~Epilogue~
~Around 2000 years later, Seireitei

~Sakamichi No Kioku~

The cherry blossom drifted slowly from the branches, lining the pathway like a pink carpet as Juushirou made his way slowly between the rows of tall, flourishing trees that stood proudly on his either side.

It was spring again, the fresh scent of new life and the thaw of the frosts giving energy to the tired, bleakness of winter, and for a moment he paused, simply drawing the sweet air into his battered lungs as he savoured this new day.

He was still here. Here for another spring - to see another blooming and to watch over the Gotei after the chill of the new year snows.

It was never something that he took for granted.

As he passed the grounds of the Academy, he saw two young boys, robed in the white and blue uniform of the Shinigami training school and a look of nostalgia glittered in his hazel eyes as he watched them sparring with wooden bokutou, eager and excited by the promise of learning new skills. As they saw him watching them, they hurriedly stood to attention, bowing towards him, and he smiled, raising his hand to acknowledge their respect.

It had been a long time since he had been one of them, with the future unknown and unwritten and the pathway he would choose still far from clear. He had not known then that he would become a Captain, nor that now, almost two thousand years on, he would still be standing here, just as he had done that first Spring when he had stepped out into Seireitei wearing the white haorifor the first time.

Thirteenth Division had never had any other Captain than him.

But it had had many Vice Captains.

Juushirou pursed his lips, as an image of his first ever Vice Captain flashed into his head. Tall, dependable, strong Enishi - loyal to the last and a friend on whom Juushirou had depended for several years. None had been happier than Juushirou when his subordinate had been promoted to the rank of Captain of the Eleventh Division...and even now, despite all that had gone since, Juushirou was proud of what Enishi had achieved.

He ran his fingers idly along the bark of the trees, remembering.

It had been a violent time, with warring factions and rebellions from the District lands against the stranglehold of the Clans. It had been a dangerous time, when the dissidents, led from the shadows, had managed to pull down the class walls that blocked off their world from Seireitei and had changed the world of Soul Society forever. For more than two centuries, Soul Society had come of age, entering its adolescence painfully and with heavy bloodshed as it fought to overcome the legacy left by dangerous fanatics. Kin had turned on kin, many heroes and villains alike had risen and fallen, until the foundations of the modern Sereitei system had emerged from its war-battered cocoon.

During the latter stages of this time, Enishi had been at the forefront of the action, his powerful sword held high over his head as he had commanded his officers to secure the area as rebels had swarmed into the impoverished Rukongai, looting and threatening the inhabitants into joining their band. It was this Enishi that Juushirou remembered most fondly, with resolve in his dark eyes, not hesitating to protect or defend the values or the people he had sworn to lead.

It had taken time, but the Gotei had succeeded in putting down the rebellion. New documents had been discussed, drawn up and implemented, and the landscape had been carved up into a very different future than the traditional one held by the Clans for centuries past. Some families had faded, others had held onto their pride, and little by little the Gotei had survived. And Enishi, who had struck with determination and resolution against those who had made themselves his enemies, had been lauded and acclaimed as the strongest fighter to ever lead in Soul Society.

A faint, slightly wistful smile touched Juushirou's lips as he remembered this.

The stories had been much exaggerated, he had known this even then. Enishi had said as much himself, in a quiet moment within Thirteenth Division when they had been drinking tea and discussing the changes in Seireitei's pecking order. Yet even so, the rumours had persisted about the fearsome man who led the eleventh - the man who had reportedly cut down eight dissidents with one strike of his zanpakutou, purging evil and corruption from within the Gotei with that sole swing of his tremendous blade. The truth had become hazed by rumour as story had passed from mouth to mouth, but there was no denying the genuine contribution Enishi had made eradicating danger within the Gotei. As the haori of Eleventh had first been placed over his shoulders, Juushirou remembered that, among the men of the lower ranks, his old friend had already become known as 'Kenpachi Enishi'.

Juushirou closed his eyes, willing the memory away. It would soon be followed, he knew, by another - a less pleasant one. There was no suppressing the image of the bloodsoaked haori that had fluttered helplessly against the cobbled ground...and his friend's body, cut and broken beneath the summer sun. Those revered as heroes also became targets...and targets could become victims - an aim for those bloodthirsty enough to pitch themselves and their skill against the power of the legendary Kenpachi. Enishi had been forced to fight unwanted battles many times and, in the end, had died stupidly, his contributions and his talent wasted in another man's blood-lust. Juushirou had known that his friend was neither violent nor a ruthless killer and that he had acted as he always had, in duty to the Gotei and nothing else. From the moment of his death, however, it had been written as firmly as though scribed in blood. Eleventh Division was and would always now be the division of Captain killers. It remained the Division of the Kenpachi - a man who had gone from being the hero of the Gotei to a man who killed for fun then laughed the most about those kills.

Enishi would not have approved, but Enishi had long gone, and time had moved on.

Juushirou sighed, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. Even on a day like this, he would not let blood saturate his thoughts, and so he pressed on, past the Academy and up the hill near to the lake that glistened in the morning sun.

They had camped here once, he remembered fondly. As students, they had used this place as a watering hole and a bathing lake, though now it was simply another unnoticed feature in an undefined landscape. There was no longer any such thing as 'District One', after all. The Districts had been swallowed up by Inner Seireitei and Rukongai, and everything was different now. Yet Juushirou still remembered how they had spent time here when they had all been far more innocent.

They had played pranks on each other, too, he reflected. Stolen each other's clothing and pulled the wool over each others' eyes. He still remembered with startling clarity the day that Endou Hirata had fooled Shihouin Kai into believing a snake haunted the waters - and the bevy of events that had followed.

Both were gone now.

Juushirou brought his hands together gently as if in a prayer for the departed souls of his two good friends. They too had made their mark on Seireitei - an indelible mark that even history could not erase.

Hirata had returned honour to the Endou-ke, and had in time taken the haoriof the Seventh District, leading the squad with an iron hand until his death from failing health some seven hundred years earlier. He had been the last Endou lord, leaving only daughters to divide the tainted legacy of the warrior Clan between them, and secretly Juushirou had been glad. In fact, he remembered sadly, as he and Hirata had spoken in the weeks before the other's death, his friend had said the same. If his Clan ended with him, with honour and with peace, then that was all he wished for. He had not been in pain, and so Juushirou had let him go - a gentle passing in his sleep that was the quietest way any Shinigami ever left Seireitei. Juushirou knew that, for Hirata, this had been his greatest victory. Unlike his kinsfolk, he had not died in violent battle, on the end of a greedy man's sword, but unchallenged and much-mourned, a leader that, at last, the Endou could remember with pride.

They still existed now, Juushirou knew it - tendrils and strands of Endou-ke but without the name or the power that had once been the ruin of so many. Although it was not his duty, Juushirou was still aware of them. It had been his last promise to Hirata, and he kept it still. Though he rarely spoke of it, he knew that if any of them ever reached out to him, he would not turn them away.

As for Kai, his demise had been in action - in battle, for the secret forces, sacrificing his life for the sake of a comrade.

It had not been a vain decision - it had marked a true thaw of a long and cold rivalry that, in places, still ran cold from time to time. In death, though, Kai had achieved something remarkable. He would not have been ashamed of it, Juushirou reflected. To die in action, to fight to the last...to save a comrade - no, a friend- and bring honour on his Clan was the ultimate way in which a Shihouin could prove their honour, far from the assassin ancestry from which he had so wanted to move away. The entirety of his force had been wiped out that day, but those surviving from Sixth Squad had brought the story back to Inner Seireitei and, amongst the mourning had been the pride of the Shihouin, restoring them once and for all to their former glory as one of the greatest Clans in Soul Society.

They remained there to this day. Though Shunsui had often said nobody achieved anything by dying, Kai had proven his friend wrong.

Juushirou pursed his lips at this. He only wished that Kai himself had been here to see it.

But, as with Enishi, as with Hirata - there was no knowing what the dead did or did not know.

And so he moved on.

He had said many goodbyes over the years.

Many subordinates, many younger than him he had seen buried from disease, violent death in action or simply the fading of their life forces whilst his still, somehow, burnt strongly. It gave life a bittersweet edge - a regret that they had not seen a new day coupled with the gratitude that he himself was still there and able to remember them. He had not become inured to death, but he had learnt to deal with it. So long as he still walked, he carried the hearts and souls of all those lost with him. For that reason he had continued to get up - even from his sickbed - to lead Thirteenth Division. And until his time came, he always would.

Unless he was called elsewhere.

He gazed up at the sky, remembering that death was not the only permanent way of saying goodbye in this world. It had been six hundred years now since Shiba Sora had been called up to Higher Orders - a promotion to the Royal Guard that had appeared suddenly and which had taken her almost immediately from her position as Captain of the Ninth Division to a place that none of them had ever seen. Nobody knew what kind of duties lay beyond Seireitei, but what was certain was that those promoted never came back. She was no longer one of them - alive, yet still unreachable. Still untouchable. Still gone.

Whilst she still lived, though, she too had memories. Juushirou was sure of this - in her heart too, Sora carried with as much honour and care the same warm recollections of her friends as he still treasured in his.

As he reached his destination, he found that someone else was already there, knelt low before the elegant marble with his head bowed low. He was robed in the simple attire of an Academy sensei, his obi in red, marking him out as a teacher of Kidou Arts and his thick dark hair, falling in a long tail halfway down his back, was tied simply with a knot of green ribbon. It was the only thing that marked Ryuu out as a member of any Clan, let alone the austere, proud Kuchiki, but as Juushirou knelt beside him, he understood his friend's heart without voicing any words.

Ryuu's shihakushou bore long sleeves, and beneath those sleeves Juushirou knew were the deep, scarring welts of burns that had cut cruelly into his flesh, marking him for life. He walked now with a slight limp, his vision in one eye poor and his hair flecked faintly with silver that glinted in the morning light. Since that day, Ryuu had not fought in the colours of the Gotei, and had instead returned himself to his study, devoting himself to educating the Shinigami of the future and passing on his vast knowledge to them to take his place. Two centuries earlier he had retired from active teaching, turning instead to research and study and progressing and promoting the Gotei's knowledge and ability from the depths of his substantial archives. Because of Ryuu, Seireitei's arsenal of spells and skills had grown and expanded, and the Kidou Corps, once an institution that had seemed impossible now flourished, guided by expert hands.

Juushirou glanced at him for a moment, taking in his lean, focused form.

Kai had died for a good reason. He had died so Ryuu would live - and Ryuu had taken that life by the scruff of the neck and had transformed it into something worthwhile. Although Ryuu had walked away from the austerity of Clan and the pride he had once done everything to uphold, Juushirou knew his friend was content. In this life, he had found his calling, and that was as much as any of them could do.

Yes, Kai had truly sacrificed himself to save someone worthy of being saved.

Juushirou's heart clenched slightly at this juncture, and he turned his gaze back to the marble plinth, his fingers touching his chest absently as he felt the faint, familiar flare of raw reiatsu surge up inside of him.

He had been too late to do anything different. He had fought and he had won, despite taking serious injury. But he had fought for pride, not for any other reason. He had not fought for life - for his life, or for the life of his fallen comrade. He had been too late for that.

In that one instant he had considered throwing it away - letting the monsters take him and engulf him in darkness as the path before him had become bleak and muddied in his mind.

And yet, he knew that that moment was part of the reason he was still alive today. Almost three centuries had passed, but the memories were as vivid to him as though they had been yesterday - he knew that so long as he lived, he would never forget the Kuchiki healer with the soft grey eyes that, on occasion, had thundered storms more vibrant and powerful than Sougyo no Kotowari could hope to call forth.

He reached out his fingers, brushing them against the five kanji characters that spelt out the name, "Edogawa Mitsuki", and tears glittered in his hazel eyes, falling soundlessly down his cheeks as he truly grieved for the one woman he had ever - and would ever - love.

For a while he sat there, allowing his feelings and his grief to run raw inside of him. Then, with a final bow towards the monument, he got to his feet, dusting the stray petals from his shihakushou as he turned back towards the Thirteenth Division barracks.

For that one moment, once each year, he came here - once each year so as she knew he had not forgotten. But he held her in his heart, and he could not allow himself more time than that - not even to grieve for one so dear.

He had a squad to lead. Recruits to induct. Men to train. He had a duty to do. And he would do it. Because he was Captain of Thirteenth Division, and until the last day, that was what he would be to the best of his ability.

Till that day when, the fates willing, his spirit might mingle with those he had lost on the Seireitei wind.

"The sun shone again."

As he reached the edge of his Division's barracks, a voice greeted him and a warm hand dropped down on his shoulder, a reassuringly familiar reiatsu prickling against his own. It was the same every year. Though they never spoke of it beforehand, and never afterwards, Juushirou knew that Shunsui would always remember. It was that one, strong reminder that despite the losses he was not alone - and that so long as he was not alone, he could walk forward and face anything with strength and purpose.

"She'd have liked that, I think." Shunsui continued now. "A bright sky. Pretty flowers. And you to cry all over her as ever."

Juushirou reached up to wipe away the remains of his tears, casting his friend a rueful look. Despite Shunsui's flippance, there was warm sympathy in the dark brown eyes, and slowly he nodded his head.

"Even if it rained, I'd still go." he said matter of factly. "She'd not forgive me, if I didn't."

"And she'd not forgive you if you were late for the Captain's meeting." Shunsui patted Juushirou on the back. "Come on. I'll walk with you - since it's a nice day, I can't be bothered with skiving."

"Since you already made the effort to walk down here, I guess I won't refuse you." Juushirou nodded his head. "It's fine. I'm ready now. Let's go."

Author's Note: The Final Word

Kenpachi uses the Kanji for "sword" and the kanji for "eight". There is a tradition that the number eight is supposed to be lucky, so probably the nickname means 'lucky sword' as much as anything else.

I hope nobody is too mad at me for ending it - and their stories - in this way! I wanted each of them to have a clear path and purpose, but as none of them are in modern canon, none of them can be in the existing Gotei come the Winter War. That doesn't mean they all are dead, but of course, those who live are outside of the public eye.

I'm not really sure what happened to Naoko. When I wrote this originally, my intention was for Naoko to die in Fourth Maki (there it is, honest confession time) but Mitsuki and Sora had other ideas and so I developed a different future plan for her which I think overall was a more satisfactory one. She remained in Thirteenth Division, for sure, probably becoming Juushirou's Vice Captain after Enishi was promoted to Captain of the Eleventh Division. After that, I'm not really sure. Maybe she transferred to the Onmitsukidou on some special order or agreement with the Shihouin - perhaps that became an element of her duty after Kai's death, or maybe she even - as some readers have liked to poke at - wound up marrying Kai and then took over his duties when he died. Perhaps she is still alive somewhere in the secret shadows of Seireitei where nobody ever sees her, working undercover for Genryuusai and using that demonish sword of hers to uphold Gotei justice - who really knows?

As for Mitsuki, when she died, she was the Vice Captain of the Fourth Division. What nature of relationship she and Juushirou had is undefined, and for large periods of time Mitsuki was stationed outside of Soul Society. I believe their affection for one another never diminished, though, right to the point of her death approximately three hundred years before Canon. Juushirou has been told many times by people about fights for pride and fights for life, but the understanding he conveyed to Rukia was driven from his own understanding of fighting the same battle Kaien fought. Juushirou kept his life, of course, whilst Kaien perished - but Juushirou's values were formed from that point.

When I began writing Meifu, I gave Mitsuki the name "beautiful moon" and this has significant meaning even now. Mitsuki did not have a name associated with colour, but the 'tsuki' in her name was derived from Rukia's 'Tsukishiro'. The simple reason for this is that I believe Mitsuki to be Rukia's ancestor. You can make what you like of that, but my preferred theory is that Rukia and Hisana are descendants of Mitsuki and Juushirou, and this is the reason for Hisana's ill health and death. Siblings are not sent to Rukongai together, according to Kubo, yet Rukia and Hisana were both there together. Rukia looks like a Kuchiki, and so did Hisana - Byakuya has a strong resemblance to Rukia as a child. I've always thought them to be true but distant and broken-blooded Kuchiki, and because of Hisana's illness and Juushirou's responsibility to Rukia, that they connect to him somehow too. It shouldn't be forgotten that Rukia has some aptitude for healing kidou - more than Renji, for example, though unlike Kira, she never served with Fourth Squad. Is this an inherited talent from a distant ancestor?

I am not going to speculate on how this might of occurred, but although this is my preferred line of thought, I'm not sure it has a very happy story surrounding it. For that reason, I'm leaving the matter alone. If I ever write the story about Rose and Aizen at the Academy (which I began but is only a handful of chapters long), maybe that will come more to light - right now it looks doubtful, so for the time being, I'm leaving this one to lie.

You can disagree with me and my theories if you wish, it's just a personal judgement and, in main, the reason for Mitsuki to have ever existed at all.