Chapter Text
If the bird does not sing, make it.
Day 0, 2:15 PM
“Um, Master, why do you always write things down after we come back from a battle?”
The question, coming from Gokotai, is nothing more than one of the countless inquiries that a curious child makes in the course of a day. A rather pointless and self-evident one that anyone older and with sufficient patience can explain. But Ichigo Hitofuri pays attention to all the questions of his younger brothers. Listens, even if he does not appear to hear.
“It’s very important to report back on how we did,” the saniwa explains to the boy, the motion of her writing fluid and uninterrupted as she reaches forward with a free hand to ruffle his hair. “If we did poorly, or if anyone got hurt, I would need to make a report so that we could figure out a way for it to not happen again, to request help if we need it. That doesn’t happen often, of course,” she adds with a reassuring smile, when a worried look forms on the child’s face. “And if we did well, everyone back home would want to hear the good news.”
“A-ah, but you write lots more than just that, don’t you?”
“Very observant.” The young woman smiles and taps Gokotai on the nose, at which the boy blinks and jumps back the tiniest bit, like a small startled animal. “It’s also very important for me to report back on whether we learned anything. Not just about the enemy, but about history itself. My people—the people living in 2205—don’t have the chance to witness the most decisive events of our history unfolding firsthand.”
“Most, most of us swords didn’t either! We didn’t really get to go many places before now, and me, I’m just a tantou…”
“I know.” The saniwa says gently, continuing to pet the boy’s hair. “But now you and I, and everyone else here at the citadel, we have the chance. Our mission takes us right to the doorstep of history as it unfolds. And every detail we observe, every little bit of information that might be useful for modern-day historians, I try to write it down and bring it back. Usually it’s nothing earth-shaking, but it’s knowledge that we can’t get any other way, directly from the source, and that makes it amazing. And if once in a while we correct a mistaken impression, and alter what’s been passed down in legends and written in history books, that’s a better feeling than anything in the world.” The boy’s eyes have grown wide with shock, and she laughs and pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing like changing history, just changing how it’s known. Into the right version. And isn’t that the same as upholding the truth, just like we’ve been doing all along?”
“Um, I guess so!” Gokotai nods vigorously, making a further mess of his fluffy white hair. And from where he is sitting, against the old tree in the courtyard and seeming asleep in the afternoon sun, Ichigo Hitofuri almost turns to look at them. This revelation is new, unexpected to even himself. He has not anticipated such an in-depth answer to Gokotai’s question, and all things considered, he is grateful that the woman named Mizuki Mafuyu is patient enough to explain things to his youngest brothers in a way that they can understand. Even if it might be a little too much for them to think about. Definitely more responsible than that other saniwa—but his thoughts are jerked back to the present as she speaks again.
“It wasn’t part of my duties at first,” Mafuyu says, “but the idea caught on quickly. Because this is what makes human unique, this need to know, to figure things out even when they seem to be out of our reach. We never stop asking questions. And sometimes I think,” she yawns and stretches her arms over her head, “it would be nice if we weren’t burdened with such troublesome curiosity. If we were more like you. But what’s to say that we’re really so different, after all? You, little Gokotai, you ask just as many questions as the children I know back home. It’s a wonderful thing, you and your brothers have the inquisitiveness of the young, even after hundreds of years. Never a dull moment, here, and sometimes it feels like I haven’t left home after all.”
Mafuyu speaks of home often: a huge family and numerous friends, a busy but exciting life in a metropolis that at times sounds glamorous even to the sword who has looked upon entire rooms covered in gold. Even if she has had to leave it all behind for this outpost here, away from everything familiar and adrift in time, Mafuyu always seems happy enough, with a sort of constant optimism that no amount of danger or loneliness could suppress. Which is not to say she doesn’t work the swords hard. Their citadel has the curious situation of having two saniwa, with the duty of supervision rotating constantly between them. Within the first few weeks, Mafuyu had gained a reputation for being the strict one who would chase down anyone who slacked from their duties, but was never mean-spirited about it. Ichigo appreciates that: a little discipline and order, balanced with a good dose of sympathy and kindness, are requisite in looking after a large number of children.
The other saniwa is considerably less trustworthy in his opinion. Weigel Yue—a name comprised of two surnames, both foreign, no past to speak of, and how do you trust someone to defend history if he speaks nothing of his own? Weigel is a spidery silhouette of a man, all languid smiles and darkly pessimistic jokes about how they’re all going to get killed, how friend and foe and fates alike have it out for them. Not that they don’t score resounding victories anyway, but Ichigo still does not think such remarks are good for his younger brothers to hear. And a saniwa who gets up later than his swords, claiming to be “tormented by his delicate constitution” when in truth he is just hung over, is a bad example no matter how you look at it. Even worse, he doesn’t care for the details of the mission, barely looking at the briefings while Mafuyu would have spent hours researching and coming up with a strategy, and his plans are decidedly reckless if not insane—but they work. Ichigo is not sure why some of the other swords like him, or why Mafuyu tolerates his way of doing things; the two have never been seen together, and reports of one’s misdoings to the other are just met with a small and knowing smile. The system of switching between the two is unpredictable, often leaving the citadel in a madcap atmosphere, but they have been doing well. No one has questioned it.
The reason that they have two saniwa is clear to Ichigo, even if it is not to his younger brothers. They are the best of the best. The most elite squadron of swords, and the two most experienced saniwa, who are frequently called back to their own time and place to train younger recruits or perform other official duties. Even with the two of them rotating shifts, there are often times when there is no human presence at the citadel for days on end. But these are, after all, the best of the best. No one would expect a sword from this citadel to defect or make trouble in a million years.
So goes the unspoken decree: the most dangerous battles and the most crucial missions will be left to them. They are the last line of defense against the irrevocable changing of history. And they just might be the first ones, Ichigo realizes now, to learn how it really happened.
And so, when the announcement is made at dinner on where they will be headed in three days, he thinks that he really shouldn’t have been surprised, he really shouldn’t have had a sinking feeling at all.