Act I
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She came with the storm- strong-willed, tempestuous and unruly; all the makings of a most ungrateful daughter to be sure.
The family fortune teller knew it from the moment she drew her first breath. The old lady was white-haired and frail, gnarly fingers wrapped themselves around her walking stick as she hobbled towards the direction of the new-born, guided by the Kuchiki servants. The expression on her face was sour as she was rudely roused from her sleep. It was a difficult birth- reckless, impatient child. The mother had woken distressed from a dream and went into labour shortly after.
There was … a lot of blood. She could smell it in the delivery room. The thickness of the iron that clung to the air as the midwife and the physician fought to ensure the safety of the mother now that the child has been delivered. The servants in the background tittered in anxiety, more shouts from the outside as the husband bade them to save his beloved. The noise grated her but she ignored it all. She did not know how to preserve the poor woman's life and as such she leaves the job to people who do. They all have roles to play. She had her own task to perform and that, she did well.
She had been in the service of the Kuchiki family for decades and she has seen to the birth of every scion, attended to the births of sons and daughters alike, delivering what she believed to be their destiny and fortune upon the moment they arrived- fresh from their mother's womb, loud and angry from being wretched away from the safety of darkness, with biting honesty.
With her pale, unseeing eyes, the old crone peered at the new-born girl-child- inky black hair plastered to her still-wet skin, red and unwashed with her mother's blood clinging to her, loud in her screams as she drew her first breath in this strange new world. The baby was swaddled and carefully handed over. The woman was born blind but that did not mean that she could not see. The sight that she was privy to was far more valuable and mystical by nature. Stained fingernails tapped against each other, her dry lips moving in susurrant as she abandoned her walking stick in favour of cradling the crying baby against her chest.
The stick in her hand dropped to the floor with a heavy clang.
For the briefest of a moment, time stood very still. While the world sees the blooming of flowers, colourful petals unfurling in spring, she saw the fruit-bearing trees in the summer, the glow of a bountiful harvest in autumn and the rotting leaves hidden under the blanket of heavy snow. The secrets of the moon and the stars, the ebb and flow of the ocean tides, the stretching of valleys as far as the eye could see, mountains so high that they touch the sky — all are unveiled before her.
The fortune teller- wizened and hunched over with age, saw it all and pronounced it as she saw it to be. She has not been proven wrong yet.
She clucked her tongue. The girl child was going to be a menace.
"She has too much fire in her. Headstrong, stubborn; a survivor," she declared, grimacing as she handed the squirming baby over to the midwife, eager to be rid of her, "yet she is surrounded by water. This girl- she wants too much. She fights to break the mold. She will bring much misfortune to this family and break her parent's hearts."
And thus, Kuchiki Rukia came into the world, seemingly cursed. But neither Hisana nor Byakuya paid much heed to the old crone's words.
They loved her fiercely and as the only child, Rukia was the apple of her father's eye and much doted on. Father and daughter were inseparable and from him, she picked up her first sword, learned how to hold a blade and wield it well. Her soft-spoken mother may have tutted at her injuries but loved her too much to deny her anything. Rukia was given an education, taught how to read and write by her own father- a scholar despite being known for his military prowess.
And when the day came for her to pick up her needles and practice sewing, she wilfully played truant and escaped into her father's study where she knew her tutor would never dare intrude upon. It worked for a little while. Rukia was right in assuming her tutor would be too cowed by the Kuchiki name to complain about her escapades.
Unfortunately, Lady Hisana as the family matriarch had eyes and ears everywhere. All it took was for one servant to let it slip about her playing truant and her house of cards went tumbling down.
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"Rukia!"
"Save me, Tou-sama!" screamed Rukia as she ducked into the study.
Bewildered by the ruckus, her father looked up from his inked scrolls with a frown. Just in time to see a scowling Hisana running into the room with a feather duster in hand.
Hisana was livid as she screeched.
Byakuya gulped at the scowl on his wife's face and her tightly knitted eyebrows. He did not think he had ever seen her this angry before. He reacted immediately, putting himself physically between mother and daughter. He shielded Rukia from Hisana as the latter shook her head, fingers wagging at her daughter who was smiling impishly behind her husband.
"Byakuya-sama is not doing anyone any favours. This is for her own good! Think about her future! When the time comes to mend her husband's clothes, who will she turn to?" Hisana grumbled, shifting some of the focus of her ire to her husband. She glared at him sternly, her hands at her waist.
Men want wives who are obedient and resourceful. It's one of the practical things in life, Hisana thought. She was lucky enough to marry for love, lucky enough to find a husband who is as understanding and loyal as Byakuya-sama and marry into a family without a difficult mother-in-law. But Rukia may not be as lucky as her. It fell upon her as a mother to prepare her daughter for the worst; she didn't need to be brilliant but Rukia should at least be able to sew and cook- the basic prerequisites to becoming a good wife and make sure her future husband does not suffer unclothed and unfed.
Byakuya scoffed, "My daughter is no seamstress! I have not taught her to read and write for the sake of her future husband. Any learning she pursues should be out of her own interest and not for any other reason, other than to enrich her own mind and better her life!"
"Well I certainly hope Byakuya-sama finds a good man for our Rukia then. A man in want of a wife who can read and write eloquently, unafraid to speak her own mind and hold a sword better than she can hold a needle—" Hisana rolled her eyes as she replied dryly—"Forgive me if I say that he already sounds a little too good to be true!"
"Naturally," said Byakuya as he pulled her into his arms and gently pried the duster away from her hand, "our daughter deserves nothing but the best!"
Hisana sighed, trying in vain to hide her smile. Byakuya's protectiveness over their daughter touched her. Warmth flooded her heart even as she huffed, pretending to be annoyed. He is a good man, his softness, especially on matters concerning Rukia hidden underneath his stoic appearance.
Keeping the frown on her lips, she turned to Rukia, scolding the cheeky girl. "Don't think you've gotten away with it, Rukia. I will teach you the basics myself. And because you are such a clever girl, I will teach you how to play the qin after that. You can resume your other activities any time after you finish all your lessons for the day. We start tomorrow."
Rukia groaned.
At the pleading look Rukia cast at her father, Hisana suppressed a snort. Armed with a pout, violet eyes big and guileless, Rukia knew exactly how to make her father cave as she tugged at his arm sleeves. Hisana shot him a sharp glare when she felt her husband wavering, falling under the influence of Rukia's wide-eyed stares.
Byakuya caught himself just in time, clearing his throat loudly as he said, "Listen to your mother, Rukia."
Hisana shook her head, unsure of whether to laugh or cry. Rukia was too smart for her own good and had her father wrapped around her little finger but Hisana was determined to remain firm. If Byakuya had his way, their daughter would end up spoiled- fill her head with too much words and songs, fanciful ideas of a woman existing outside her family, and starve herself to death one day.
"Mark my words. That stubborn streak and wilfulness of yours will bring you nothing but trouble. I can only pray that the ancestors will watch over you and offer you their guidance and blessing when it happens. And that your future husband wouldn't mind a wife who can't sew properly."
Let it be known: Hisana is a wise woman indeed.
While it remains to be seen on whether Rukia has been fortunate enough to receive any favours from her ancestors; on the matter of her future husband, well… Hisana would be happy to know that he does in fact exist.
(Though she might not be as thrilled when she learns how Fate brought them together.)
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"Young Miss, come quickly! Your presence has been requested by the Mistress at the front parlour."
That is all the warning Rukia gets before she is plucked away from her perch under the tree, wrapped into a dozen layer of colourful silks, amethysts made to hang low from her golden pearl-beaded earrings, delicate gold bangles encrusted with corals and garnets- one on each of her slender wrists, jade beads in hues of lavender, emerald and green collar her pale neck, a heavy white jadeite pendant carved into the shape of a lotus blossom dips low to hang between her breasts. Her mess of raven hair was combed and tamed into something sleek, arranged into loops and knots with ribbons and bejewelled hair combs appropriate for an unwed lady of her station.
When the servants are done, the woman staring back at her from the bronze mirror is white-faced and painted, barely recognizable as her. But there is no time to reflect on the change of appearances, to frown and ponder over the need for such an obviously formal ensemble as she is pulled towards the front parlour and made to kneel beside her mother.
The silence is tense and Rukia's anxiety grows as understanding dawns. She is no fool and knows that the only guests worthy of such humility and submission from them can only come from the Palace. But her father is retired and the Kuchiki family has been far removed from the politics of the inner court for more than a decade. What can the Emperor want from them?
She chances a glance across the room, noting her father kneeling not too far away from them, head bowed and eyes downcast as he faces the entrance to receive the Emperor's Imperial Mandate. Next to her, her mother is distinguished in carmine red and impeccable in her poise and manners as the lady of the household. Her expression is serene but nonetheless shoots a sharp look at Rukia from the corner of her eyes when she feels her daughter's eyes wandering. Gulping, Rukia hesitantly draws her gaze away, keeping her head low and schooling her expression to mime her mother's. It is only then when she sees that the hands on Hisana's lap are white-knuckled despite the thin smile on her face.
Time passes slowly but no one bids them to rise and so they continue kneeling in the blistering heat. Pins and needles stab at her knees as her feet grow numb. The heavy layers of silk weigh her down and her face itches as the powder cakes. Sweat drips and slides down her back but she doesn't dare slouch lest it reflects badly upon her parents and family name.
Finally, the drums sound, heralding the arrival of the messenger from the Palace. Rukia raises her gaze in time to see a sallow-skinned man, thin as a rake descend upon their household. He brings word from His Imperial Majesty and the world tenses in anticipation, so much so that the birds in the trees seem to cease their chirping. He is a eunuch- his thin eyebrows and the lack of an Adam's apple tells Rukia as much. The expression on his face is haughty and his lips seem to curl in a permanent sneer. He reminds Rukia of a sly and scheming rat, undeserving of the richness of his dark forest green robes. She already hates him for how her family's lives hang in the balance, ready to sway in whichever direction his Master desires.
The thick yellow scroll that he carries in the palm of his hands gleams in the morning light as he unrolls it. The man clears his throat and in a screechy rasp, shatters the day's calm and the peaceful life Rukia once knew.
"By order of the Emperor, one man from every family must serve in the Imperial Army to combat the Invasion of the Huns at the Northern Borders. General Byakuya of the House Kuchiki, you have been called upon to serve. You are to report for active duty at Wu Shu Camp. By His Imperial Majesty's decree, you are to serve as Advisor to General Kurosaki the Younger and co-lead the Tenth Division with him. That is all."
Her father's face remains placid while he kowtows in the direction of the Imperial Palace. His forehead meets the wooden flooring beneath their feet in earnest, sounding thrice before he rises and creeps forward to accept the written Mandate with his good hand.
"It would be my honour to serve the Emperor in any way that He sees fit."
Rukia can feel her vision swimming. She tastes blood from how hard she has been biting the inside of her cheek. Her mother is likewise dry-eyed but her hand sneaks into her daughter's for support. In them, Rukia feels her tremor and the muted dread that grips at both mother and daughter is choking.
The Emperor's word is law. It is decided that her father will serve. Rukia shares a look with her mother. The women of the family know if he leaves now, he may never come back again.
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Hisana orders the cook to prepare the family's favourite dishes for the night. Rukia looks at the table laden with food and thinks that the cook has most certainly outdone herself. Hot steaming vegetables, meat dishes featuring fish, pork and chicken cooked with her father's favourite spices and herbs- a proper five course dinner with fish maw soup to bid the master of the house farewell and the best of luck on his expeditions.
It is the last dinner the three of them will have as a family but the thought of her father- gone by the dawn of the next morning robs Rukia of the appetite. The three members of the family eat in silence, each of them heavy with thoughts. Rukia in particular, barely touched her bowl of rice or any of the dishes on the table. Hisana sighs as she piles food onto her plate, forcing Rukia to pick up her chopsticks and eat. The food tastes like ash in her mouth.
Rukia grits her teeth, setting the bowl of rice noisily to the table as she raises her voice.
"You shouldn't have to go!"
"Rukia! Hold your tongue!"
Hisana's admonishment is sharp but Rukia brushes it aside. Her mother may have resigned herself to put on a brave face for the sake of their family, but she has not. Her father has always taught her to speak her mind, to live and regret over actions taken than to despair over inaction and live in the past.
"You have fought bravely for the Emperor and our country. You shouldn't have to go. You are retired now. The Emperor said so himself. He cannot just recall—"
Byakuya barely blinks as he cuts in, "It is not our place to question what the Emperor can and cannot do. To speak of it is treason. I know my place, Rukia. You too must learn yours."
"But surely the Emperor can consider clemency in your case, Tou-sama. You lost—"
"His Majesty already has. I am to act as Advisor for the young General Kurosaki. It is as far removed from the battlefield as He can permit. Please for my sake, let us speak no more of this and just enjoy dinner."
"It is all my fault."
Hisana's soft voice cuts through the tension, interrupting them. Rukia whirls in surprise to see her mother crying. Guilt gnaws at her as her mother's tears slide down her face, staining the table cloth. Hisana is inconsolable as tears dribble down her face.
"If only I had given you a son, Byakuya-sama- a son to continue the family line and serve the Emperor in your stead. You wouldn't be in this position. It is all my fault!"
To see her mother, so strong and dignified in her manners; breaking down into tears and falling apart because of her- Rukia feels nothing but shame and disgust for herself. More so when Byakuya frowns at her as he gently coaxes Hisana into his arms, his hand at the small of her back.
He is disappointed in her. They both are. What has she done?
Rukia doesn't mean to upset her parents. She is just so angry at her own powerlessness, her inability to do anything for them or lessen their burdens. Though she knows that her parents would never, she wants to shout at them to blame her instead. If anything she is the one who is responsible for the mess her father is in. She is the reason why they are in danger of losing their family home and the land surrounding it.
Her birth weakened her mother. Hisana has always been frail and with the birth of Rukia, was told by doctors and midwives alike that a sibling for her daughter would mean certain death for herself. Her father on the other hand, is too loyal and stubborn to even consider the idea of taking on a concubine to produce a legitimate heir to continue his family's legacy. Should he pass away or perish in war, he would die without issue and the Kuchiki Manor- the ancestral home for generations of Kuchiki since the unification of China, would pass to her closest male cousins- relatives she has never seen before. Rukia and her mother would have to rely on the kindness of strangers. They could be turned away and end up on the streets as paupers at a moment's notice.
If only—
Rukia pushes her chair away, standing up abruptly as she leaves the table, suddenly feeling sick. She makes a beeline for the ancestral shrine, unheeding of her mother's pleas as she calls after her.
"Let her go," says Byakuya as he cradles his crying wife to his chest, letting her tears soak the front of his robes, "she needs some time alone to reflect and think. It is a duty for us to serve the Emperor and it would be my honour to die protecting my family and country. She will understand when she is older."
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Summer rain drenches her, soaking her to the bones as she finds herself kneeling at the ancestral shrine. The shrine is damp and dark; only marginally better as a shelter from the storm outside with a tiled roof over her head as lightning flashes and the wind howls. The incense that she lights and places in the incense holder does nothing to chase away the cold. The chill of the stone slabs bite into her knees through the thin cushion, while the dampness of her clothes seep into her, making her shiver; but perhaps that is nothing less of a punishment that a heartless child like her deserves.
Rows upon rows of polished stone tablets stare back at her. They bear the names of her ancestors, the weight of the family name as generations of Kuchiki pride stare her down to chide at her in eerie silence.
Who is she to question the decisions of her elders? What right does she have to intrude upon their eternal rest and seek their company in this stormy night?
A puddle grows on the floor as water drips from her wet hair and damp clothes. Candle flames flicker in the wind, the smell of incense burning as her reflection stares back at her with unruly black hair, thin lips, eyes so wide and big that they seem to dominate her heart-shaped face.
She is a dead ringer for her mother, Lady Hisana who is lauded by many as a daughter most pious and gentle, accomplished in the fine arts and bringing her family much joy and honour with the match she made with the handsome General Kuchiki. But that is where the similarities end. Unlike her mother, Rukia knows she is not a good daughter, nor will she ever be the perfect lady of the household- demure and quiet.
Rukia has too much of the Kuchiki fire in her. Kuchiki fire burns brilliant in blue; its quiet fury tempers the steel in their hands, making it gleam with purpose as they stand tall and impervious to danger. She is her father's daughter- a soldier's daughter through and through; her fingers callused from the grip of a sword, mind sharpened from the scrolls her father keeps in the library. Her needlework is crooked at best and she struggles at the best of times at holding her tongue. Her thoughts in particular run deep and treacherous. The Emperor would have her executed, she was sure if he knew what she thought of his Mandate and of the forced conscription of a man from every household to serve at the frontlines of the battle.
With that her mind is made.
"My name is Kuchiki Rukia. Honourable Ancestors—" her teeth chatter from the cold as she bows and kowtows – "scorn me if you must but this is something that I must do. Watch over my father and my family."
She makes her move as the candle in her parent's room is put out. With stealthy footsteps and years of practice, she slips into her father's study unnoticed, easily finding the conscription notice and letter of appointment. She pockets it, hiding it in the folds of her robes as she steals away to the armoury. The suit of armour that greets her as she pushes the cabinet open takes her breath away. The cord and plaque armour was bestowed upon her father by the Emperor and even now in the dead of the night, it glimmers faintly. Her father has kept it polished and well-maintained. Rukia's touch is reverent as she lifts off each piece and drapes it over her body, letting the heavy weight settle on her.
As she laces the last of her arm guard into place, she grabs her father's sword, placing it in her scabbard and runs towards the direction of the stables. The light footsteps of the servants hovering just a little further away in the kitchens makes her hurry her pace as she saddles the horse, trying not to make a sound as she mounts it.
She doesn't have much time to lose.
In the dead of the night, Kuchiki Rukia makes her escape and offers a silent thanks to the ancestors that the guards at the door are fast asleep by the time she rides past them. They don't stir even as horse hooves thunder across the stone pavements, trampling damp earth as they take the beaten path towards the encampment. She prays that her father will not punish them too harshly.
The eunuch left her father with a map. Wu Shu Camp is five days' ride away even on horseback but if she hurries, Rukia thinks she can make it in three. She grits her teeth hard, hands held so tightly at the leather reins that it cuts into her palms as she urges her horse into a faster gallop.
Good daughters are calm and obedient. They do not wield swords better than they know how to hold a needle. Their manners are poised, graceful; their faces schooled to reflect nothing but serenity as their voices tinkle soft and breathless. They do not speak unless spoken to and they certainly do not steal away from their home in the dead of the night armed with nothing more than a purse laden with coins, food provisions enough to see them until the next town over, stolen armour, a sword strapped to their back, their father's conscription notice and his letter of appointment bearing the Emperor's Imperial Seal hot and burning against their chest as they urge their horse to go faster, eager to put some distance between themself and their ancestral home before the dawn of the next morning.
Good daughters will let their fathers die on the battlefield, nothing more than an unmarked grave somewhere in the Northern wilderness, for the sake of the Emperor and his country.
She cannot let that happen.
Her father has done enough for this land. Retired General Kuchiki Byakuya has served his Emperor and country well, given up the use of his sword arm, traded his youth for old wounds and battle scars that torment him at the pass of every winter; nightmares and frantic screams about the names of his dead comrades that bounce and echo through the hallways of their manor every night without fail. Her mother, bless her gentleness and kind heart, can only do so much to ease his suffering.
The war broke her father and robbed him of his arm, his mark as a warrior and expert swordsman. Rukia will not let it take any more from him. Enough, she thinks; for she knows, the next thing that War will take swiftly and without question, will be his life. Should he leave at the Emperor's behest, her father will never come back to them again.
So, it is her turn now. She will serve the Emperor in his stead and bring honour to them all.
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It is always the same dream that he finds himself in. Everywhere he turns, smokes from the growing fire choke at him, making his eyes stream and water as the scent of blood clings to the air. He hears the screams of his men around him as they fall to their knees, powerless to save even the weakest of his infantrymen as their broken bodies laid trampled under the hooves of warhorses, spraying warm blood where their bodies drop.
He is there, sword in hand, blissfully whole as he scans his surroundings for his enemies. Shrouded in the smoky battleground, broken bodies littered before his feet, Byakuya may as well be blind but the sword in his hand does not waver.
His will is strong and he is determined to go home, to go back to his Hisana and their daughter.
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"Clang!"
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A blade materializes to his right and Byakuya's reaction is instinctive. Steel clashes against steel. He is pushed back, forced to go to the defensive stance as his attacker steps into the light.
The grip on his sword tightens. The barbarian that he faces off against is moustached, long-haired and unkempt, wearing what is at best leather-rawhide armour, strewn with gore and the blood of his enemies. His dark eyes seem to gleam with bloodlust and the sneer on his face unnecessarily cruel. The sword in his hand is broad and undoubtedly heavy yet he seems to swing it with ease as he raises the blade towards Byakuya in provocation.
Byakuya's guard is up as he paces, narrowing his eyes at his opponent. He is facing off against Yhwach- the leader of these barbarians. The Emperor will want to see the man's head served on a platter for the death and destruction he and his clan has wrought on the neighbouring villages and towns by the border.
"You will answer for your crimes, Yhwach—" Byakuya raises his sword, readying his stance as he makes his move, "the Emperor—"
His words trail off as his eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Yhwach right before his eyes, wine-red eyes gleaming with cunningness and malice. His sword is already drawn and red blood drips off it in rivulets, staining the grass beneath their feet.
"The Emperor," taunts Yhwach, "can come and end me himself. He should not send his goons out to do his dirty work."
There is a scream barely recognizable as his own as pain- white hot, blinding and all-consuming flourishes at his sword arm. Byakuya spares it a glance, only to realize that he is bleeding out, blood gushing out of him like a geyser as he cradles his injured arm to his chest, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. Blood pools at his feet from where his severed hand has fallen, his sword is still gripped tightly in it.
His world erupts in screams of horror as pain assaults him, the loud booming laughter of Yhwach ringing in his ears as the world fades to black.
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Byakuya bolts, waking up with a scream as he is drenched in cold sweat. Next to him, Hisana stirs almost immediately but he is already up and pacing, draping his outer robes over him and tying the sash hastily as he makes his way out of their bedroom. He cradles the stump of where his right hand used to sit close to his chest as he wanders down the hall. Guided by moonlight, he visits his study, the armoury and the stables in quick succession, leaving his wife trailing behind him in bewilderment, trying in vain to calm him down.
He realizes with abject horror that his worst fears have come true as he stares at the empty bed in his daughter's bedroom. The maids titter that they have not seen their young miss since dinner time when questioned by Hisana. The scrolls and books she has been reading the morning before are scattered on the table, but Byakuya knows.
Rukia is gone.
"Gone?"
Hisana is shaking, almost swaying on her feet before he leads her to Rukia's bed. The servants are dismissed and they both set themselves on the bed, suddenly weary and much older than they have ever felt.
"Where could she have gone?" she asks her husband, her voice hushed and muffled in the material of his robes as she clings to him, mind ragged with worry, "We must find her."
She gets up, leaning on her husband for support but her eyes have a determined set to them. She is a woman on a mission and she casts aside her own worry to focus on her daughter's whereabouts.
"She can't have gone far, Byakuya-sama. We must wake the guards. We—"
Byakuya stills her with a tight grip of his hand in hers. He laces their fingers together, pulling her towards him as he whispers back urgently, "You will do no such thing. We must not let anyone know that Rukia is missing. If anyone finds out that she has gone to serve in the Army in my place, the Emperor will have us all beheaded for treason."
"What should we do then?"
"Get a servant girl about Rukia's height in the morning. Dress her in Rukia's clothes but tell her nothing and prepare a carriage for her. Tell everyone else that the Young Miss has decided to go to the Xiantong Temple to pray for the Imperial Army's swift and crushing victory against the barbarians."
Hisana's nod is firm as she squeezes her husband's hand. Hot tears scald the side of her face but a tigress protects her cubs. Subterfuge- the idea of lying to anyone, much less the Emperor makes her nervous, but her resolve to protect her family has never burned stronger.
She presses a kiss to her husband's cheek as they walk back to their bedroom, hand in hand, as though they had just decided to go for a night time stroll. Only Byakuya would know the near desperate grip she has on his hand, the way her fingernails indent and dig into the meat of his palm, deep enough to make marks in.
Oh Rukia, what have you done?
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Author's note:
Happy birthday, Ari! This is a long, and terrible monster (perfect for you- I mean it in the nicest possible way) xD I hope you like it.