PROLOGUE
A/N: Hello everyone! I just wanted to tell you that this story is a redone version of Untitled. I wrote this because I feel that Untitled is badly done, however, I don't want to give up on it. This story will be similar but there will also be major changes. Please review and tell me what you think.
This story is dedicated to Obsidian Fire and Blacknayami for their amazing help with name suggestions for Untitled. I never ended up choosing a name but both of these two helped by offering great suggestions. Thanks guys! This story's for you!
Disclaimer: You should know by now that I think disclaimers are pointless.
There are no landmarks, only
Those you imagine, or those made by rocks
That fell from heaven.
Did you ever know where you are going?
Am I as invisible to you
As you always were to me, fellow traveler?
You are not here for nothing.
There are no easy ways of seeing, riding
The waves of invisible seas
In marvelous vessels which are always
Arriving or departing.
I have come to uncover the famous secrets
Of earth and water, air and fire.
I have come to explore and contain them all.
I am an eye.
I need tons of yellow space and nothing
In this spectrum is unknown to me.
I am the living center of your sight; I draw for you
This thin and dangerous horizon.
Prologue
Funny things, candles. They seem to be the opposite of everything. Humans start out small and get bigger as they grow older. Candles, they start out tall and proud, until you light them on fire. Then they burn down, becoming a little less of what they once were with each passing second. And in the end, there's only a wisp of smoke, like a soul, finally free, and headed for a better place.
Sometimes, a merciful gust of wind, or a sympathetic sigh can lengthen their lives. But these are rare in the world we live in. There is no mercy among killers. There is no sympathy among betrayers.
Did you know that when an Uchiha turns on his sharingan, he sees the world in shades of red and black? Sometimes I sit for hours, staring at the hideous crimson world, wreathed in shadows of darkness. Then I close his eye -not mine, it was never mine- and I imagine. I can live in my own head for hours. I can imagine myself and the others growing up, getting married, growing old, dying painlessly in our sleep.
I can imagine everything, anything, so long as it's different from reality.
6 years old.
Today my father has been summoned to fight. I know what this means. He'll go to see the Hokage and then he'll be gone for several days. Finally, he'll come back to me, wearing someone else's blood like war paint. The light in his eyes will dim.
But I won't care about that. I never have. At least he'll be home.
Tou-san has been gone for five days. I usually stay on my own, but this time Sensei has moved into our living room. He tries to hide it, but I know he's worried.
He took me out for ramen last night and a woman was glaring at me and hissing angry-sounding words to her friends. Sensei pulled me away quickly, but I caught one word. It hung in the air between us like poison.
Traitor.
I asked Sensei why she said that. He smiled sadly down at me and didn't answer. Maybe Tou-san will tell me when he comes home.
It has been eight days. I mark them on a piece of paper. I sit on the steps at night waiting for my father until Minato-sensei calls for me to come in.
He's back!
I came back from training today to see a curl of smoke from our chimney. Sensei told me to go on ahead. He sometimes comes with me to welcome Tou-san home, but today he turned away. His happy smile was gone too, but I was too busy running to the house to ask him what was wrong.
I burst through the doors, and immediately knew that something was wrong. The air felt heavy and dark. I saw muddy footprints on the ground and my father's vest thrown carelessly over a chair.
With growing fear, I padded quietly down the hallway. His study door was ajar. Light spilled from the cracks and I could see his shadow stretch from underneath it.
I pushed the door open.
My father sits on the floor, leaning against his desk. His head has tipped back, his silver hair dirty and tangled. A week's worth of stubble covers his stern jaw, and his dark eyes are closed. He is covered in dried blood, and one hand clutches a bottle of sake like a lifeline.
His tanto dangles from his other hand.
"Tou-san?" I whisper, feeling like I'm intruding. His head snaps up so quickly that I take a step back in surprise, but his harsh gaze softens.
"Kakashi," he murmurs, motioning with the bottle for me to come closer.
I walk to his side and pull the sword from his grasp. To this day, I don't know why I did that. I put the sword down on his desk and sit down next to my father. We sit in silence. Normally he would pick me up and tell me all about the people he saved, and the enemies he defeated. His deep laugh will shake the air and his black eyes will shine brighter than the stars. But tonight he is as silent as a corpse.
The next morning I try to pretend that everything is normal. I am louder than usual to make up for my father's silence. I ask him if he going on a mission today and he shakes his head. I wonder aloud if we could train together today and he tells me in a lifeless voice that he has to stay in the house. When I ask why, he shakes his head again and walks to the dojo, but I know he's not going to train.
I leave. I can't bear the silence anymore. I train all day with Sensei and he is surprised by how hard I work. But during our evening session I tell him that I have to go home. He stares at me with his warm blue eyes for a long moment before nodding.
I run home as quickly as I can. I don't know why. I feel as if something terrible is going to happen. The wind whips my silver bangs into my face.
I throw open the door, and my father and Jiraiya both turn to look at me in surprise. So quickly that I barely see it, Jiraiya whips a piece of paper off of the table and shoves it into his vest. I manage to catch sight of the stamp on it before he can hide it and wonder why he has a scroll marked with the Hokage's personal seal.
"Jiraiya-san," I pant, putting my hands on my knees while trying to catch my breath. "Did you just get here?"
"Yeah," the bear-like man surveys me intensely, his gaze unusually serious. "Aren't you supposed to be training?"
I blush slightly and am glad for my mask. "Kushina-san came to see Sensei," I lie, turning to look at my father.
He gazes back at me with his coal-colored eyes. He looks just as rough as yesterday, and he smells like alcohol. One of his hands is clenched on the table, and I can see it shaking. I avert my eyes from his penetrating stare, and my gaze falls on the table immediately to Tou-san's left.
His tanto lies on the table, and the polished blade smirks at me as I run from the room, trying-and failing-to hold back my tears.
I sit in the massive oak tree behind our house and try to stop myself from crying. I don't even know why I'm so upset. Maybe it's because my father is acting so strange. Shinobi rule #25, I chant in my head. Shinobi rule #25. When darkness falls, I am still in the tree.
I decide not to move until my father comes to get me. When I see a lantern bobbing below me and hear a deep voice, my heart leaps. I lean from the tree and prepare to jump into his strong arms, but then I see white hair below me.
I close my tired eyes and pretend not to hear Jiraiya calling my name.
After Jiraiya finally leaves, I slip out from under my covers. I walk into my father's room, only to find him missing. I search the house and finally find him on the balcony. He is holding another bottle of sake, rocking slightly in the wooden chair. A large dog is curled up on his bare feet and he stares absently off into the distance.
Without a word, I climb onto his lap. He jumps at the contact and I frown.
I never used to be able to sneak up on him before the mission.
He takes another pull from the bottle and wraps a warm arm around me. I snuggle into his embrace and pretend that everything is going to be all right.
I have almost fallen asleep when he speaks. His voice is hoarse from misuse.
"See that man?" He nods his head across the street and I look up tiredly, then narrow my eyes in confusion. The street is empty. There is no man in sight.
I glance up at him, but his jaw is clenched angrily. "He was my best friend, and my second-in-command on the mission."
Immediately I assume that the man is dead. "I'm sorry-" I start to say but he cuts me off.
"They were captured by the enemy." His face is so angry that I can hardly recognize him. "I escaped. I was supposed to complete the mission."
He pauses and I watch him warily. Suddenly his features all collapse. "I went back for them. I killed the guards and I got them out of there." His eyes are haunted. "They were angry. They were yelling at me. Why didn't you finish it?" He laughs so bitterly that I jump in surprise. The alcohol-scented words pour from his mouth like a river. "Tell me, son, who have I failed? My comrades? The Hokage? The village?"
I stare up at him in horror. I don't know what to say. Suddenly my mind flashes back to the woman in the streets. The word slips out of my lips before I can stop it.
"Traitor."
He goes so still that I think he's made of stone. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to apologize, so I do the only thing I can do; I leave. I slip off of his lap and make my way to the door. His words stop me before I can turn the handle.
"I did the right thing." I look over my shoulder and see his eyes blaze defiance at me. It is the most emotion he has shown in days.
After Kakashi leaves, Sakumo takes another long drink of sake. He rests his clenched fist on his knee and stares ahead angrily. He opens his mouth and tries the word out for himself, the word that everyone murmurs when they see him. The word that his son just threw at him.
"Traitor."
The bottle breaks in his tight grip, spraying him with sake and shards of glass. He stares at his bleeding hand, closes his eyes and reaches for his tanto.
He holds it out in front of him, angling the blade towards himself and imagines how easy it would be. He leans lightly on the tip and holds it there for a long moment. Then his eyes snap open as he feels a rush of wind and he sees the man standing in front of him.
Namikaze Minato reaches out and wrenches the sword from Hatake Sakumo's grip.
The stares pierce me as I walk down the streets. The words crawl into my ears and stay there for hours, whispering to me while I try to push them away.
"Did you hear about the White Fang?"
"Some hero-"
"His fault my husband's dead-"
"-Abandoned a mission, can you believe it?"
"Disgrace-"
"That's his son."
"Wonder if he knows what his father did?"
"Going back to war-"
"Traitor-"
Traitor.
Traitor.
Traitor.
Traitor.
Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words hurt much more. Words can break my heart.
A week goes by.
Time doesn't matter when you're not moving with it.
A month.
A year.
I could sit in front of my calendar and watch the days fly by.
Leaving me behind.
It has been a year now. My father has not returned to duty. Instead he sits in our house, and lets the bills grow higher and higher.
I avoid the house as much as possible.
I'm not a traitor.
Why should I be associated with one?
I come home from training one day and find my father missing. I search for him. I look everywhere, when all of a sudden I catch sight of the stand where my father keeps his tanto.
The sword is gone.
I paw through his wardrobe. His uniform is gone. I sit back on my heels and feel a well of hope bubble up in my throat.
Is he returning to duty?
I cook dinner. I'm only seven years old and small for my age, so I have to drag a chair over to the stove in order to reach. While I am chopping vegetables and throwing them into the bubbling pot I imagine my father clawing his way back to the top. I imagine him going out on missions. Being applauded by civilians when he comes home from missions. Being sent out to the front lines on the missions that no one else is able to do.
I imagine being proud to be his son again.
I am so wrapped up in my fantasies that I hardly notice when the door opens. What I do notice is when the man at the door clears his throat. I spin so quickly that I nearly lose my balance on the chair.
Sensei looks back at me with an expression that I secretly call his 'mission face', because he uses this face when he has to kill someone. His big, goofy grin is gone and I almost miss it. He stands in our doorway awkwardly for a moment, before he strides into the kitchen and lifts me down from the chair. His big arms hold me tightly for a minute before setting me down, and I stare up at him in puzzlement.
"Come on," he tells me, turning away and running a hand wearily through his messy blond hair. "We have to go to the Hokage's tower."
Obediently I pull on my sandals and trot alongside him as we leave the house. The journey to the Hokage's tower is spent in silence, and I begin to wonder what's wrong because my sensei is never this quiet. He probably broke up with Kushina-san.
We arrive at the tower and are allowed into the Hokage's office. My father stands in front of the desk with a harsh expression on his unshaven face. His silver hair is dull and scraggy, scraped into a long ponytail. He is wearing his full uniform and his tanto is strapped to his back. For a moment I can almost delude myself into believing that everything is all right.
Sandaime-sama is seated at his desk with a grave expression on his face. Two people flank him, an old man and an old woman. Their harsh expressions are directed at my father for reasons that I don't understand. Another man stands behind them with his back facing us. He is leaning on a cane and one of his arms is missing. Jiraiya is leaning against the window with an angry look on his face. His teammate, Orochimaru, stands alongside him. Something is terribly wrong.
The Hokage notices us first. "Minato and Kakashi," he greets in a somber voice. Sensei bows and I copy him belatedly. Out of the corner of my eye I see my father glance at me. I pretend he isn't there.
The Hokage stands up and moves around the desk to stand in front of me. "Kakashi," he starts seriously. "We need to talk to you about something very important. Do you know what happened last November?"
I glance up at Sensei for reassurance and he puts one hand on my shoulder. "Hai, Hokage-sama," I say. "O-tou-san went on a mission and his teammates got into trouble so he saved them."
"Condemning the village," the old man behind the desk sniffs angrily, and Sensei's grip tightens.
Sarutobi-sama ignores him. "Yes. Afterwards, a great deal of damage resulted. I do believe that your father thought he was doing the right thing. But many more have died as a result of his actions."
He begins to make his way back to his seat, weighed down with responsibility and sadness. I chance a quick look at my father but he is staring angrily ahead. His face is set in stone.
"You see, Kakashi," I look back at the Hokage. "We can't allow our shinobi to make mistakes on the field that cost such a high price. I am all in favor of giving Sakumo another chance to gain back the village's trust. But," he glares at the old people flanking him. "I have been overruled by the counselors."
"What does that mean?" I ask, trying to stop my voice from shaking.
"This is wrong," Jiraiya snarls from his corner. No one pays any heed, except for Orochimaru who shakes his head in warning at his teammate.
The man in the shadows turns and I want to recoil in surprise but I can't show that I am afraid. His face and arm are heavily bandaged and he leans on his walking stick heavily. A mop of greasy hair covers his head and thick lines score his frightening face. "Your father is going to be exiled," he tells me in a careless voice.
I go numb all over. This isn't the way it's supposed to go! My mind starts to scream silent protests but I can't say anything. I start to shake. I hardly hear it when Jiraiya starts to argue with the counselors. I see their moves moving and their wrinkles contorting in grotesque ways like stone gargoyles come to life but I can't hear what they say. My eyes are locked on the man in the middle who merely listens as they argue about his fate. He stands in the perfect military posture, hands behind his back, legs shoulder-width apart. His dark eyes are the only indication of his inner turmoil.
He turns his gaze and those eyes pierce me to the soul.
Do you hate me? They ask silently.
And because I am a coward, I turn away.
Nine years is a long time
Even longer when you have nowhere to go.
A fact about Hatake Sakumo
For nine years he would throw his sword into the air and go in the direction that it ended up pointing to.
He lived part of his life balanced on the edge of a blade.
The sun was setting over the horizon, scarcely seen behind the storm clouds that hung mournfully over the impoverished village. They crowded into the sky to welcome the weary traveler who made his way slowly to the old wooden gates. The soft patter of rain drowned out his light breathing and he drew his black cloak closer around him.
A voice suddenly cut through the heavy air.
"Halt!"
The traveler lifted his head, displaying a head of gray hair and a lined face. Watery blue eyes peered out of sunken sockets as a trembling hand pushed the wool hood back. The man was stooped over with age and grief.
The guard hopped confidently off of the wall top. He was a tall man with a long scar marring his tanned cheek. The rebreather sported by Hanzo's personal guard pushed his black hair back from his forehead.
He approached the old man with an arrogance that would be the death of him. "What is your business here, old man?" he questioned harshly.
The traveler looked up at the guard with his haunted eyes and blinked as the rain ran into them. "My sister was killed several days ago," he rasped in a tired voice. "Her children are parentless. I am here to take care of them."
The guard held one hand out, bored. "Papers."
The old man started to stutter nervously. "I don't have papers, sir. I live on the outskirts of Kirigakure, I have no need for them!"
"Then I can't let you in." He shoved the old man away. The man stumbled and just barely caught himself. "Go on, clear off."
"Please, sir," the man pleaded, clutching at the guard's sleeve. "My nephews… They'll starve!"
"It's no concern of mine," the guard replied heartlessly, turning back to his post.
"I'll ask again." The guard stopped in shock as a deep, powerful voice spoke out from behind him. A sharp tip was suddenly shoved against his back and a well-muscled arm snaked around his neck. The guard twisted in his attacker's grip, craning his neck to see the man's face. With a snap his neck was broken, and the traveler let go, allowing the guard to fall limply to the muddy ground.
The last thing the guard ever saw was a flash of white as the traveler sheathed his blade.
The sun is disappearing as two shadows flit through the darkness.
Their breath is harsh and the wind tears at their faces and clothes and pulls their hair as if to hold them back.
One falls, scraping his knees on the cruel cement. Without a word his companion grabs him under the arm and hauls him to his feet. They gasp for breath, but there is no time to stop.
The rain cools them down but not enough. Blood pumping, breath spurting into the night with an urgency that could almost be called hysteria, knees throbbing from the fall. Unimportant. They leap over uneven ground and the rocks that threaten to trip them. A fall could kill them. A fall could ruin everything.
The old man hurries through the streets. His legs stride quickly down the wet alleys, turn corners, dart down thin streets where the buildings are so close together that they seem to be closing in on him.
His bent back straightens and he is suddenly several feet taller. The lines begin to recede from his skin and sculpted cheekbones frame his aquiline nose and coal colored eyes.
Silver hair bursts from his head, growing down to his back in a matter of seconds. He pulls it into a low ponytail and yanks his hood back up to cover his face.
So close…
Ignoring the soft whimpers that come from the figure lying bound at his feet, the man turns to his companion.
"How long?" he murmurs.
"Several minutes at most, sir," the other replies softly. "We'll know when they pass the first squadron."
"Good," his commander says, no longer bothering to keep his voice down. After all, they were almost here. A sharp smile curves his thin lips as he stares unblinkingly down the dirt path that leads to the group. "This game ends now."
On a clifftop overlooking the small group amassed below sits a man clad in shadows. He leans back against a protruding tree, watching calmly. A flash of movement catches his eye, and he turns his head to watch.
Two figures race through the fog that shrouds the village, directly towards the ambush that awaits them.
"At last," he hisses in a murderous voice, "it begins."
He is so focused on the two boys that he doesn't see the dark figure that also moves through the fog, on a direct collision course with the running figures.
A/N: What do you think? Better than the first go around? A lot of this story will change, and a lot will stay the same. Reviews make me update a lot quicker!