A/N: Got sucked into a black hole of SI/ OC inserts and I don't see myself leaving (or saving myself) anytime soon. Alright, so, here we go, have another SI/OC story, inspired by all the other Naruto SI-genres out there. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. Only my OCs.
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Her rite of passage was a quiet affair, if not surprising.
The Third Hokage sat across her in full regalia, white cloak billowing and his large hat set gently beside him as she performed the last steps of the tea ceremony. If he noticed the slight tremble in her small hands, he didn't say. She offered him a bowl of tea which he gratefully accepted, then to two of her elders sitting beside her and settled back in her place, quiet as a shadow, silent unless spoken to, as she was taught by the clan about propriety.
"Why, this is a refreshing," said the Hokage after a long sip.
"Your words honor us." It was the branch head, Unkai, a hawkish looking man with light brown hair, who answered instead. "Chrysanthemum cools the body especially in such a fine summer weather."
(It certainly was a fine summer weather.)
"Hopefully, the summer breeze and rain arrives soon. The weather has been terribly warm these days," the Third commented. He took a sip from his tea. "And no, the honor should be mine, Unkai-dono. My visit today was unannounced and untimely that I seemed to have interrupted an important occasion here - for that I apologise."
"Nonsense," Unkai answered. "You're welcome to the Kurama abode at all times, Hokage-sama. We'll always be pleased to receive you." Unkai gave a slight bow of head, as did she and the other clan elder.
She continued her vigil of silence and simply watched and listened with her hands resting on her lap and legs folded beneath her in a perfect seiza - just as her sister had taught.
"If I may, I must admit that I'm quite intrigued by this occasion that I've interrupted - but that is, if only you and your clan wouldn't mind my asking, of course." The Third set down his bowl of tea. "I would most certainly understand the need for discretion for private clan matters, and I can certainly respect that."
"No, no, not at all. Please," Unkai appeased, almost hurriedly. "If you've the time, perhaps, a demonstration would be best. Every Kurama child undergoes a simple rite of passage when they are of a certain age. You're more than welcome to watch the exhibition rite." He gestured at her with a gentle lift of hand.
In acknowledgement, she bowed low in her seiza, held it for no longer than a few seconds and returned to her original position. The approval in the eyes of her clan elders was unmistakable, she thought nothing of it. Instead, her honey-coloured eyes traced the patterns cast by leaves from a nearby tree in the morning light, spilled strewn over the Third's silken robes.
(It was a hypnotic dance of flickers and movement whenever a breeze swept by.)
"Ah, I heard of the tradition. Truly, Unkai-dono, you and your clan honor me much by including me in such an important milestone of your clan." The Third chuckled, hearty and warm. It was a nice sound. She likened it to the warmth of a fireplace during winter's breath. "I'll gladly accept that honor."
"Thank you, Hokage-sama," said Unkai. Then to her, he gave a slow, grave nod as if to convey the importance of the situation. "Whenever you're ready, child."
She dutifully dipped her head in response, a murmured gratitude passing through her lips softly. Her elders watched quietly, almost eagerly at the proceeding from the side; at this opportunity to prove their worth. But the attention didn't faze her.
"Is the tea to your satisfaction, Hokage-sama?" she asked, always mindful of her manners under watchful eyes.
"Oh, yes it is. Thank you for the tea, and for the ceremony. It was very nicely done." The Third cradled his tea. He smiled gently and the lines around his dark eyes crinkled. "You must be Shiun."
"Yes, I am." She returned the smile. "Named after purple clouds, sir. And you're very welcome."
"Purple clouds indeed. A beautiful name to match a beautiful phenomenon."
"Thank you, but I wouldn't know, sir. I've never seen purple clouds before - have you?" She ignored the slight noise of indignation and the warning glance from one of her elders at the overly-familiar tone, and tilted her head. "In fact, can clouds really be purple, or is it just the colour of the sky reflected into the clouds."
A grandfatherly chuckle indulged her. "That certainly begs the question. Why can't it be both?"
"Even if it's just a mere trick of the eyes?" she said.
"It can very well be that too. My, what a curious one, you are. It's a good quality to have," the Third said. "And how old are you?"
"I've just turned six."
"And do you have any hopes and dreams you wish to achieve?"
Shiun blinked, slowly as though not quite fully understanding the question but tilted her head. Her voice was quiet and hushed as she spoke. "Not in particular. But I hope…" she trailed off, almost distantly as a sort of solemnity drifted into her eyes. She tried again. "But I hope the peace lasts."
At that, the Third levelled a steady, unreadable gaze at her. Then finally, with a tinge of wistfulness lacing his words, he said like a sigh," I certainly hope so too."
She wasn't certain if she caught the saddened flicker across his face, but she let silence fall at the sudden shift of atmosphere in the room, as she only could.
She asked, "is there anything you'd like to see?"
"To see? Is that what your rite of passage entrails?"
"Yes, sir. Usually the honored elders tell me what they want to see and I follow according to their wishes. It can be anything, truly - something small; objects like a trinket or a kunai, or even a vase of roses and vines growing," she explained. And she asked again. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to see?"
The Third Hokage considered it. Then, he brought his tea to his lips, a mirthful twinkle in his eyes as he smiled.
"Surprise me."
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She let him see imagery drawn from memory.
She let him see the beginning of last spring.
She let him see the beginning of last spring; of the still snow-crusted spring blossom buds on branches of a tree in the Kurama compound: ice melting, buds stretching and growing into full bloom, cherry petals curling out toward the mid-morning light as if reaching for the sun, before scattering adrift in pink rioting clouds with the wind. A lone petal landed gently on the surface of the Third's tea before it too, disappeared in a ghostly wisp.
She let him see the Village; of the view of her favourite perch in the civilian market district: fabrics of interwoven cloth from the colour spectrum hanging from building to buildings, businesses booming in shopfronts, vendors eagerly selling their wares with beckoning arms, streets filled with throngs of people and children running about, and in the distance, more buildings in the midst of construction - the village thriving under the watchful gazes of the three rock-like sentinel faces belonging to the Hokages.
The images faded vividly in and out, and Sarutobi Hiruzen watched it all materialise before him as she weaved her craft. He appreciated the finesse and the subtle teachings of the finer genjutsu arts taught to her and expected nothing less.
As expected from the Kuramas; a clan that has produced the finest genjutsu-users Konohagakure's could ever have; a clan that mastered discerning illusions and reality like an art form: beautiful but just as deadly; a clan that once upon a time stood prestigious for all its glory and skill, but now a remnant of its former memory.
She would go far with her skill in genjutsu, Sarutobi thought as he took a long sip from his tea, just like the rest of her clan.
It was a pity their numbers were dwindling.
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The next day, the clan emblem was inked onto her upper arm: three uplifting strokes made to reassemble a simple rendition of an outstretched wing in pale green. For the flight of the impossible.
It marked a completed rite of passage.
(It was worth the exhaustion she felt after, for a meager six-year old child.)
It marked her a true proven member of the clan for all to see - the pride of the clan, just like every other Kurama.
Naturally, the clan expected nothing less. Especially from a daughter of the main family.
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in the eyes of the beholder
Summary
"Be the beholder, and never the participant." It was a saying the clan abided by. Kurama Shiun was taught to look out for inconsistencies. To notice; to watch; to doubt; to retrace origins of such occurrences. And she did exactly that.
Chapter One
Something Ends; Something Begins
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The manner people walked often told something.
Strong strides translated to confidence. A drag of feet and slumped shoulders implied unhappiness from a range of lacking enthusiasm to distress. Ramrod straight postures, on the other hand, spoke up formal upbringings with heavy etiquette reinforcement, usually reserved for the upper-class civilians and noble caste residing in the capital; sometimes, it was mere arrogant, asshat-y behaviour as her brother once put one fine morning.
(Most times, she wasn't certain whom her brother meant - the nobles, the Uchihas, or the Hyūgas. Or all of the above, actually.)
Shiun considered her mark: a girl in her early teens dressed in the finest of silks, dyed lightest purple; considered the hesitant steps she took as though unused to the crowd in the civilian marketplace; considered her straight and stiff back, head still held high and the perfectly poised hand tucked in front despite her discomfort.
It was a game her brother often played with her. Guess, he would say.
Shiun didn't remember who or when the game started, but it became a routine whenever her brother, being the head of the Kurama clan, could spare the time for her.
Her eyes drifted lazily to the sky, where the morning sun peeked over, a splash of light-kissed sundrop splayed across the canvas of blue and grey; then back to the busy street, and she watched the flow of people moving in and out, meandering to their destinations much like koi fishes in a pond. It was a sight she found soothing just to watch from a distance, and she did for a time. Until her brother's voice pulled her from her reverie that was.
"So?" he prompted.
Her brother, Maki, sat on a roof tier above her, a leg dangling off the edge of the building. His hand sketched with a flurry of movement on a drawing pad that rested on his lap, an extra piece of charcoal laying next to him as sharp amber eyes flickered back and forth from the market scene to his work. She sat not so differently than him, with her chin resting on a knee pulled close to her chest.
She returned her attention to the market street. She watched as a pair of older-looking girls trail behind her mark at the shoulder in a similar fashion, and at a proximity that indicated familiarity, and yet some distance. Attendants, perhaps, she hazarded a guess.
"Highborn. Or upper-class," Shiun relayed. "She could be a merchant's daughter, or just a visiting tourist." She waited to gauge her brother's reaction, but he gave nothing away.
"Is that all?" Maki merely said, not once looking up from his work.
"For the moment," she answered.
Maki shot her a dry look. "You're stalling. But time's up," he said. "Is that all you have?"
A slight tilt of head, and she considered. It was all she had gleaned from the distance before her attention drifted off. "Yeah," she finally acquiesced.
Maki didn't answer immediately, but when he did, his tone was wry. "I should hope that you'd recognise the 84th in line to the daimyō seat."
"Someone still keeps track of that?"
"Pedigree is important business in the capital - you'll see, one day, if you ever visit the place. There's a lot of preening, especially in the daimyō court," he explained. "Not unlike some of us here in the Village I suppose."
"Us?" she said, a little too innocently.
Amber eyes narrowed at her. "I know what you're doing, and I'm not going to say it. It won't do to worsen clan relations than it already is. And we're already veered off-topic," he said, almost chastising in tone. Then, with his other unoccupied hand, he gestured back down to the marketplace. "Daimyō's distant relative. 84th in line. She still has a claim to the seat if she wanted it. You're right on the account that she's a highborn, and a tourists of sorts. But you missed something."
At that, Shium followed the direction her brother pointed to. A fair distance, about two buildings back, the market crowd thinned to the sides and she saw the cause of it. Two men in traditional clothings and sheathed swords openly strapped to their sides followed obediently behind with hard faces. The throng parted away from them. Some openly gawked; some hurried away; only a minority continued to trod with their business. The reaction of the formers wasn't surprising at the very least - Shiun had seen it happen a few times. There was a general policy in the Konoha to keep weapons sheathed, and if possible, not visible in heavy civilian-frequented districts. Everyone abided to it.
"Visible guards. Two of them," she echoed. "Not doing a very good job at being inconspicuous though."
A huff of laughter from Maki at her after comment. "Four visible guards, actually," he corrected, and a small grin played at the corner of his lips.
Maki tilted his head at the building opposite them. The previously vacant rooftop, not a second ago, was now occupied. There was no mistaking the red glow in their eyes, or the red-white Uchiha fan insignia emblazoned on the shoulders of their grey uniform sleeves - a pair of Uchiha Military Police patrol.
"Oh," she said, a little dully. "MP patrols."
"Yeah. Missed that too," Maki said. Then, he quoted from memory all the while as he continued to sound and look smug. "A shinobi may guess but mustn't assume. A shinobi must always expect the unexpected, and the inevitable. Shinobi code number 35 and 10. Haven't you learned that in the Academy yet?"
Shiun gave a huff. "Show-off."
"Am not."
"Am too."
Maki laughed. "Anyways. Seriously, though, you can't just write people off like that. You've got to see more, look a little broader, dig a little deeper. You hear me?"
It was a lesson she was growing accustomed to with or without her say so, she realised. Not when it was so thoroughly implemented and present in her daily, it simply became another fact in her life.
"Yeah," she said. "I hear you."
"Yeah? Good." Maki surveyed the market with a sweep of his eyes, chin resting on his hand. "Alright," he said. "Another one; an easier one. I spy with my eyes: a lady in blue."
And Shiun's attention returned to the street below without missing a beat, honey-coloured eyes pinpointing her new mark.
The middle-aged lady in question wore a kimono the shade of muted blue, a grocery filled basket dangling at her elbow. She maneuvered her way through the crowd with practiced ease, not once did she bump into anyone or pause in her track. It spoke much of her familiarity of the district, and better yet, she was a familiar face Shiun recognised in the area.
"Housewife. Middle-class. She's a regular at old lady Natsu's stall," Shiun said.
"I need more than that, sprout," Maki drawled.
She rolled her eyes, but otherwise, amended. "She visits the stall every two days, but only ever buys the vegetables when it's freshly delivered every third day of the week. She goes to the tea house at the end of the street after each visit to old lady Natsu's stall." Shiun stopped to contemplate the importance of the next piece of information. Then, decidedly, she added, almost like an afterthought. "She brings her kids to the market during the weekends, though wrangled is a better suited term."
Another huff of laughter from Maki. "A horrible gossip too, you didn't mention," he added.
"Is she?" Shiun straightened.
"She is a horrible gossip," Maki replied.
"But that's your opinion."
"But it's true."
"Objectivity, brother," she said. "You're breaking the rules of your own game."
"Am not. What do you think she does returning to the same stall without purchasing anything -or why?"
"But," Shiun said, "is she really a horrible gossip, or is it her gossips that are horrible?"
"Both, actually."
"How bad?"
"Not for your ears, sprout," Maki smoothly answered. "Not for your ears. Another one. I spy with my eyes: a running boy in green."
And the game went on.
The couple in red. The sleep-deprived teen in green. The grocer with the pink-stained apron.
Right until a pair of stern-looking MPs from the opposite building informed them tartly about the obstruction of rooftop traffic and transversal; the dangers and rooftop safety measures (to Shiun), and negligence on Maki's part in a tone that booked no further arguments, before they kicked the the pair of siblings off the roof with, not for the first time, an issued warning.
(Sticks up their asses, Maki had half-heartedly murmured out of earshot with a short huff of laughter.)
Understandably, the Uchiha MPs were just doing their jobs. But, it didn't stop Shiun and Maki from returning to the same perch after a round of sweets and warm honeyed tea, and they continued their game of I spy with more sweets for snacks.
This was her everyday life; a consistent part of it, and it was fine just the way it was
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But the peace didn't last.
It was AF (After Founding.) 55 when Hatake Sakumo, the famed 'White Fang of Konoha', and his team reportedly returned to the Village with the stain of a failed mission hounding them when the Third Shinobi War broke out.
Konohagakure was, once again, at war.
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