Breathe the Flames
By Spark
Disclaimer: Naruto does not belong to me.
It's an October afternoon that still feels like summer, and it's the worst night in Konoha's history.
What a pretty family portrait they make: the father sells his soul and breath to imprison a demon.
The mother dies when that demon is placed in the body leaving hers; she is clear-eyed as she bleeds out. They know the cost of their choices, but they also know that choosing another path wouldn't lead to any life worth having.
The baby screams, as if he knows he is the sacrificial lamb placed on the alter made of dreams and flames and the hatred and love of a village.
The demon is imprisoned now, but there is no silence. There is sobbing and screams of agony and the crackle of flames and crash of falling timbers and shouted orders that sound more like weeping than anything else, and the baby's wailing is no louder than that of any other child. Perhaps loudest of all is the sound of shattering hearts.
The nightmare isn't over, not anywhere near over. There are still fires to put out and the dead to tally and injuries to heal. There are people to find and homes to rebuild and a monster to hate. There is still work to do.
No one approaches the child. Those who entertain thoughts of killing the boy hesitate, not sure yet if destroying the vessel would release what is contained within.
Sandaime-sama steps up to the baby. He lies next to the body of his father and is still streaked with blood from his mother. He screams his existence to any who will listen and to those who won't as well, and his hair is like sunlight, like flames, like hope.
The man who should be retired picks the boy up, turns, and walks to his office. All around him, people focus on their tasks. Many pause and stare at the boy, hatred and grief in their eyes, and look away.
There is still work to do.