Deep within the mountains surrounding Karakura Town lay a secluded clearing, hidden from roads and footpaths alike. Tall trees formed a natural barrier, their branches overlapping high above, filtering sunlight into pale fragments that scattered across the ground.
Ishida Sōken called this place Training Ground Five.
It was not marked on any map, nor did it exist for anyone outside the Ishida family. Normally, no one ever came here. That isolation made it the ideal place for Sōken to test his Quincy techniques—far from human eyes, far from unnecessary interference.
Today, however, he was not alone.
Ishida Ryūken stood several steps away, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression dark with irritation. The mountain air was crisp, but it did nothing to cool the tension building between father and son.
Ryūken finally broke the silence.
"Father," he said sharply, "why are you contacting the Shinigami?"
Sōken did not answer immediately.
Ryūken clenched his jaw and continued, unable to hide his frustration. "Are you really supporting those half-blood Quincies and their ridiculous proposals? Acting as informants for the Shinigami? Monitoring Hollows for them and waiting to let the Shinigami 'purify' them?"
He scoffed.
"That way of thinking is naive to the extreme."
This was not ignorance speaking. Ryūken knew very well where the idea came from.
After the Quincies had scattered into the Human World, they inevitably regrouped in fragments. Many clung to old grudges and harbored deep hatred toward the Shinigami, blaming them for centuries of persecution and loss. But there were also those—mostly half-blood Quincies—who sought compromise.
The so-called pro-Shinigami faction believed that Quincies should no longer annihilate Hollows outright.
Their argument was simple.
When Quincies destroyed Hollows, they erased the souls entirely, disrupting the balance between the Human World, Soul Society, and Hueco Mundo. If that balance collapsed, catastrophe would follow. Therefore, they proposed a middle path: Quincies would act as scouts and first responders, protecting humans from Hollow attacks until Shinigami arrived to perform purification.
In theory, it preserved balance. In theory, it reduced conflict.
In practice, the Shinigami had never taken the proposal seriously.
Soul Society had dismissed it outright, unwilling to rely on Quincies—beings they neither trusted nor respected.
Ryūken knew this. That was why he could not understand his father's actions.
"Even if you approach them," Ryūken continued coldly, "the Shinigami won't accept it. You know that. They've never once shown genuine interest in cooperating with Quincies."
His expression hardened.
"One idiot changing my opinion slightly doesn't mean the rest of them are any different. As a whole, Shinigami and Quincies will never coexist peacefully."
At Ryūken's words, Ishida Sōken let out a slow, tired sigh.
"I understand that better than anyone," Sōken said quietly. "The half-blood Quincies have been making these appeals for years, and the Shinigami have ignored them every time. Even now, I don't expect success."
Ryūken frowned. "Then why do it at all?"
Sōken lifted his gaze toward the sky, watching the clouds drift lazily overhead. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Once, he had placed immense hope in the future.
In Ryūken.
In Kurosaki Masaki.
Two pure-blood Quincies. A union that should have strengthened their lineage, produced an heir powerful enough to stand against any threat.
But reality had not bent to his expectations.
Masaki's bloodline had been tainted. The purity he had relied upon was gone, and with it, Sōken's hope of building strength through blood alone.
As a Quincy exiled from the Empire, Sōken knew truths Ryūken did not.
He knew the Emperor would return.
He knew the ancient hymns were not metaphors.
And he knew the Quincies' love for war had never truly faded.
If nothing changed—if no one acted—the future would not end with the destruction of Quincies alone. The Three Realms themselves could be dragged into ruin.
"Father?" Ryūken asked again, irritation giving way to confusion. "Why aren't you saying anything?"
Sōken finally turned back to him.
"Ryūken," he said calmly, "you've already made your choice. You chose to turn away from Quincy affairs. You chose to live as an ordinary human. If that is the path you wish to walk, then walk it without hesitation."
His voice was firm, yet not unkind.
"Do not trouble yourself with my decisions."
Sōken had always known his son's heart.
Ryūken had never been passionate about Quincy doctrine or tradition. Yet despite that, his talent was extraordinary. Under the relentless expectations of his late mother, Ryūken had trained from early childhood, becoming a powerful Quincy long before he ever wanted to be one.
That talent had once given Sōken confidence.
He had believed that Ryūken, united with Masaki, could produce a descendant capable of resisting the Emperor's return.
But that future no longer existed.
Ryūken had married Katagiri Hazue, a half-blood Quincy. Their child had already been born. The pure-blood lineage Sōken once clung to was finished.
He accepted that.
But acceptance did not mean inaction.
Supporting the pro-Shinigami faction was merely a pretext. The true goal was contact—establishing a connection with Soul Society, no matter how fragile.
At the very least, Sōken thought, I must plant the seed.
If he could not stop the future, then he would prepare for it.
If the Emperor returned, the Shinigami would need to know.
Ryūken studied his father carefully. "Is this… about the Empire?"
The word felt strange on his tongue.
He had heard it only rarely—whispered between his parents, spoken with caution and dread. The brutal training of his childhood, the pressure placed upon him before he could understand why—it all pointed to something vast and dangerous.
But what kind of Empire could inspire that level of fear?
The so-called Light Empire recorded in old family texts had vanished a thousand years ago. There was nothing like it left in Europe.
Sōken shook his head. "That's not something you need to know."
His tone made it clear the matter was closed.
"You've chosen your life," he said. "There's no reason to burden you with the past."
He paused, then changed the subject.
"Are Kanae and Uryū home today?" he asked. "Have you arranged protection?"
Ryūken exhaled quietly, recognizing the dismissal for what it was.
"Yes," he answered. "Members of the Katagiri family are guarding the residence. If anything happens, I'll return immediately."
"That's good," Sōken said gravely. "After all… Kanae can no longer use reishi weapons freely."
His gaze sharpened. "That power cannot be used a second time."
Ryūken's expression darkened.
"…I know."
The image of his wife's frail figure flashed through his mind.
From a healthy woman to someone perpetually exhausted and vulnerable—it was a transformation he could never forget. Yet the choice had been hers.
As a husband, he had failed to stop her.
As a father, he could not deny her resolve.
Before either of them could speak again, Ryūken's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
Kanae.
He answered immediately. "It's me. What's wrong?"
There was a pause.
Then Ryūken stiffened.
"What did you say?" he demanded. "Already awakened? That's impossible—why so fast?!"
Disbelief flickered across his face.
Sōken watched silently, a sense of foreboding creeping into his chest.
After a few moments, Ryūken ended the call. He lowered the phone slowly, his expression conflicted and tense.
"Father," he said, "Kanae told me something."
Sōken frowned. "What happened?"
Ryūken swallowed. "Uryū… his Quincy abilities have already begun to awaken."
He hesitated, then added, "No. Even before that—he already has spiritual awareness."
For once, Ishida Sōken was speechless.
"That's impossible," he said sharply. "Even you didn't fully awaken until you were eight. Uryū is a half-blood—this shouldn't happen."
Quincy power was innate, but awakening varied. Pure-blood Quincies awakened earlier by nature. That was established fact.
And yet…
Five years old.
The implications were unsettling.
"…We need to go back," Sōken said finally. "We must confirm this ourselves."
Ryūken nodded slowly.
"…Yes."
And as they turned toward the path leading out of the mountains, neither of them realized that the future they feared had already begun to move—quietly, inexorably—toward them.
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