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The Snow Citadel And The Fire King	By : Snowway32 Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female > Ichigo/Rukia Views: 4682 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of the characters there within, it all belongs to Kubo Tite. This is purely written for my own pleasure, I make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-The Snow Citadel And The Fire King
- 2-Chapter 1: Disillusioned Shades Of Black
- 1
- 2
I apologize my honeys, that it took me so long to finish an update but I took some time off to decide what to work on next and I got drawn into continuing my favourite het piece. I know it's been a long time since the prologue's been posted but I got immersed in my other works. I love this piece dearly and hope to continue it as soon as possible, it's one of my favourites after all and means a lot to me.

I'm going to repost the warnings that you can expect of the story eventually, there are no specific warnings for this chapter though, since I'm still building my story. But please remember to heed my warnings. If you do not like them, please do not read.

The Snow Citadel And The Fire Kings contains: M/F lemons, Heavy Angst, Dark Themes, AU Setting (a different take on the creation of the Bleach Universe), Canon Divergence, Tragedy, Death, Reincarnation, Spoilers for the newer chapters of Bleach. Shinigami! Rukia, Quincy! Ichigo for now.

The set pairing is: Kurosaki Ichigo (黒崎一護) x Kuchiki Rukia (朽木ルキア)

That's all I can think of for now, I'm too tired to say too much. Please enjoy:

Chapter 1: Disillusioned Shades Of Black

Large and emotive violet eyes were gazing in awe at a towering ice structure that rose imposingly atop an unreachable mountaintop, half of its encompassing size having been shattered by an explosion of transcendent power that was still humming hauntingly through the air. The closer that small, bare, feet led its captivated audience forward, the more that Kuchiki Rukia realized this world was a magical echo of a long forgotten fairy tale her ailing sister had frequently whispered to her before she had died many years ago. It was believed that the Inner World of every Shinigami was a reflection of their soul, a place of prosperous growth and generous comfort. But this cold and distant plane, stretching into nothing but an empty white horizon, was stained with so much forlorn grief and eternal despair that the petite blackette felt like an intruder in the depths of her own soul. Her feet were treading fearfully upon soft snow that ought to remain undisturbed, her presence was defiling a memory that was meant to remain pure and she was unknowingly opening her heart to a melancholic anguish that should never have touched her in a single lifetime. There was definitely something frightening about this desolate and forgotten realm, it was far too tangible and dark to be any accurate reflection of the soft snow covered fields and icy lake where Sode No Shirayuki resided.

Even when an acute array of strained senses was completely captivated by the startlingly realistic moonlit fortress, Rukiacouldn't feel any of the howling wind's inherent cold penetrating her skin or hear the erratic beat of her own frightened heart. It was completely silent here. The air was stagnant without the flow of time and the frostiness in the atmosphere, misting her breaths in a miasma of soft white, was unfelt by bare feet that were treading upon jagged stairs into a shattered and ice encrusted foyer. The petite female's short, cropped black bangs were tickling playfully across pale cheeks, her every cautious step leading her deeper into the unknown as she remained distinctly aware that the eternal presence of her Zanpactō was no longer by her side and her small hundred-and-forty-four centimetre frame was draped in the silken folds of a deep purple sleeping yukata instead of her standard black shihakushō. There was no plausible explanation for how she had gotten here though, the imposing fortress seemed too lifelike to be dream. It was almost as if her soul had stepped into another dimension when she had laid down her head to rest that night. Soft snow was crunching whimsically beneath small feet, a powerful presence brushing curiously against the edges of her soul as her entire being became enveloped in the fleeting aroma of camellias, ice, silk, blood and utter despair.

Something instinctual was leading her forward though, guiding the petite Kuchiki through shadow riddled hallways and vast rooms where dipping eaves were iridescent white with bitter cold and dripping icicles were suspended high in the domes of vaulted ceilings. Remaining unaware of the true cold that should cut through the fabric of her sleeping yukata, Rukia's entire consciousness slowly but surely began enclosing itself in a haze of trepidation the moment that reality and illusion seemed to collide. For a long time violet eyes were merely observing the way that the air was misting in front of petal pink lips, the fading rays of a full moon highlighting her increasingly anxious exhales until curious orbs darted from side to side when unsteady feet came to a decisive and frightened halt several minutes later. Located deep in the centre of the palace, large emotive eyes were struggling to make out details of the room she had been led towards as a white throne, sculpted from snow, rose imposingly atop a raised dais where a large hole in the ceiling spilled haunting silvery light over a shadowed figure. Occupying the seat of power with regal prowess, Rukia found it strange that the figure did not stir at her presence. He was completely encased inside a thick and impenetrable wall of ice, the jagged edges rising imposingly towards the heavens as several shudders of unknown desire raced down a straightened spine.

All that the Shinigami could see was a vast array of black hair, a heavy mass of it, probably reaching down to the captive's thighs, coloured white with soft snowflakes on top as it remained frozen in an eternal splay of midnight strands that tumbled in sensual waves around a tall, stately frame. For the first time since Rukia had awakened here, she felt an echoing beat of her heart coming to life within her chest. It was thudding loudly in her ears, a long forgotten name, one she felt herself whispering even as her soul blocked her ears from hearing it, falling silently from luscious lips as curious footsteps were carelessly resumed across a field of frosted white camellias. There was a large, near-black, stain present in the centre of a perfect white snow sphere. The short black haired Kuchiki instinctively aware of the deep and painful sorrow that was attached to it as she stepped around the frozen blood and felt her newly awakened heart picking up an increasing rhythm of both anticipation and inexplicable fear. She wanted to be closer, wanted to discern the noble King that was siting upon his throne of white with fine robes of black and gold silk spread in evocative folds around his lithe frame. Where Rukia knew she would be close enough to open those closed eyes and hope they were shuttered in peaceful slumber instead of the everlasting death she feared.

His defined features were truly beautiful though, she thought to herself privately. Assured and curious footsteps completely silent upon soft snow as Rukia made it onto the raised dais with a graceful leap of shunpo and a slow breath of unease spilled coldly from parted lips. Long curling black lashes were brushing across the King's pale cheeks. Full lips, set in a stoic expression of tranquillity instead of pain, accentuated a strong jaw and ragged chin length black bangs that were coloured with the tinniest sliver of vibrant orange strands as it fell hauntingly between perpetually furrowed brows and feathered artfully across a straight nose. He was indeed the perfect embodiment of a Black Sun, she noted…captured eternally in an image of utter command and gentle peace.

Nothing seemed to be able to disturb him…

And nothing should disturb him either, Rukia disciplined herself harshly. Even when she yearned to touch his cheek, to trace his lips with the tips of her fingers, surround herself in the curtain of black hair and envelope herself in the overwhelming power that she could now sense coming to life beneath flawlessly tanned skin. Nothing mattered in those moments but her strange and distant musings, the adopted noble resting her palm upon the thick wall of transparent ice that separated them to bring herself as close as possible to his presence. A startled cry soon spiralled from petal pink lips though, the resounding crack of a deep fissure forming in the frozen prison, echoing through the air as the blackette reeled internally when a foreign and steady grip suddenly curled delicate white nailed fingers around her wrist. Pulling her hand away in reprimand for the uninvited touch, startled violet eyes glanced fearfully over a purple clad shoulder to collide unexpectedly with unfelt presence materializing into existence right behind her. Haunting pure white lashes were fluttering open to display sorrow-torn purple orbs, snow white hair…cut in the exact same style as her own…falling forward to tickle across what seemed like blood-stained cheeks as Rukia couldn't keep back the shiver of intense fear that raced down her spine and forced a frown of confusion to cross black brows.

Looming threateningly behind her, was a mirror image of herself. The white haired being even possessed the exact same hue of violet eyes and delicate features that she, Kuchiki Rukia, did. The only difference that she could spot was the colour of their hair and her doppelganger's slightly taller frame. But that, she suspected, was aided by the extra height that white okobo geta (1*) provided. A half broken crown of intricate, spiked, ice was also settled around the back of the ethereal being's head. Her previous petal pink lips, now coloured a crimson red from icy breaths and the drops of her falling tears, were parting for a quiet whisper as the Moon Maiden rested the tip of her ice blade on the fissure to reseal the Fire King's presence. Pure white ribbons were flowing in large loops behind gossamer white robes, a perfectly tied silver and purple obi dragging several meters of refined silk behind her on the floor as Rukia drew her wrist back in fright when deadly ice started to form across her skin where a pale palm was clasped. The quiet hiss of pain that spilled from luscious lips, halted her questions further as Rukia realized the blood that was dragging so mournfully down her doppelganger's cheeks were tears of unbearable sorrow and soul deep anguish.

Emotions that were so overwhelming with intensity that they were beginning to spill over into her own soul without restraint.

The pain, the sorrow, the regret, the helplessness, the grief, the eternal love…an overwhelming flood of despairing sensations were flowing into the depths of the black haired Shinigami's heart as she cursed her apparent weakness when a painful burn of synced emotions gathered crystalline tears in the corner of long, curling black lashes. The large pool of blood that was present in that circle of pure white snow… She understood now. It belonged to him. The Black Sun. A single revelation that was shattering the world beneath small feet as it became too much for a fractured mind to comprehend. To know that Sode No Shirayuki had—. The lost part of her soul, Rukia mourned. The part of her that she had always known was missing from inside her, he was sitting upon that isolated throne. But Rukia could not reach out to him! Why did it hurt so much, damn it?! A heavy cotton of despair was dulling the range of her hearing, her heart racing a painful tattoo against her chest until surprisingly reassuring arms wrapped tightly around her waist and caught her before she could fall to the floor in an undignified heap. Tenderly pulling her against a feminine chest so that the sweet scent of vanilla, freshly fallen snow, white camellias and cool moonlight could surround her soothingly; a quiet hum of a beautiful voice soon echoed calmingly through the air.

'What are you doing here, my sweet little Moon? It is much too early for you to tread the path of our sorrowful past lives.' The white haired maiden spoke quietly, her voice laden with several millennia of anguished sorrow as a vast circle of gentle snow began spreading beneath their feet when she drove the tip of her white blade into the ground behind the blackette's back. The tinkling sound of a silver bell was dancing lazily through the air, the transcendent doppelganger's slow and gentle movements bringing white nailed fingertips upwards to brush against the first disgraceful tear that was dragging sorrowfully down winter flushed cheeks. Cold and bloodied lips were also whispering a soft prayer against the shell of a dainty ear, the Moon Maiden's mere touch freezing a mournful tear in place as her power worked expertly to calm the overwhelming flood of emotion that were prompting several helplessness sobs to echo from her twin's parted lips. Allowing gentle fingertips to tip a lowered chin upwards, stoic violet eyes opened more fully so that the white haired maiden could discern the emotions that was present in her younger counterpart's mirroring orbs. 'Please, little one, you need to return. This place is not for you to transverse so freely. My sorrow is not yet your burden to bear and neither is it time for you to know of the Fire King's existence.'

Drawing an unusual amount of comfort from the sound of a lilting voice, Rukia whimpered softly when her shoulders shook with supressed emotion and her forehead came to rest against a white clad shoulder in search of comfort all on its own. The painful despair that had overpowered her soul mere moments before, mercifully retracted its icy claws from her heart as a consoling kiss whispered soothingly across the top of her head and she was finally gifted the strength to voice the startling array of questions that were forming on the tip of her tongue. 'W-who are you?' Rukia asked quietly, lifting her head boldly so that she could gaze defiantly into purple hued orbs that were lidded down in frosty detachment. 'W-what am I? And h-he…who is the Black Sun? I-I know his n-name—.' Silencing the black haired Shinigami with a quiet hushing sound, tear stained violet eyes shuttered with fear when Rukia felt her strict self-control slipping away from her and her voice silenced itself externally.

The white haired maiden was slowly drawing away her comforting embrace, leaving her black haired twin standing on a raised dais as she gracefully made her way towards the vast encompassing circle of her flower garden. Bending down to cup a single white camellia in the palm of her hands, it instantly frosted with a layer of snow and ice as iridescent icicles preserved several layers of interlocking petals from withering away. A shimmering array of moonlight was bathing tiny threads pearl white, creating a dancing display before she turned around with a quiet sigh. 'I have been called many things over the millennia, little Tsuki-Tennyo (2*). Foremost, I am the Fire King's White Moon and the Three World's Moon Maiden. I am the bringer of life, fertility and the harvest. You are me, Kuchiki Rukia, and I am you. We were born of the same existence. As for the Black Sun, yes, you know his name, in the deepest depths of your soul. However, until both of your souls touch once…only then will you be able to call it out loud. For now, our Beloved is merely a sleeping King awaiting the chance to awaken his true power and purpose in this lifetime.' To silence the vast array of questions that she could see coming, the white haired maiden rested a single fingertip boldly across her own lips.

Steady footsteps were echoing a steady rhythm upon ice and snow covered floors, heavy white okobo geta creating graceful and light steps as haunted violet eyes turned sorrowfully towards the fading moonlight that was streaming in from the dark night sky above. 'This time however, it seems that my blade was strong enough to shatter our cruel fate. Do not waste the fortune that fate has granted us.' A frown of confusion was furrowing pitch black brows, Rukia unable to understand the implications of those words as the steady rhythm of delicate footsteps came to a halt mere inches in front of her. 'You are strong already, Tsuki-Tennyo, to wander upon this plane without learning Sode No Shirayuki's true name first.' Quietly alarmed when she felt no need to create any distance between their far too close proximity, the black haired Shinigami shivered softly when her body leaned forward instinctively as white nailed fingertips brushed messy bangs behind her left ear before grasping hold of the thick black lock that tumbled evocatively between violet eyes. A shiver of unexpected pleasure was tickling across pale skin, a white ice flower settled protectively against the left side of her head as it seeped an attractive layer of snow right on top of the black halo of hair that Rukia possessed.

'It is not time yet, little Moon. The true name of your Zanpactō shall be whispered to you when the depths of your power makes itself known. Only when you are ready to understand the purpose of the White Moon and Black Sun's dual incarnation this time, shall we meet again. Until then, this flower shall protect you whenever you call upon the power of your blade. It's unlikely that you will remember this when you wake but the sorrow of our encounter is going to linger in your heart until our Black Sun can ease it away. May the snow protect you in his stead though, my little Moon, and may the lunar rays shine eternally through your skin to call his burning fire to you…'

'He is waiting, Kuchiki Rukia. Just like you…' Hazed violet eyes did not miss the subtle yearning gaze that her white haired doppelganger cast in the direction of the black haired King. Bloodied lips were parting for a slow breath of control before they whispered comfortingly against the centre of Rukia's forehead several seconds later. 'Awaken. The winter nights are still far too heavy with sorrow. A maiden's heart is always most pessimistic during the eventide's passing hours. Find your comfort in the rays of the coming sun and fear not the enveloping touch of frosted cold.' Before a single word could leave parted lips, the petite Kuchiki's entire consciousness was abruptly thrust into an unknown and frightening oblivion that stole her very breath from her lungs. A sorrowful cry of an unknown name was once more echoing through the air, the image of their mirrored parting searing itself in the back of her eyelids where her doppelganger's fine silk robes were spreading on the floor behind her in meters and meters of white folds as she knelt mournfully in front of her Black Sun in eternal prayer.

'Awaken, Kuchiki Rukia.' Her past-self called commandingly. 'The dawn shall rise from out the darkest of shadows…'

...

A startled gasp of awakening fear was instantly tugged into harshly resisting lungs, Rukia's entire being enveloped in a painful sensation of loss as her mind struggled to comprehend the flow of reality around her. Even whilst valiantly trying to contain the coming sobs that were building rapidly in her throat, her heart was racing an erratic rhythm of restlessness against her chest as an icy cold touch of pure dread flooded her veins without restraint. Shit! She cursed internally. Her careful and strict control was failing her spectacularly, a quiet and despaired cry shattering the heavy night air as hazed purple eyes clenched shut with deep emotional strain and delicate hands came upwards to cover her eyes and shield her external shame from sight. Dazed senses were barely able to make out the Kuchiki Family Mansion around her, the large residence bathed in the heavy darkness of a midwinter night as the moonless skies dimmed the early morning hours to such an extent that her traditional room was near pitch black with heavy reiatsu. There were only a few flickers of stars that remained bright enough to see by, the scent of a burning oil candle rising hauntingly through the air as it became a testament to her snow-based reiatsu that had extinguished the flickering light mere moments after it had exploded from her skin with intense upheaval.

'Damn it!' She called despairingly, her mind unable to grasp onto how she had woken from a distressing nightmare without her soul able to recall a single image of her despair except for the mournful words: "The dawn shall rise from out the darkest of shadows…". They were still echoing forebodingly in her ears, subtly increasing the distress that was engulfing her whole as the blackette eventually forced herself to stand from an icy cold futon with dazed and uncertain movements. Warm covers were haphazardly tangling around her legs, her skin shivering from the frosty air as her breaths misted distressingly in front of blue-tinged lips. The moment that she stumbled through a complex labyrinth of hallways and headed towards the bathroom with set determination, Rukia could only hope that her restlessness had not stirred the Head of the House from his peaceful slumber. The adopted Kuchiki was unsure if she would ever be able to look her beloved Nii-sama in the eye if that were the case. This had been happening quite frequently as of late,she recalled. Far too often for it to be the normal night terrors that had plagued her for most of her life. But Rukia could not allow it to affect her brother's work, nor her own for that matter…there was too much weighing on both their shoulders to allow such insignificant matters to come between them and unbalance the control of the Kuchiki family.

It had taken fifty human years for Byakuya-Niisama to acknowledge her formidable powers as a Shinigami, another ten just to allow her to be promoted to the Fukutaichō seat of the 13th Division after it had been empty for several years and another painstaking five just to persuade the 28th Clan Head to temporarily call off the formal tea ceremonies that were arranged for her potential marriage suitors. None of which had been an easy task for the black haired Shinigami to accomplish. Her brother had changed so much after her sister's death that it was hard for Rukia to find the same amount of affection and warmth that he had possessed when Hisana had still been alive. The years were simply empty and forlorn without the Lady of the House's presence enlivening the mansion walls. And now that Rukia was expected to fulfil some of her older sister's duties in the family, like bringing honour and respect into the clan through marriage, she had been thrust into a difficult situation that she'd rather not have to deal with at all. There was already too much darkness shrouding her existence. The events that had happened with Shiba Kaien several years ago was still a stain upon her past, a hated and helpless memory that she could never forget as she hastily pushed those thoughts away from her mind before her greatest sin had a chance to consume her already weakened state of mind with prolonged suffering.

Curling delicate fingers into trembling fists by her side, Rukia's footsteps remained mercifully quiet upon a vast expanse of wooden floors as she crossed the threshold into a dimly lit bathroom to splash a sudden shock of icy water on her face. Her stomach was violently rebelling the dinner she had eaten the night before, forcing her to grip the edges of a vanity cabinet for balance as she struggled desperately to block the bloodied images of that night that flashed mournfully behind partially close eyes. An unbearable wave of guilt was rising up deep within her, making her wonder if she could ever forget the tragedy and wash away the dark sin that stained her hands. Maybe then the Kuchiki Rukia she despised looking at in the mirror could find a little happiness for herself. But that, she knew, was merely a childish whimsy. A smile rarely touched her lips these days, her heart was locked away by so many impenetrable walls that not even her closest friend could get her to talk much or share her burdens. Poor Renji, she thought regretfully. He always worried about her and he deserved the truth some time or the other. Sometimes Rukia truly felt like she didn't deserve the life she had been given, a large part of her heart was missing from inside her and her soul was weighed down most of the time by an unknown melancholy that was deeper than the ocean depths and vaster than the encompassing skies.

It was not something that she understood at all, even when she had been affected by it her entire life. But it didn't matter in those moments, she scolded herself harshly. She had to compose herself before dawn had a chance to break over the horizon. The night sky was already lightening outside a small window, the dim light of the stars casting a haunting glow over a traditional onsen outside as she contemplated slipping out of her yukata and taking a bath instead of just washing away the evidence of her sorrow with cold water. A low cloud of steam and white fog was rolling invitingly off of the watery surface, the private garden buried under a blanket of white snow as the sound of a shoji door opening announced her unusual decision. The air was freezing outside, providing little enthusiasm for the youngest Kuchiki's plan as she valiantly urged bare feet to transverse stone walkways after she had made a respectful visit to the shower room. The haunting touch of scolding water served well to snap her thoughts out of a heady daze as the folds of a white modesty towel, just brushing the tops of her thighs, conformed vivaciously to sensual and feminine curves. Completely immersing herself in naturally heated water after several minutes of washing away her dark thoughts in the shower, Rukia tipped her head back against the edge of the onsen as she closed her eyes and waited patiently for reality to drift away.

Warm water was lapping playfully against pale skin, cocooning her consciousness in the inviting scent of vanilla, silk, ice, spearmint and a hint of white camellias as the humidity from the steam caused cropped black locks to curl slightly around her heart-shaped face and stick wet strands to partially flushed cheeks. A generous peak of cleavage from surprisingly full breasts, which she preferred to bind and hide beneath the folds of her shihakushō, were visible over the edge of a fluffy towel as a gust of wintery wind sculpted a strange sensation of colliding hot and cold that felt both nostalgic and invigorating to her senses. Out here beneath the rays of the moonless night, where her own skin had begun to shimmer like the pale moon, Rukia was freed from her burdens for a moment even when she had to remind herself that there was no time to wallow in self-pity. She had a division to run in the morning, Bankai training to endure with her Nii-sama and a mission in the Human World that she had conveniently forgotten about. When the sun rose over Seireitei in what she was sure was only a few minutes, Rukia's mask of perfect conduct and control over her emotions would not be allowed to crack. The Kuchiki family would not be shamed by her actions, she thought determinedly. She owed Byakuya-nii at least that much gratitude in consideration for all the laws and regulations he had broken to adopt her into the prestigious family as his Imouto.

'Fear not, for the Black Sun shall rise… Come, White Moon…let our malicious and cruel fate be wilfully denied…' A hauntingly beautiful voice was flowing effortlessly from lush petal pink lips, the tip of a slick tongue darting wetly across a plush surface as violet eyes fluttered open half-mast and stared wistfully at the dense mass of snow clouds that were converging to life on the distant horizon. A storm was coming to Seireitei, absent fingertips skimming the top of a watery surface in thought as steam curled playfully around delicate palms and whispered a warm promise against highly sensitized skin. Sending a strange tingle of anticipation racing down a sensually curved spine, Rukia puffed out her cheeks childishly to regain some control over the strange and instinctual sensations that were plaguing her as she shuddered at the beautiful tenor that she could have sworn had whispered the words her own voice had just echoed unconsciously. It was almost as if they had been spoken during a different lifetime, coming to her from a sealed place in her soul that her thoughts were not allowed to access…even when she treasured them more than anything. Instinctively snapping her head in the direction of stealthy footsteps, the black haired Kuchiki flinched internally when a familiar yukata clad form walked into the range of her vision and the intensity of a harsh grey-eyed glare froze her in place.

'Rukia?' A regal baritone whispered with a lilt of disbelief, the previous harshness melting away from the Kuchiki Head's stoic expression as Rukia instinctively pulled her modesty towel upwards to conceal the shameful state of her dress and avert her eyes before her brother could witness the dark flush colouring her nose. 'What are you doing out here? The sun hasn't risen yet and you are reciting poetry in the bath? Are you alright?' Blinking owlishly at the clear concern that she could discern in the depths of his voice, slightly curled black locks were falling forward to conceal emotive violet eyes from sight as Rukia became intensely aware of the inappropriate situation that she was currently in. Bowing forward respectfully and stuttering a quick apology, the dark haired Shinigami feared she had upset the Lord of the House until Byakuya folded his hands in the sleeves of his dark blue yukata and stared up at the vast blanket of stars she too had been observing earlier. Under the cover of darkness, Rukia could barely see the emotions that were weighing down her Nii-sama's shoulders as a mournful glint flickered briefly in the depths of his gaze. His self-control was so much more refined than hers, displaying a Shinigami-Taichō that had the intense pride and rightful arrogance of his noble birth even when there was a gentler side to his soul that was concealed beneath layers of loneliness and hundreds of years projecting the fitting image of a Kuchiki.

'Nii-sama! What are you doing here? I-I'm in the bath! You can't just…it's inappropriate! What will the servants think…?' Trailing off uncertainly, Rukia didn't want to interrupt whatever thoughts were swirling so apathetically behind harsh grey eyes as black waist-length locks winnowed softly in the wintery wind and the Rokubantai-Taichō turned to the side to give his sister some privacy whilst she pulled herself from the water and wrapped her body, wet-towel-and-all, in a nearby yukata. 'Do you think you are the only one who hears ghosts in these walls, Imouto? I often wander into this garden when I cannot find my peace at night, memories are both bitter and sweet under the cover of darkness. That, however, does not explain why you are out of bed when you have an important mission tomorrow or who the Black Sun is that you are pining after?' Chocking back a cry of mortified disbelief, Rukia was suddenly overwhelmed with a recollection that slammed into the centre of her forehead with the accompaniment of a painful migraine. Through a haze of white and the word tilting on its axis around her, she could see a vast array of thigh-length orange hair spilling hauntingly around handsome features as a tall frame bowed over her protectively and intense chocolate brown eyes, which she somehow knew could flicker carmine red with sheer power, seared loving promises and an all-encompassing affection into her soul for all eternity.

'Saisho no Reiou…' The whisper went thankfully unheard by her audience, the strange daze eventually lifting from her mind with a sigh of relief when the petite blackette felt warm fingertips curl around her upper arm for balance and Byakuya dutifully kept her from tumbling back into the onsen by mistake. 'Rukia?' This time her brother's voice was more insistent and harsh with concern, cutting through the air like a powerful Zanpactō as violet eyes remained stubbornly fixed on the horizon where a powerful explosion of orange and fiery red began to push through dispersing clouds and chase away the lingering sorrow of the night with the coming dawn. 'The dawn shall rise from out the darkest of shadows…' She remembered. Offering her brother an apologetic smile, Rukia barely even noticed that the winter air was causing several shivers to chase across her skin as she stumbled forward with several unsteady steps and managed to find a precarious balance despite the onslaught of dizziness that was swirling dangerously into the edges of her vision.

'I'm sorry, Byakuya-Niisama, I think I stayed in the bath for too long…I'm a little dizzy.' Rukia lied smoothly, trying her best to make her words convincing as she bowed forward respectfully and began to rush towards the shoji doors without looking back. 'Please don't worry, I'll be fine after I lay down for a bit. I'll be leaving for the Human World at midday, I'll come say my goodbyes then and—.' Interrupted by an exasperated call of her name, violet eyes glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a pained expression of concern tugging the Kuchiki noble's lips downward ever so slightly as intense eyes stared right through her lies without even trying.

'Whatever it is that is bothering you, Imouto; make your peace with it. The Kuchiki clan is one of the four noble houses. Remember that we must set the standard for all Shinigami. From you, I know to expect only the best. Wear the gift I bestowed on you several days ago, Rukia, so that my pride may shine brightly in a world where it is needed the most.' Despite the cold harshness and dismissal of his words, only someone who had been with her brother for as long as she had could truly read the emotions that the famed emotionless and ruthless Sixth Division Captain was trying to convey through strict formality. Byakuya wouldn't have said anything if he didn't mean to encourage her in some way, even when it came out more detached and rude than anything. But Rukia understood, nodding quietly as a rarely seen smile curled across the plush surface of petal pink lips.

'Hai, Nii-sama…I shall make you proud.' And she meant every word, knowing intimately that she was already considered her brother's pride even when he had deliberately prevented her from rising through the Division ranks like her true power should have allowed.

He was startlingly overprotective, regardless of her being strong enough to survive with only Sode No Shirayuki clasped in her hands.

Large, fat, drops of sleet were slamming harshly against the surface of a closed classroom window, an intense pair of chocolate brown eyes gazing absentmindedly at the heavy winter storm that had descended upon Karakura Town late that Friday afternoon as the wind bent treetops towards the ground and the vast skies were illuminated every so often with flashes of intense blue lightning. The very ground was rumbling threateningly with claps of thunder, thankfully drowning out a monotonous voice that was continuing a lecture in the distance of classroom 3-1 Kurosaki Ichigo had no interest in listening to whatsoever. A lazy haze of unusual detachment had settled itself around his limbs like a surprisingly warm blanket, dark eyes lidded thoughtfully behind pale eyelids as time flowed into an indiscernible stretch that was impossible to measure. For the seventeen-year-old student, it was a considerably small blessing as elegant fingertips danced across the surface of a well-worn literature textbook with a musical melody that had been forming inside his mind ever since he had been awoken by the voice early that morning. Even though Ichigo didn't like to talk about the voice because he knew acknowledging a psychotic tendency made him more insane than he already felt, there were times that he couldn't deny that his life had been saved by a bloodthirsty tenor that liked to yell insults at him or called him 'King' for no apparent reason.

The voice had no name, even though it had tried to tell Ichigo the importance of its existence since he had been six years old and he had formed his first Quincy bow under his mother's gentle guidance. 'Fuckin' Quincy!' It had yelled with pure outrage, stunning the six-year-old with the use of its horrific language as the small orangette had been forced to clutch his head to stop the world from spinning in dizzying circles around him before he passed out as a result of the excruciating pain that had been forced across his forehead. 'It just had to be that filthy power that woke first! Che, I can protect you better, King! You should just die quietly so that I can take over…' That certainly was a day Ichigo would never forget, being told to 'die' by a mean voice so nonchalantly when he was still a little kid and unable to understand what was going on around him? He had been understandably hysterical for weeks afterwards, not even his beloved Kaa-chan had been able to appease his fear with the heroic tales of his father that she always told when his distress became too much. Luckily however, his strange 'alternate' personality only seemed to surface whenever there was immense danger or he ventured one step too close to death. It was a great way to remind Ichigo to be mindful of recklessly battling Hollows and fighting his way to an early grave, he really didn't want to find out what would happen if whatever resided in his soul got hold of him after death.

Sadly, it didn't always work. There were many times where the seventeen-year-old had come too close to death. He seemed to grow stronger the closer he was pushed to the afterlife in battle, even when he himself was unaware of the intense crimson hue that was reflected in his eyes or the ruthless carnage he would leave behind in his devastating wake when the need to protect his family was ignited. His cousin always warned him that he should learn to control himself better, his Quincy powers were more destructive than most and he didn't always know how to keep them dutifully sealed away. But Uryuu was full of it in Ichigo's opinion, the Student Council President really needed to learn how to rely on his instincts more instead of trusting the harsh conduct his grandfather and father had instilled within him. It was hard to believe that he was distantly related to the Ishida family, the Kurosaki's were much more laid back and unaffected by the 'last of the Quincy Race' crap. Though, Ichigo's mother truly was the last of her pureblood clan despite her always having walked her own path in life. Bearing three children with a man who was considered a taboo for her to marry, was a testament to the fact that Kurosaki Masaki's rebellious and strong willed nature was not always hidden beneath the true and gentle warmth of her personality that seemed to attract people towards her like the sun.

Shiba Isshin, his father though, was considered a distant and sorrowful enigma in Ichigo's mind. He had left behind only brief memories for the firstborn Kurosaki to recall him by because the spiky black haired and fun-loving Tou-chan the orangette he had loved more than anything when he was young, had been murdered before his very eyes at only four years old. Digging blunt fingernails into a trembling palm to hopefully contain the flash of intense regret that swirled viciously in the depths of haunting chocolate brown eyes, a shaky breath was expelled uncertainly from pale lips as the orange haired teen tipped his head forward under a newly gained weight so that messy and vibrantly coloured strands could throw dark orbs in deep shadow and dutifully conceal his mournful gaze from sight. Constructing a barrier to protect him from the rest of the world, the perpetual furrow between tangerine brows deepened considerably as Ichigo tried very hard not to alert the rest of the class to the dark turn that his thoughts had taken. Growing up in a family of spiritually aware people had not been easy, especially when normal humans could not see spirits, Hollows and Shinigami like Ichigo could. The orangette was the first to admit that he had not always been careful when conversing with the dead. It should have landed him in a mental asylum had his uncle not owned the Karakura Central Hospital and protected the Kurosaki family as best as he could.

Not that it mattered in the end, the orange haired teen was still stuck with a voice in his head that had been speaking to him in riddles and prophecies since the night before. What the hell was he supposed to do about an approaching storm, an old man marked by death and an unsealed King awakening his power? He was just a teenager, damn it! It was true that his mother praised him for his strength, his cousin was afraid of his power and the Shinigami that monitored Karakura ran away whenever one of his Heilig Pfeil (3*) pierced the night without them looking for the source. But that didn't mean that he could conveniently understand what the rest of the world seemed to expect of him. Why did he have to be the one to get involved with fate's messes in the first place—? Silencing his swirling thoughts abruptly when a flash materialized in the corner of his right eye, an impressive display of reflexes shot his hand out in front of him and captured a hurtled projectile in his left palm. Narrowing his eyes at the teacher that was standing in front of blackboard with her hands on her hips, the orange haired teen reached his forefinger and thumb upwards to pinch the bridge of his nose in the hopes of staving off a building headache before he nonchalantly turned his attention back towards the ragging storm outside.

He was not in the mood to play nice with the instructors, his mind was caught up in other things that no normal third-year high school student should have to worry about in the first place.

'Kurosaki Ichigo! If our prestigious flute prodigy would mind gracing us with his presence for one minute, he'd notice that class was dismissed, Baka! Just how long are you going to stare out the window in a daze?!' Blinking absently at those words, Ichigo lazily twirled a piece of chalk between his fingertips as he ignored several pairs of eyes that were trained on his back with mocking laughter. Sure enough, several students were already packing up their textbooks as the distant chimes of the final bell belatedly reached the orangette's ears and he was momentarily too stunned to register the flow of time. Despite the embarrassed tint that was colouring his cheeks, Ichigo couldn't help but wonder why his modern literature teacher always threw him with pieces of chalk…not to mention the insults that accompanied them. Eventually sealing away his momentary lapse in judgement behind a stoic scowl of irritation, chocolate brown eyes swept across the class apathetically one last time before he packed away his belonging into a blue and white book bag. He could have sworn he felt Tatsuki's gaze of concern searing into his back all the way from across the classroom, only it was becoming too difficult for him to focus on much of anything. His mind was instinctively drawn towards the black pit inside his soul where he resided…the bastard voice that sounded like an insane Hollow cackling with pleasure whenever Ichigo edged closer to his own demise.

'I'm right behind ya, King…' It purred with a cackle, forcing Ichigo to press a palm to his forehead to contain the splitting migraine that was encompassing his thoughts. 'How long're ya goin' te sleep? It's time te wake!' Throwing a grey and red school blazer over his shoulders to guard against the inherent winter cold that was outside the classroom, elegant fingertips tugged a beautifully patterned turquoise scarf around his neck as Ichigo tried to ignore the uncertain tremor that was present in his hands and the sound of pleasured laugher that was echoing deafeningly in his ears. It was almost too much, stealing the last of his concentration as he remained unaware of the reprimanding glare that followed his every move when he followed the rest of class into the hallways with a steady pace. The approaching weekend always seemed to enliven the students, hastening their path to the exit even when the orange haired seventeen-year-old couldn't find it in himself to care. He was heading towards the privacy of the music room where no sane being would retreat when they could escape the hellish prison that was called high school. It was a tradition on Fridays that Ichigo always upheld though, making use of the one room where he could happily immerse himself in his music without having to worry about several clubs begging him to join their cause or the formality of the town orchestra that often invited him to play whenever they used the auditorium.

To be marked as a prodigy with the flute was kind of embarrassing when it was considered such a feminine instrument, regardless of it being the only musical instrument that Ichigo had felt naturally aligned to when his Okaa-san had took him to a music store several years ago and told him it was time to immerse himself in a gentler cultural activity that did not involve budō practices. It was not Ichigo's fault that he was the target of street gangs because of the colour of his hair, damn it! Nor did it help that he had a mercilessly short temper and his father had always encouraged him to learn the Way of the Sword for the little time he had been alive. That was strangely the only martial art that Masaki had not withdrawn him from, even when it was considered the most dangerous of everything Ichigo had ever done. As a Quincy though, the orange haired teen was supposed to have followed Uryuu into Kyudo when he was young. It would have been as fate dictated because the natural form Ichigo's reishi bow was a two-hundred-and-thirty-three centimetre pitch black yumi (4*). However, he had always felt more comfortable around a sword…like it held a more natural weight and stability in his palms. It was the same sensation that he got when he had picked up the flute for the first time, a strange alignment in his soul that told him it was an instinctive right that belonged to him.

When he allowed himself to play melodies by pure instinct, beautiful harmonies from a long forgotten era would flow from his fingertips and lips without even trying as Ichigo himself drifted into a trance-like state where nothing or no one could bother him. It was where he could forget that he was a Quincy, dismiss the dark dreams that he sometimes woke from but could never recall and push aside the harsh expectations that were placed on his shoulders so that he could successfully protect his mother and two little sisters. It was the perfect way to ease dark moods and difficult memories, prompting him to shut the sliding door behind him as he placed his book bag by a polished grand piano and seated himself on the stool for several moments of contemplative thought. Drawing a long black case across his lap with a tired sigh, elegant fingertips absently outlined the curved edges and memorized the familiar weight as he undid the silver latches and stared at the dismantled pieces of a silver flute resting in a bed of black velvet. Chocolate brown eyes were glued on the window though, his hands going through the motions of assembling his instrument without paying attention as a quiet frown pulled his lips downwards when he noticed the sky darkening to heavy, near-black grey outside and an intense flash of lightning illuminated a vast sheet of rain that was pounding on the school roof with a vengeance.

Before he could understand what was happening, Ichigo had placed his current task aside with a small amount of reluctance as his shoes echoed a steady rhythm across the floors with new purpose. He couldn't have sworn that he had seen something streaking across the sky, intense eyes struggling to see anything but the falling rain until a deafening boom of thunder rumbled through his body and a flash of lightning offered him a brief glimpse of a small black figure that was flitting through the sky with an immense amount of speed. An enormous shadow was following behind it just as swiftly, the harsh weather providing a hindrance for both enemies as a shiver of anticipation and unknown nostalgia broke across tanned skin the moment that an explosion of reiatsu echoed hauntingly into the distance. For a moment, Ichigo was transported into another plane of existence where he saw a brief flash of beautiful violet eyes gazing at him with millennia of sorrow and white hair that shimmered like freshly fallen snow in the silver moonlight. Delicate features were overrun with carmine tears, a soothing voice echoing his name with so many emotions that the orange haired teen couldn't discern them all. He was frozen in place, the music room spinning in dizzying circles around him as he mourned the loss of the brief vision when a thick column of ice suddenly solidified in the air.

'Fucking Shinigami!' Ichigo hissed in anger, unprepared for the sudden blast of freezing cold rain and ice that assaulted him when he threw open the fourth story window and leaped into the sky without looking back. Why the hell did they always have to so damn incompetent?! Hadn't they learned by now that Hollows of the reiatsu level of a Menos won't fall with such weak attacks? Now he was going to get in trouble again for saving the enemy, if his mother did not kill him first for exposing himself to Soul Society when he had been carefully shielded from them since he had been born. Utilizing a considerable amount of speed to follow the smoking trail of a fierce battle, white and light blue sneaker clad feet did not falter once despite the cold that was threatening to throw him out of the sky and the wind the was howling deafeningly in his ears. The edges of turquoise scarf was trailing in evocative folds behind him, the Quincy archer reaching his left hand out in front of him as silver Quincy cross was engulfed in a fire of pitch black against his right hip. Suspended from several black belts and twining chains that were settled around his waist, chocolate brown eyes zeroed in on two targets that were facing off on the soccer field without paying attention to their surroundings.

There wasn't much time, Ichigo knew. Elegant fingertips were curling firmly around a deep red nigiri (5*), raising a frightening pitch black Kyudo bow in front of him as he drew back a near invisible string to rest against his cheek. A deadly arrow was flowing from his fingertips like smoke, solidifying with a lash of power as the orange haired teen called upon the vast supply of reishi in the atmosphere and a flicker of protective crimson pigment coloured his eyes the instant that he marked his target's hollow mask without a touch of hesitation. In the corner of his eye, he could see a petite form halting with surprise as a pure white sword froze midair and he loosed his arrow with deadly accuracy.

'Mondlose Licht (6*).' Was the only whisper that flowed eloquently from parted lips, a vast explosion engulfing a hundred metres of the sky in an ocean of pitch black reishi that was darker than the night sky and hotter than a thousand suns. The source of his power wrenched from his soul with such force that Ichigo's vision blurred momentarily as he watched one enemy fall by his bow whilst another remained unscathed. He had just unconsciously saved one of the beings that were responsible for his father's untimely death, one of the beings that he had watched steal away and shatter his family with undue despair whilst he had been too young to understand what was happening or what to do to help.

'Forgive me,' Ichigo pleaded with the heavens, observing the last traces of his fiery power retreat into a dense black fog without an inkling of the hollow's defeated presence. His bow was clutched in his hand so harshly that his knuckles turned white, startling crimson eyes finally turning on the betrayal he had just accomplished as the world abruptly screeched to a sudden halt.

...

Standing before Ichigo was a petite feminine frame, large and emotive violet eyes scanning his form with a hint of fear and distant admiration as lush petal pink lips parted to expel several exhausted breaths that were colouring the air frosty white before delicate features. Cropped black bangs were sticking wetly to flushed cheeks, elegant fingertips curling more firmly around the hilt of an astonishing katana that was as pure as snow from the deadly edge of the blade to the flowing, several metre long ribbon, that was attached to the pommel of a colourless hilt. The sound of a silver bell was echoing quietly through the air as it was brought closer to the Shinigami's side, the wind whipping the edges of an expensive looking silk scarf of the same white around her neck as a fingerless white tekkō-glove accentuated the shorter sleeve of a black kosode and the badge of rank inscribed with the kanji: 十三 for thirteen on her upper arm. The folds of a black shihakushō was conforming sensually to gentle curves, small waraji clad feet taking several bold steps forward as chocolate brown eyes narrowed in concern at the sickly red that had begun to discolour the edge of a hakama sash. On the left side of a black haloed head, was a white camellia constructed of several interlocking petals of ice as the grass became buried in a soft layer of snow wherever unsteady footsteps transversed.

'Y-you…' She whispered shakily, a frown furrowing dark brows as the orange haired teen forced himself to look away before he became too entranced. The way she walked, the gentleness of her reiatsu, the sound of her voice…they were igniting something within him that he was sure he had never felt before despite his instincts disagreeing with him on that fact. It felt like he knew her intimately, even a whisper of her name was echoing through his mind as clear as day as his breath stalled painfully in his throat and the world seemed to narrow into startling focus around him. The only thing that he remained intensely aware of was beautiful violet eyes. Nothing else seemed to matter in those moments, reishi particles were dissipating haphazardly from his grasp as his Quincy power flitted from his grasp and all previous misgivings he had about saving a Shinigami and betraying his father's memories dulled into the back of his mind. There was an all-encompassing magnetism drawing him forward, a strange burning in the pit of his stomach urging the orange haired seventeen-year-old to close the several metre distance that separated them before reality started to make sense again and he was reminded of all the reasons why he should disappear before Soul Society had a chance to find him.

It was a flicker of shunpo that eventually closed the gap between them, Ichigo reeling internally when gentle fingertips reached upwards boldly to cup his cheek and curious pads brushed short orange sideburns as if memorising the messy orange hair style that was skittering long bangs across pale cheeks and partially concealed confused chocolate brown eyes from sight. Eventually lidding intense orbs behind pale eyelids with unknown emotion, the Quincy felt himself frozen in place when a spark of pure pleasure saturated his soul the instant that pale skin connected with his. It was almost too much for his mind to comprehend, the heavy storm intensifying considerably around them when the whisper of his name fell mournfully from luscious petal pink lips and caressed his ears with a welcome and soothing lullaby. How she had known his name, Ichigo did not know. But before he could stop himself, he too called out to her. The White Moon, he whispered. The Moon Maiden, the counterpart to his soul…Rukia. The Beloved of his soul, the love he had chased across ceaseless lifetimes and would chase across endless more. She was…

'Kurosaki? Are you trying to alert the entire world to your presence? What the hell are you doing out here? I though I told you—.' The spell was shattered just as quickly as it came by a scolding baritone, the orange haired teen having just enough time to wind his arms around a small waist before the black haired Shinigami's balance failed her and beautiful violet eyes were hidden by long curling black lashes. Haunting smears of red was discolouring the beige jumper that was visible beneath a grey school blazer, an insignificant weight falling against his chest helplessly as delicate fingers wound through soft fabric with startling desperation despite the white Zanpactō having tumbled from her numb grasp. 'Is that a Shinigami? What are doing? If you think—.' Silencing his cousin's words with a commanding and considerably rude 'shut up,' Ichigo tried very hard to conceal the terrified fear that was sinking into his heart at the mere thought that she had been hurt. He couldn't allow it, he promised himself harshly. She was the key to everything that had been off kilter and upside down in his life. He only hoped that his mother would forgive him for bringing one of them into the house, she was the only person that he knew could heal deadly Hollow wounds without single fault.

Incorporating a flow of steady reishi to hasten his path towards the Kurosaki Clinic, the orange haired seventeen-year-old clutched his burden tightly to his chest as he naturally balanced a white katana in his free hand and never once looked back. Messy orange bangs were adhering wetly to his cheeks, his own breaths rasping painfully in his throat as his heart raced uncomfortably in his chest and the growing storm darkened the skies even further. It was almost as if the fates were cursing their meeting, seeking to destroy whatever connection bound them together as Ichigo hissed in strain when a familiar voice whispered encouraging words in his ear in contrast to the usual taunting jibes and stabbing observations. Whatever bliss Ichigo had hoped to find for few hours immersed in his music, fell away in lieu of a more insistent and growing panic that was causing several tremors to race through his limbs as he pushed himself and his current power to the limits. In the darkness of a heavy storm, rushing steps never once faltered as the Kurosaki Clinic loomed in the distance and he burst through the doors just as he saw a flash of honey brown hair and concerned eyes locking imploringly with his. Kurosaki Masaki offered a weary smile, taking in the scene with surprising gentle understanding as she waved her oldest inside and headed towards one of the empty rooms unoccupied by her patients.

'I hope for your sake, Ichigo, that your uncle does not know of this…he's not going to like it.' Ichigo had no answer to those words, he knew that he was in trouble with the Ishidas simply because Uryuu had seen him defend and save a Shinigami. Never mind the fact that the White Moon had been close enough to touch him when he had interrupted their moment of intimacy. Now what was he supposed to do? It was—. 'Going by your expression, things look quite grave. Don't worry Ichigo, we'll think of something later, I promise. Go change out of your wet clothes before you get sick, I'll call you back inside when I'm done.' Whispering a soft 'thank you', the orange haired teen was grateful for his mother's gentle nature when she forced no answers from him or demanded that he remember his painful past. No, he should have known better. His mother would help wherever she could, whoever she could and however she could. It did not matter who they were, not all Shinigami were the same and not all of them had been responsible for his father's death.

He too would do well to remember that, they all would.

1* - Okobo Geta – The Geta that Geisha usually wear, they are constructed out of a solid piece of wood

2* - Tsuki-Tennyo – Celestial Moon Maiden in Japanese

3* - Heilig Pfeil – Holy Arrows

4* - Yumi – Traditional Bow used in Kyudo, it has a longer top part than a bottom part and at 233 cm it would fit Ichigo's 181 cm height exactly

5* - Nigiri – The bow's grip

6* - Mondlose Licht – Moonless Light (German)

So there you have it, my honeys. Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it. If I can get a small review for my hard work…I'd be eternally grateful to you. It would mean the world to me to know you enjoyed my chapter. Any questions, don't be afraid to ask…I'll answer them to the best of my ability without spoiling the plot.

Other than that, I'm off for now.

Yours Always

Chocolate Carnival
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The Snow Citadel And The Fire King