Prologue
Warnings: death, abuse, poverty, prejudice, third hokage shame, dark-themed, OC, this will turn into psychological shit, unedited
The moment she realized she was living in a world very much real, she quivered, aghast. With memories of a past life and information no one should have known about, she knew in a logical sense that what she was living in right now shouldn't be real. But, as she felt the wind in her face and breathed in the air surrounding her, a sort of realness only reality could have created rushed through her coursing veins. With every beat her heart made—and now, after finally accepting the truth of this realm, it was beating very fast—the memories of a maybe-future erupted in her mind: she was going to die. In that future, at least. Which she was certain would happen. This wasn't a fantasy trip to crazy land, where she's the main character and has the ability to change the future with her kindness and her words, or her ability. This here was reality.
And it was anything but kind.
At the age of three she, Saya Uchiha, had gotten acquainted with bigoty and prejudice about her clan, Uchiha. It was a growing battle to integrate into the village they lived in; no one wanted a "dirty" Uchiha near them. There were few who did not subject themselves on biased hatred, but those were the ones who were quiet on the matter. Shinobi of the village would ridicule the clan, spit at them, and try with little success to slaughter them. The Uchihas were in a constant unsaid civil war with itself and the village; at any moment, war would break out. The civil war inside the clan was not as cold as the one with the village; the clan people were torn on trying to fix the relationship with the village to wanting to maim all those who disrespected them. At the age of three, a five-year-old tried to rip out her eyes in the center of the village. Nobody batted an eye except one little boy.
He was in the Nara clan, younger than her, and he stared in horror about what was going on. His mother ushered him away with worried eyes; their clan never hated anyone from the Uchihas, but were smart enough not to act on it. So they stayed quiet, and the mother picked up her child and quickly walked away.
Saya's brother, Shisui, came to her rescue as he always did. He shoved the kid away and picked her up as if she was made out of glass. In a fluid movement, he dodged every bystander, afraid of retaliation, and jumped on the nearest building to make his escape. Once they were back at the Uchiha compound, he gently placed her down. Before he could say anything, she tugged on his shirt with a knowing look. They walked together in silence, not bothering to say anything if only to keep a moment of peace. Once they arrived at their regular training ground—safe inside the Uchiha compound—they begun to train. Shisui was an amazing teacher; he taught her the clan's fireball jutsu along with how to fight those stronger than her and how to escape. Saya, not boring a shred of self-preservation, never used it. But her brother came to her rescue every time, fearful of what else he could lose.
Their parents were lynched outside the village gates. It was a Konoha nin, but no investigation was started due to the information it could put other plans in motion: a full-on war inside the village. The Hokage, which was the leader of the village of fire, requested the Uchiha's to comply with the village's order. Then, they won't be persecuted. They won't be hurt. Everyone knew it was only a façade. The whole village wouldn't flinch if the Uchiha's were to burn to extinction; the hatred was strong, was set in its ways. Shisui was as protective as the knowledge of the sun setting and rising; it was a well-known fact among the village. Most thought it was because Saya was weak; it was more because she was too kind hearted, too soft. She would repeat to her brother that she doesn't like using violence with violence, that it wouldn't solve anything of significance and would only create inexcusable hate. Shisui never forgot the image of his dead parents, though. Never.
Saya caught the katana her brother tossed at her, eyes dull and hazy—Shisui sometimes thought that those eyes were dead—as a "ready, go" signal. They quickly clashed their swords, Saya flying backwards due to her frail body. Her charka went straight down to her feet as she leaped near her brother, sword held behind her in a confusing manner Shisui could never completely understand, and then flipped over her sword so she could clash with him once again. This time in their clash, she didn't fall backwards. Instead, her katana was pressed on her brother's sword, pressing it downwards as her body was upside down, her arm holding the katana the only thing keeping her upwards. Her foot quickly armed for her brother's shoulder and when he caught it her knee of that same leg bent, connecting to his chest. He heaved, letting her go and pushing back. He wasn't holding any of his strength back; he knew, deep down, that they needed to excel or they would die. They needed to make a name out of themselves or they will be killed. Just like their parents.
Neither one of them, no matter how they went about life, wanted to turn out like their parents. Her brother, nine years old, won the match by jumping in back of her and hitting her from behind. When she fell on the ground, knocked out, he sighed. Ignoring his passed-out sister, he continued his training. Shisui worked on his charka control and charka deprivation—that was the quickest way to grow the charka reserves—waiting patiently for his sister to wake up. He never got the chance, though. He passed out soon after; she woke up, Shisui still unconscious. Saya worked on her taijutsu and her aim with the kunais; she repressed the knowledge of them being her parents'. When nighttime came and went, she dragged her brother to their home in the compound. It was a shack, but neither of them complained. With how low on funds the Uchiha were, they were lucky to have a roof over their head.
Sometimes she wished she was born as one of the clan head's kids, Itachi or Sauske. Life would be easier; no one outside the clan would dare touch them in fear of an actual reason for an uprising. As she laid her head on her brother's rising chest, she thought. How could this be fixed?
With memories of another lifetime, she thought long and hard. Then, deciding with determination in her usual dead eyes, she said to herself,
"There is no way I am planning on staying in cannon."