Kusagakure Tales

Disclaimer: Kishimoto Masashi

Prologue;

One newborn wailed languidly in his swaddling blanket as thought he had seen all the sorrows of this world in his first few minutes of life, while the second lay motionless and silent. A stillborn. The midwife could do nothing more. This was the second set of twins Mameha had gifted the world and would also be her reason for leaving it.

Looking over her shoulder, the elderly midwife could not stifled her own tears at the sight of the blood creeping through the white sheets. The spreading darkness the other children refused to acknowledge. Mameha's first pair of twins were barely ten years old, kneeling at the beside of their mother.

"Mother…" whimpered Daichi in a shuddered plea he couldn't finish, dropping to his knees beside his elder twin and mother. Tears spilled over the boy's fair cheeks. Reality had struck the boy down with a grim harshness.

"Don't close your eyes…" sobbed Mameha's daughter, Jinsune, clutching her mother cold hand in hers, as though her will alone would keep her mother from leaving this world.

Mameha's lips were turning a pale shade of blue yet she curled them into a reassuring smile. Her golden-brown hair clung to her sweaty face as she turned her eyes to her children. They resembled so much of their father, she thought, as her vision began to darken. Jinsune had her father's eyes. Mameha whispered words only they could hear, before her hand slipped from her daughters' and fell limp at her sides.

The midwife grimaced at the heartbroken cries of three, now orphaned, children. Her aged, wrinkled hands scooped up the stillborn child and covered the baby's lifeless face with the blanket.

Jinsune wiped the stinging tears from her eyes, her hands catching her attention. They looked different than before. Her skin was a glossy, metallic grey like her mother's eyes. Her brow furrowed as she looked to her brother with a perplexed fear.

The door of the room slid open with a sharp smack. The midwife's frown deepened at the looming figure that stood in the doorframe. Mukuro was an imposing sight for anyone to behold. He was a tower of a man, thick and muscular. His forehead was marred by a large scar, the lower half of his face was hidden under a snug mask, and he eyes were narrow and inky black. Around his neck, a Kusagakure headband hung, proudly displaying his status as a Jonin of the Village Hidden in the Grass. His heavy footfall closed the gap between the doorway and the mourning children.

Mukuro's eyes narrowed, sneering beneath his mask. His icy stare was focused on Jinsune. The child was fixated on her hands in bewilderment and horror. The girl clearly didn't know what she was. What this gift was. Mukuro, however, knew better than he cared to, his bitterness burning in the scar on his forehead.

So, it was true after all, Mukuro's inner voice was a mix of hatred and disappointment, Their father was a filthy Iwagakure shinobi…

Mukuro's large gloved hands came to rest on top of the twins' heads.

"I will take care of you now." His voice rumbled low like distant thunder.