcome visitors within the area.

It is a common enough security measure that Ichigo cannot find fault against it, though he wishes the goddess had granted him access and special permission to shunpo through the grounds as her disciple. He wonders if this is a test of his determination, or perhaps the Moon Goddess wanted to temper his ego and teach him the importance of humility.

Either way, a lowly acolyte like him has no choice but to make the trek on foot through the densely populated woodlands, dodging low-lying branches and creeping surface roots aided only by the faint glimmer of light at his fingertips. Ichigo's control over his reiatsu is still lacking. He does not dare to gather any further reiryouku within him to feed the light for fear of causing an explosion. It certainly will not endear him to the goddess if he accidentally sets fire to her sacred grounds.

Eventually, the densely packed woodland shrub and tall trees with their thick looming canopies disappear from view. The fresh scent of pine grows faint as he makes his way further. Beams of moonlight finally pierced through the foliage, granting him a better view of his surroundings.

He squints in the dark. There is a faint hint of light further ahead. Fire from torches and guard towers, he thinks, glowing soft and warm, from somewhere elevated.

Perhaps even from the top of a hill?

His lips twitch upwards. He must be getting closer.

Ichigo sighs as a gentle breeze sweeps past him, cooling his heated skin. Tilting his head further upwards, he sees stars, scattered through the dark night sky. There is a full moon out tonight- a glowing light that beams at him on the ground below. They say that the Moon Goddess sees all that the moon sees. Ichigo can only hope that she sees his devotion to the task and the painstaking journey that he has undertaken to reach the palace.

He also hopes that the goddess will allow him to bathe and make himself presentable before she grants him audience, for his sake as well as her own. He is starting to smell just a bit too ripe for his liking.

It is a bamboo forest that he encounters next. They are tall, shooting to the air magnificently and would have likely climbed even higher, were it not for their heavy weight. As the wind begins to pick up, the teal-green plants sway, knocking against each other, while their pointy leaves rustle and whisper, composing a calming symphony. The bamboos grow rampant, clumped in thickets with no distinguishable barriers or lines to separate them for visitors to pass.

Across this field of wild bamboos and sprouting shoots, through the gaps of the stalks, Ichigo sees the landing of a staircase carved into the mountain face. Where those steps lead to, Ichigo has no clue, but he is willing to hazard a guess.

Ichigo inhales sharply, extinguishing the ball of reiryouku before he bravely pushes the hollow stalks apart, sealing his fate.

He makes it no further than ten steps ahead when he senses a presence lurking among the shadows. Goosebumps crawl over his skin. He is being watched.

"Who's there?" he calls out, reaching for the hilt of his blade.

His voice echoes. Around him, he hears the susurrus whisper of the bamboo. The music they make wafts through the air as if to say that they mean him no harm. Ichigo trusts his instincts though, keeping his senses keen and his blade poised.

A particularly strong gust of wind suddenly heaves, catching him off guard. It blows right through him, hitting him in the face so fiercely that he can barely keep his eyes open. Ichigo instinctively brings up his arm to shield his face. He shifts into a defensive stance and unsheathes his sword, eyes darting vigilantly to observe his surroundings.

Above him, grey clouds swarm across the night sky, enveloping the moon. The light dims. Shadows loom and creep around him, surging towards him until Ichigo suddenly finds himself completely in the dark. He is a sitting duck, blind to his surroundings.

Ichigo keeps his eyes forward, determined to remain calm. This is all just a test, he tells himself. He is not in any real danger. Surely the Moon Goddess wouldn't allow him to be murdered on her grounds?

With that thought in mind, he lowers his sword, freeing a hand so that he can summon a light.

It is, unfortunately, the wrong course of action to take.

Before he can even conjure a flicker of light, a hard blow strikes his right side. Ichigo flinches, groaning in pain as he clutches his side. He slashes wildly, panicking as he is unable to see his assailant.

"Show yourself!"

The forest around him only whispers and sways in response. The noises they make successfully drown out any movements made by his attacker.

Ichigo scowls. It hurts like a bitch. He presses a hand against his abdomen, releasing a sigh of relief when he realises that he has not been cut. The assailant must have hit him with a scabbard or a wooden sword. Gritting his teeth, he straightens and ignores the pain in favour of gripping the hilt with two hands.

He will not be made a fool of.

He shuts his eyes, willing himself to remember the lessons he had in class. He may not be able to see his attacker, but he can sense his reiatsu and track him down.

Pooling his reiryouku inward and forcing himself to concentrate, he opens his eyes to a different world. Here, there are no sounds or shapes. There is only energy in its purest form- souls, existing in ripples and waves, humming and thrumming in accordance to the strength of their spiritual energy.

It is the first lesson that he was taught: there is a breath of life that exists within all that the sun touches. From the greatest and tallest of mountains, to the tiniest of ants, where there is within them, a spark of life, showing age at the passing of time, then they too must have a soul. They materialize as ribbons in his world. Those closest to him are grey, frayed with their borders poorly defined. The bamboo forest that he is in is old. Its collective soul, if left to grow unchallenged, would surely gain sentience in the next century.

Ichigo pushes past it, realizing there is another pulsating core in the vicinity. One whose light outshines everything in his surroundings. It is a scarlet red, but carries with it a deep harrowing chill that he fears will render his arm frostbitten if he tries to pull at it.

It is on the move and Ichigo follows suit, his body moving in real time as he tracks it through the many zig-zags and corners that it darts and pivots at.

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There!

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"FUCK!"

He yelps loudly. He blinks away the tears that have gathered as his vision aligns with that of the physical world. He is once again surrounded by bamboo and there is something wet spewing from his nose. He belatedly realised that he ran headfirst into a bamboo, knocking himself hard enough that he thinks his nose might be broken.

He glowers, pinching at the bridge of his nose. He tricked him!

The assailant is spinning circles around him and he cannot even catch him! Ichigo has had it. If the Moon Goddess will not acknowledge his presence or call off her guard's attack, then she should not blame him for taking matters into his own hands.

Ichigo begins to pool the reiryouku within him. His past experiences with kido have never been the best. His teachers have tried in vain to curb the destructive tendencies, chiding him to focus on the surge of energy that he is funnelling into his spells to, but to no avail. All of his attempts have backfired spectacularly on him, destroying classrooms and training grounds, much to his teachers' chagrin and classmates' amusement.

But tonight, perhaps things will work out in his favour for once.

"Ye lord! Ma—"

The attack comes from nowhere. Ichigo does not even have time to finish the incantation, before he is rudely interrupted. His feet are suddenly swept out from under him and he tumbles, rolling until his back hits a bamboo.

Ichigo groans in pain, rolling himself over to lie on his back as he tries to catch his breath. His body aches and his head spins. He hisses, touching his temple, feeling a growing lump beneath his fingertips at where his head hit the ground.

"Drop the sword."

Ichigo growls, "Like hell I will, you coward!"

He lifts his head up, squinting as he tries to make out the face of his attacker. He tries to sit up but quickly finds himself back on his back, kept in place by the newcomer's foot on his chest. There is cold steel pointed at his jugular and he stills.

The moon deigns to make her appearance then, parting from the clouds to shine a light on him and his attacker. Ichigo wishes the ground below would swallow him whole. The taste of defeat is bitter, but it is made infinitely worse when he realises that his attacker is a woman.

She is as pale as the moon, garbed in the purest of white silks. The edges of her long sleeves and the hemline of her skirt are trimmed in dark blue with golden brocades. The golden threads gleam before his eyes, lined in a pattern that Ichigo cannot quite make out. Unlike the other goddesses in Heavenly Court, the woman's long hair is not pulled into an elaborate hairstyle, held together by jewelled hairpins and expensive combs. Jet black hair cascades past her shoulders, the ends of it fluttering, tousled by the wind. A lone jade hairpin sits among her black tresses with delicate flower ornaments dangling from the end, reflecting the pale moonlight.

Ichigo would laugh if he could at his defeat at the hands of this slip of a girl, but he knows better than to try anything under her nose. The woman has him pinned to the ground under her sword and her stare, the heel of her sandaled feet digging into his chest, pressing the entire weight of her body against him. There is to be no sudden movements on his part. The look in the nameless woman's eyes is deadly and promises certain death if he even dares to wiggle a finger.

"Drop the sword," she says, keeping her eyes on him, pressing the steel closer against his neck when he does not immediately comply.

"Now!" Her eyes narrow. "I won't ask again!"

Ichigo gulps, begrudgingly doing as he is told when the pressure on his chest tightens. The sword in his hand clatters noisily onto the ground.

"There! You happy?"

The girl grunts, lifting her feet off his chest, making it easier to breathe. Ichigo pulls himself upright, leaning against the bamboo behind him. His chest heaves as he breathes loudly through his mouth, trying to make sense of what just happened. He watches as the girl calmly picks up his fallen sword, her footsteps impossibly light, barely even making a sound as she motions for him to stand.

Standing to his full height, the height difference between them becomes apparent. As he suspects, the girl is a dainty thing, barely even reaching past his shoulders, but Ichigo is not nearly foolish enough to make a comment on that, especially when she still has a sword pointed at him.

"One wrong move," she whispers, letting the unspoken threat hang in the air.

"Yeah, yeah," Ichigo mutters. "You cut me. I bleed out in seconds."

He pats at the dust on his robe, smoothing at the lines and creases absentmindedly. He is unarmed and overpowered at the moment. As much as it pains him to admit it, the woman is skilled. She barely broke a sweat taking him down. She obviously knows the terrain well. It would be suicidal to launch a counter attack under the circumstances.

Ichigo's eyebrows furrow. "Just who the fuck are you anyway?"

The woman sniffs delicately, pulling herself to her full height as she somehow manages to stare down at him despite the height difference between them.

"I am Kuchiki Rukia, the Moon Goddess, the owner of these sacred grounds, which you have trespassed."

Rukia tilts her head, wrinkling her nose.

"Whoare you?"

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Ichigo slams his fist on the table, nearly knocking the tea cups over and spilling the tea. Despite the many attempts of the Heavenly Emperor at defusing the situation, the young man's temper will not be quelled.

Ichigo angrily points at Rukia as he cries out shrilly, "She tried to kill me!"

Next to him, Rukia scoffs, rolling her eyes. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have lived past midnight."

It is now just past day break, and a new day has dawned over the Heavenly Court. Ichigo is sleep-deprived, having been up the whole night, forced to trudge through the thick forests covering the grounds of Guang Han Palace twice in a day under the watchful gaze of his captor, who is half his size, but every bit as deadly with a sword, before he is thrown unceremoniously at the emperor's feet, accused of being a spy and trespasser.

Ichigo rubs at his chafed wrists, the skin on them raw and tender from the burn of the kido spell that Rukia cast. His clothes are dirty and torn. There are cuts and bruises dotting his face, not to mention the lump on the side of his head. His wounds are shallow. The pain he feels from them is nothing compared to the humiliation he suffered.

Shame fills him, more so when he faces the reassuring gaze from the Heavenly Emperor, who sits across the table. He is mortified to have made such a bad impression on the emperor. Emperor Ukitake must think that he is nothing but a nuisance and, in a few hours from now, the whole of Seireitei- the Heavenly Court- will hear of his misadventures. He will be the laughing stock of Seireitei.

As if they needed any more ammunition against him; any other reason to ridicule and hate him.

Ichigo clenches his jaw. A quick look at the dark-haired woman seated next to him plummets his mood even further. Rukia calmly sips her tea, barely batting an eye at his outburst. Ichigo's lips twist into a deep scowl, his body shaking in indignation.

How dare she treat him like some sort of misbehaving child!

He has been nothing but nice, humble even, in his approach. All he ever wanted was to be accepted, to be treated the same as everybody else and to be given the same opportunity as his peers. He thought that the Moon Goddess would be different, one of the few rare people in Seireitei who isn't blinded by ignorance, able to form their own opinions about him without being clouded by unfounded prejudice.

He was wrong, of course. She is no better than the rest of them. Bitterness marks his line of thought and he chuckles hollowly. It was foolish of him to believe otherwise. The Fates are cruel.

A forsaken creature like him?

Good things simply don't happen to him. Compassion, even an ounce of it, would have been too much to ask for.

It is time to make peace with that.

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Rukia keeps her arms folded under her chest. Her gaze flicks over to Ichigo who has suddenly grown still and quiet. She chews at her bottom lip, quickly looking away again. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge?

But, in her defence, how was she to know that this is her new disciple?

Can anyone truly blame her for being overcautious and, perhaps, a tad bit overzealous about border security?

Evil never truly dies.

Things may be peaceful between them and the Underworld for now, but demons are devious and crafty. Like all immortal beings, the grudges that they hold and nurse are nothing to be scoffed at. They may have signed the peace accords and Emperor Ukitake may be benevolent enough to call for a ceasefire, but it would have been foolish to hold demons to their word. It is in their nature to lie. They have broken their vows over simpler things in the past.

The memory of war is a fresh and painful one. The Kuchiki clan- her family, her brother, gave their lives for peace. She is the only one left. It falls to her now to make sure that their sacrifice was not in vain.

Rukia has no doubt that even after all these years, the demons across the demonic planes still hunger and yearn for the total destruction of her world. The demonic army would like nothing more than to sweep across Seireitei, pillaging and burning all that they see and, once Seireitei is left a smouldering pile, there would be nothing to stop them from laying waste to the mortal plane.

The Heavenly Realm is the last stand to the total annihilation of the Four Realms.

Kuchiki lands, with Guang Han Palace as the stronghold, sits right at the border, overlooking the shadowlands that separate Heaven from the Underworld. It is Rukia's responsibility as the last Kuchiki to stand guard and keep vigil. Had Ichigo truly been a spy, his infiltration would have marked the beginning of war. It would have fallen on Rukia to sound the horns and bring the matter to Seireitei and Emperor Ukitake's attention.

She sighs, her gaze flicking over to Ichigo who is still visibly upset. The trek from Guang Han Palace to the Emperor's Court is not the easiest one to make, and she is somewhat sorry for the ordeal that the boy was put through, but the fact remains: she refuses to be his teacher.

Emperor Ukitake must rescind his decree. She is a gatekeeper, an eye in the dark focused steadily at the horizon, vigilant against the impending approach of the demonic army. Her hand knows the grip of a sword intimately. Rukia is a warrior, not a teacher. Besides, she doubts the boy wants anything to do with her now.

Good, she thinks to herself. That's the way that it should be.

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Ichigo hates the silence. Rukia's lips press tightly into a thin line and she has a faraway look on her face.

His eyes harden. She does not get to play victim, behaving as though she's been dragged into this by him. "You fucking tried to kill me!"

Rukia whirls around to face him, her brow twitching. How many times does he intend on repeating himself? She's not deaf!

"Language, please! You are in the presence of the emperor. Show him some respect!"

"I will," mutters Ichigo angrily, "when you decide to show some common courtesy and fucking apologize to me!"

"You need to respect your elders!"

This boy is insufferable, Rukia thinks darkly. Ichigo would have just passed his 150th mark; still wet behind the ears, a complete baby compared to her. He would have been busy sucking his thumb, barely old enough to speak when she fought against the demonic army with her comrades, staring death squarely in the face.

How dare he speak to her so disrespectfully?

Ichigo growls, "I was brought up thinking that respect was something to be earned!"

"Why you little—!"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you! I'm not the one who's 'little' here!"

Emperor Ukitake laughs nervously, hastily trying to break up the tension building between the bickering pair. "W-Why don't we all just calm down and take a step back?"

Rukia has had enough. She throws her hands up in the air. "Such impudence! He is impossible, Ukitake! I cannot work with him!"

Ichigo snorts. The woman is a hypocrite and the absolute worst. "What happened to showing the emperor some respect?"

"See?" Rukia practically screeches, her hands clasped at the edge of the table. "Please! I'm begging you to reconsider!"

Not to be outdone, Ichigo does the same. His shame and unease momentarily forgotten in the heat of the moment. "I refuse to serve this woman! I'd rather die!"

Rukia's eyes narrow at him. "That can be arranged!"

"You bitch!"

"How dare you—"

"Enough!"

Ukitake's bellow interrupts them, and they both turn their attention to the white-haired man.

A bright aura envelops him. His eyes glow amber. Power radiates from him and his words ring out with the will of the Heavens, bending all to his will.

Pressure builds in the room, pushing down on both of them and they soon find themselves on their knees, their hands planted firmly on the ground, their throats constricting and seizing up abruptly.

Ukitake lifts his hand and the tension in the room dissipates. He straightens to his full height, heaving a tired sigh as he lowers his gaze to the pair still kneeling on the carpeted floor.

Both Rukia and Ichigo look suitably abashed and chastised, carefully avoiding his gaze. Ukitake says nothing as he scrutinises their unlined faces. Shaking his head at the pair, he suddenly feels much older than he actually is.

Ichigo is a splitting image of Isshin when he was his age, albeit with wilder and more vibrant hair, and every bit of a handful that his father once was. Reckless and contemptuous against authority, the boy is a bit of a wild card and far more temperamental than Isshin ever was, but Ukitake does not hold it against him. It is tough to grow up as an orphan, tougher still to be one with a disowned heavenly noble- a vagrant god for a father and a human mother. Seireitei has never been kind to half-bloods.

As for Rukia—

Ukitake's gaze softens. He still remembers how tiny she had been the first time they met , barely coming up to his waist, struggling to even hold a sword properly. It seems like it was only yesterday when she completed her tutelage under Byakuya, and yet here she is ready to take on a disciple of her own.

She may not think that she is ready for the task, but the Fates have spoken and they are never wrong. It will do her good to have some much-needed human interactions. She has spent too much time locking herself away in that icy palace of hers.

She is still young. They both are. There is still much to live for.

With his mind made up, Ukitake clears his throat. "Now, can we all agree to behave civilly and stop calling each other names?"

Rukia and Ichigo swallow thickly, nodding. They are suddenly reminded that the man before them is the supreme leader of the Heavenly Court, and they have acted no better than a pair of squabbling children in front of him after barging in on him in the middle of the night and, in Rukia's case, rather abruptly demanded an audience.

The emperor is a busy man, yet Ukitake somehow makes time for her.

He always does.

Rukia feels guilty as she looks at Ukitake's red-rimmed eyes, the tired furrow between his eyebrows and the white-knuckled grip he has on the handle of the teapot. The white streaks in his hair have grown and multiplied since the last time she saw him.

She forgets. She is not the only one affected by the war.

She knew Ukitake long before he became emperor. Byakuya was his friend. In his final moments, the legendary swordsman entrusted the care of his precious sister and only heir to Ukitake. Rukia knows she is allowed special privileges because of that. Even in his death, Byakuya watches over her still, granting her protection.

She has squandered this privilege. Her brother would be most disappointed if he were to see her now. Rukia cannot bear the thought of disappointing him.

"Good," Ukitake replies when neither refutes him. His voice is calm, but both Ichigo and Rukia know better than to interrupt or argue against him.

"The Scroll does not lie and its decision is final. The Fates have spoken. You know as well as I do, Rukia—" he looks apologetically at her— "the Scroll was forged by The Great Father, predating even the creation of the First Heavenly Emperor and his seal. Even I cannot override a mandate that has been made."

Ichigo raises his head, scowling darkly. "If I refuse?"

Ukitake frowns. "There will be no repercussions for it. But you will not be reassigned to another master and your training will end here. You will advance no further than this and everything that you have accomplished thus far will be moot. You will never be anything more than an acolyte while your peers complete their training and, one day, be honoured as proper celestial beings worthy of the title and perhaps even granted the distinction of training their own disciples. These disciples will someday then come into their own and ascend accordingly, thus repeating the process. They will all out-rank you and surpass you in both skills and knowledge. You will be left behind, an outcast in all but name in Seireitei."

Ukitake leans back with a grave expression, staring Ichigo in the eyes. "Can you be satisfied with this outcome?"

Ichigo grits his teeth. Ukitake is forcing his hand, knowing full well that all Ichigo ever wanted was to be held in the same light as others and not to be looked down upon because of the circumstances of his birth. All he ever wanted was to be accepted by the Heavenly Court as his own person.

"I-I—"

"He accepts!"

"I— what?! Hmpphhh—"

Ichigo glares at Rukia, spluttering angrily as the woman clamps a hand on his mouth with her other hand pressing against the nape of his neck, forcibly keeping his head down. He struggles against the iron-clad grip she keeps on his mouth, but Rukia is unrelenting even as he tries to pry her fingers off.

"Don't be stupid," she hisses at him. "This is not the time to be stubborn. Ukitake is not joking. You will be the laughing stock of Seireitei. Your parents and your clan will be disgraced. Is that what you want?"

A sharp pain shoots up her arm and Rukia hisses in surprise, withdrawing her hand from Ichigo as she cradles her wrist against her chest. Her eyes widen in disbelief when she sees a ring of teeth marks on her pale skin, deep enough to draw blood.

She glares at Ichigo, scowling when she notices the blood staining his lip. He is unrepentant as he returns her glare every bit as venomously, swiping at his lips with the back of his hand, his chest heaving as he mutters darkly at her to watch her tongue.

"Don't talk about my parents!" he growls. "Don't assume you know anything about me!"

That ungrateful mutt!

She was only trying to help. Ichigo may be young and stupid enough not to know any better, but Seireitei can be exceptionally cruel. There is competition for resources and naturally, without a master and patron to support him, Ichigo would have to fend for himself. He would have been pushed out of Seireitei, forced into the shadowlands or the mortal plane, wandering aimlessly before languishing in a purposeless life.

Yet, this is the thanks she gets?

Is he some sort of animal?

Her hand itches for the hilt of her sword. A rabid animal like that should be put out of his misery!

"Rukia, stop!"

It is Ukitake's voice that dispels her rage, reminding her once again that she is in the presence of the emperor. She drops her stance, forcing herself to relax.

Drawing a sword in the presence of the Heavenly Emperor is tantamount to insurrection, an act of insubordination punishable by death. Armed guards would have pushed past the heavy doors behind them, swarming her from every direction to drag her away in chains. No matter how beloved she is, Ukitake would have a hard time explaining why she should be pardoned for the offence.

The mark on her wrist disappears with a quick healing spell. Rukia bites the tip of her tongue, still glaring at Ichigo. They are even now.

Fearing more violent outbursts from the pair, Ukitake hastily pushes a cup of tea into Ichigo's hand, nudging at him to kneel and present it to Rukia.

"Hold it out with both hands," Ukitake chides, shaking his head. Ichigo grumbles under his breath, but reluctantly does so at Ukitake's behest, lowering his gaze and holding the cup above eye-level.

It is a mark of respect and a token of his gratitude for the tutelage that he will receive from his master over the coming years. Should Rukia accept the cup of tea, it would mean that she formally accepts the responsibility of teaching him as her disciple.

"Your tea, Oh Great Moon Goddess," Ichigo drawls sarcastically.

Rukia's eye twitches at the insolence. If it were anyone else other than Ukitake seated in front of her, she would have swiped at the poorly presented cup of tea and left Ichigo drenched in its lukewarm contents. The Kuchikis may not be as powerful any more, but she is still a powerful goddess and the wielder of the Snow Blade, Shirayuki. She will not tolerate such blatant disrespect.

At Ukitake's imploring gaze however, she merely frowns and snatches the cup of tea away from Ichigo. She hears Ukitake heave a sigh of relief as she raises the cup to her lips, pretending to sip at it before setting it down on the table.

Ukitake is all smiles as he motions for them to get up, clasping them on the shoulders proudly.

"Seireitei can expect great things from you two in time," Ukitake announces, beaming jovially at the pair. "I am sure of it."

Rukia forces herself to smile, wishing she could share his optimism. All she feels as she makes eye contact with her new disciple is contempt and from the undisguised scowl that Ichigo gives her over his shoulder, the feeling is very much mutual.

Their mutual dislike of each other may be the only thing they have in common.

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Author's note:

Chapter 1 of the Ichiruki Big Bang Event!