Chapter Text
The Kurosaki are a different bunch, both as individual Humans, and for a Quincy Clan. There are stories about a family of spiritual experts living a black half-island of death —Hei Dao in the Chinese Empire, MavroNisi in Ancient Greece, Kurosaki in feudal Japan— throughout time, long before they become a clan of Quincy, before even than the creation of the Sternritter. They are a force of nature, it’s in their blood, and both folklore and mythology attest to that— even when history cannot.
And Kurosaki Masaki? She truly is exceptional amongst her kin of exceptions; for having an impressive comprehension of every spiritual art the people of Black Peninsula have been perfecting for centuries, for her unbelievable control of her powers Quincy and otherwise, not to mention her truly marvellous choice in breeding. Her children are Human, Hollow, Shinigami and Quincy; a particular composition as perfect as any mortal creature gets, even if her people are no longer around to acknowledge it.
She knew what choice she was going to make from the moment she laid eyes on Isshin— strong and determined and Shinigami before he became funny and romantic and love. Her kind are, after all, very much collectors at heart.
Sadly, it’s that heart of greed that curses them in a truly ironic twist of Fate, after all the laughs they had over Middle Age accusations on their kind and deals with the devil. Their ancestors have gone and accepted parts of Ywach’s soul, no doubt because it was interesting, because it was different and rare— selling their, every last one of their, people’s souls to the devil. The Kurosaki, the Hei Dao, all of her people across the globe; they wanted their own parts from this truly unforeseen spiritual being, and they paid for it with their own lives when he called that debt back.
After all, the Quincy might have thought them pure, but her kin has never been just Quincy, just as they had never been just Human.
None the less, she is glad the call of the Quincy’s king comes when it does because her children and nephew are still too weak, too young to register on Ywach’s senses. She has already taught her son all that can be taught of their Arts. The rest he will have to find in his soul, as is tradition, and she has no doubts that he will. The legacy of the people of the Black Peninsula will be carried by her small child, but she couldn’t have been more reassured.
It is well entrusted, is her last thought as she dies by the force of the Call, under a demon and on her terrified son. Their Clan will live and die by Ichigo and when he decides to take his sisters under his wing, as she knows he will, they will be a sight to see.
It is well entrusted.
Isshin has fallen for a truly exceptional woman, who fell for him in return, and has been granted three just as —if not more— exceptional children. He just doesn’t know how exceptional.
As well he shouldn’t.
Masaki has known and taught as she has been taught: All children are born with locked boxes full of secrets in their hearts and to whom they will give the key is up to them, not their bearer. Unless he earns the honour, the secrets of their powers are her children’s treasure to keep from Isshin. That is the way of Masaki’s kind, as a witch from the Black Peninsula.