Shatter
When the Kyuubi invaded Konoha, he tore it to pieces in one fell swoop. All he did was roar and wave a tail, and the village's foundation crumbled away in the varied shapes of dying shinobi.
Yondaime stood above them all and pretended he knew how to play the hero.
He directed men with his arm and watched with cloudy blue eyes as they were struck down. When he traded his body to rid the world of a monster, his last thoughts were of his fallen people and the soul that burned inside him. He was (very much) alive.
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Yondaime is alive at Naruto's inauguration, and it isn't fair.
He is alive and he is silver, and he keeps the Kyuubi's dark chakra from flooding out and encompassing his son. He is alive and he is water, lapping at the Kyuubi's hot, hot feet.
When Sasuke and his forces invade Konoha, they rip it apart slowly. The villagers disappear, not in swarms, but randomly. Their deaths are ruled accidents. Nobody knows the truth but Naruto. And Yondaime.
And though Naruto looks out the window and sees the earth crack like dirty, broken glass, and though he sees the blood in the rivers, it's really what's in the mirror that matters.
His face matters: rough, cardboard, and creased.
The morning after Sasuke is killed, Naruto stands in front of the mirror and Yondaime examines his (their) reflection critically, frowning because they're both alive and the world is still unfair.
Fin.