To Live
The village before them was wrecked, destroyed in body and mind, the remnants of demonic feeling creating a haze of madness.
And what a madness it was.
People lined the streets, wailing loudly, crying, and screaming, for their loved ones that would never return. They screeched for their leader, a brilliant man who had stopped the unstoppable. The city ground to an unsteady halt, as the leader of the village and his protégé—the only one remaining within the village—carried the bodies of two blonds. One: the genius of his generation, Namekaze Minato, the Yondaime Hokage, dead. The other: a nameless baby, cheeks adorned with whisker like birthmarks, and lively blue eyes, observing.
The villagers took no notice of the blond child. They wept for what could have been, what had been, and the chaos that had engulfed their city. They didn't notice the seal that glowed like a map on the boy's stomach, nor the solemn faces of two of their strongest.
The old man holding the baby looked down and frowned. He knew, above all else, that the villagers couldn't know about the boy. He knew that the rage directed at this freak disaster would be emulated on the boy. He wished he didn't, he wished that he could be as naïve as the blond man; now a corpse on the back of his one and only teacher.
No, instead the child would have to go. He would have to leave the chaos of this city behind him, this city that thrived on war, which had seen so much blood shed in past years. It had all come down to this point.
"Jaraiya," the wizened man began. His student looked at him, tears openly spilling down his cheeks and smearing his face a weeping red. "Wake Kushina, take her to Tsunade for healing, take the boy with you. He can not remain in this city."
The man nodded, before they switched charges. The old man accepted his new burden readily, both the physical and implied, by hoisting the dead man over his shoulders.
The gama-sannin accepted the boy carefully, before heading off in the direction of the hospital.
The Sandaime Hokage frowned a bitter frown. Konoha's enemies would stir now, the scent of blood fresh in the moonlight. He would have to reclaim his mantle as hokage. He would do so with honour. He would fight forces both internal and external, for the betterment of Konohagakure no Sato, as he had done, and as he would do again.
He took his place, the shadow of fire, and Konoha grieved. They cried for days and nights, and yet still they shed salt water from their ducts.
Yet, even in despair the city rebuilt itself. The people, both shinobi and civilian, stood strong and resolute. The old shadow knew in his heart of hearts that Konoha would flourish, as it always flourished. It had been born in conflict, shed its hate, and stood tall. Others emulated its example, also to great success. But Konoha remained distinct. It was the first, and it was powerful. The will of fire burned at it's very soul.
Each and everyday the people struggled to rebuilt, endured hardship, and fought for their lives; the old man was reminded of that will. In the week after his successor fell, conquering the mighty Kyuubi, he smiled. He smiled because he knew it would be okay. It would last.
Elsewhere, a man and a woman and a baby made their way through the gambling capitals of the land of fire. The woman was dieing, but soon they would find the woman capable of healing her. Her recuperation would take a long time, but at least she got to live.
She smiled at her son, the spitting image of his father, and she would coo him to sleep, and tickle him awake, and love him more than love itself.
The man would watch from the sidelines, bickering with the healer when they crossed paths, and often disappearing for long periods. He would return abruptly, dispatch a note to Konoha, and continue on as though he had been there the entire time.
The baby grew slowly, unaware of the power inside of him, or of the hopes that would be expected of him in the future. Innocent, and pure, he was happy.
The swirl on his stomach, the gift and curse from his father, had long since faded into his skin.
No one glared as the band of travelers passed, no one dared, no one had reason to.
The boy was unknown, as was his affliction.
Eventually, the woman fully recovered from her brush with death. The man looked worriedly at her once when they spoke.
"I am taking him to the old country, to train him, sensei," the woman explained, pulling red locks out of face. "I was rather hoping you would journey with us, but I suppose that is nearly impossible?"
The man's lips were pursed in a frown. "Kushina, that place is not safe. Kiri has gobbled it up, you barely escaped with your life!"
The woman smiled at his animation. "I know, sensei, but we cannot merely wander Hi no Kuni for eternity. We will adopt fake names for our duration in that place, no one will know us, and we will return when necessary."
The man did not seem happy, and the woman noted that he rather looked like his toads when he frowned. But the man eventually yielded to her demands, and escorted her most of the way to her destination. It was slow going, and the boy had to be carried a great distance.
And so the refugees returned to their birthright, a village smeared with the blood of their kin, before moving on and settling in the bloody mist.
In Konoha, a girl was almost kidnapped, and the perpetrator killed. An equal sacrifice was given to appease war hawks. Another boy loses his father. He does not see the justice.
In Kiri, a boy lifts his first knife, and trains with his mother how to throw it.
In Konoha, a teenager destroys his clan for to prevent rebellion; an ancient man laughs on the sidelines, forgotten with time.
In Kiri, a madman kills many more people; a clan of bones rises up and is destroyed. A blond boy hates the violence, but learns about his chakra.
In Konoha, a young mind sharpens in the wooden battlefield, learning when to strike, how to position.
In Kiri, a blond picks up the sword of a fallen warrior, and a rage red as hell erupts within him. The giant blade reacts with him, history is beginning.
In Konoha, a young man loses hope; only to be bolstered by a man with a bowl cut. The fire burns in his soul.
In Kiri, a boy and his mother leave, hoping that the fire will evaporate the mist that has closed their minds for so long.
In Konoha a blond arrives. His mother pants as she catches up to him at the gates. One of the guards recognizes her from the distant past. "Ku-Kushina?"
She smiles at the man, and then at her son. "Come now Naruto, we wouldn't want to be late for our meeting with the Hokage, would we?"
The young blond shakes his head in earnest, he is now twelve, and he has lofty goals. "Nah, mum," a cheeky, fox-like grin sets over his excited features. "The old man might keel over before we get there! Let's go!"
He rushes ahead of her, unsure of the direction. Yet something has awoken inside of his soul, a feeling that makes him feel like yelling from the rightness of it all.
And the will of flame continues to burn, evaporating the horrors of the mist, the uncertainties that it cloaked.
The woman is joyous. She has returned home. A small smile graces her lips.
A/N: Hey everybody. How are you all doing?
I really enjoyed the way this piece turned out, and I look forward to your thoughts. This is a trial piece, I'm trying to figure out if I should leave it as it is, or add more chapters(in a different perspective).
I wrote this piece while listening to Philip Glass' Solo Piano album, if that helps you understand the pacing at all.
R&R, you know the drill.