The mind forms landscapes.
This ability is enhanced with doujutsu and with the Sharingan, an entire world can be created.
It is no illusion. It is simply an internal palace. Its edges are hazy and blurred and time skips forward and backward as you please. The Sharingan perfectly augments reality, sewing characters and events into real places seamlessly.
Now, you are at the gateway. There are two rows of shophouses. Wooden signboards painted with red and black characters adorn the roofs. Smells of steamed buns and roasted chestnuts waft in the air. There is a child's delighted shriek. Sunlight dimples off of the surface of a bucket of water. An orange koi dappled with black swims lazily in an arc in the water. The cobbled streets feel uneven beneath your sandaled feet.
A bunch of children run past you, ink- black hair tousled and sweaty. They are playing with windmills. The coloured paper spins wildly in their grip. As they chase the wind, you glance in their direction. The red and white symbol is sewn neatly into every child's shirt. The walls, too, wear this symbol. They are proud of it, these people.
The Uchiha are thriving and at peace here.
The landscape wavers for a moment and everything seems to rock, like a boat out at sea. The ground trembles and houses go topsy- curvy. Then, it resettles. The dream continues.
You take one step through the gateway. The cloak you have on is dark and undecorated. There is no red lining or clouds of crimson scattered over it. You notice that the coat is slightly dusty, as if you've been on the road for a while. You wonder where you were previously, how long it took for you to reach here.
For another dangerously fuzzy moment, your sight goes red and vertigo looms in the edges of your consciousness. You shake your head to clear it but it only worsens. You begin to be aware of another scene. It overlaps with the gate and the town. Rocky surfaces and an underground brook blink in and out. You hear a raspy cough and feel a phantom ache in your chest—
Then a bullet, in the shape of a dark- haired child, crashes against you. Small hands clutch your dusty coat. Eyes, round and wide and innocent, gaze up. Delight is painted on this little face. There is a grin stretching so widely across his cheeks that you have to squint a little against the brightness.
"Nii- san! Welcome home!"
This little boy who calls you brother is quivering like a bow. Once again, he presses tight against your stomach. His head, a small little thing with spiky hair, nuzzles in.
It's warm. Shockingly so. Before, you hadn't noticed that you were cold. But the ice thaws as you swing the little boy up and place him on your shoulders. He squeals and then promptly bites his lip to retain some form of boyish dignity. However, he is soon chattering away a mile a minute. Shuriken training, tomato sauce baked rice by Mum, a fistfight with the Hokage's son, Naruto.
His childish, clumsy monologue rumbles in your ears. You hold his thighs securely so that he doesn't fall. He must be five to six years old, you think.
It has been so long since you have seen this little boy. Even longer since he's smiled at you like he trusted you to chase all the shadows away. Together, you stroll through the busy shopping street, looking at the scene with new eyes as your brother points out the interesting things that he notices along the way.
Soon, the shophouses dwindle in number. You reach a tree- lined street. It is gusty. Leaves rustle. Some of them stroke your cheeks, carried along by the breeze. It is apt, for this village to be named Konoha.
Again, you wonder why you know the name.
As you reach a familiar, two- storey house, you start to put the little boy down. Before that, though, you bring him close in a hug and take a deep breath of his little- boy smell.
"Sasuke."
This time round, you don't doubt the knowledge of this name. You are sure of the little boy's existence. The love you already feel for him is abiding, flowing through the crevices of time and space and memory. You know how he looked like when he was first born. You were there when he first crawled, when he first spoke.
The thousands of memories flow into your mind at once, a flood that you willingly unlocked. The landscape undulates and shifts. Sasuke blurs in and out of sight.
When you look at your brother again, his features are completely sharp, focused. Your memory has charted every detail, down to the little bruise on his cheek and the missing front tooth peeking out between smiles.
"Nii- san, that tickles!" Sasuke giggles. He snuggles close willingly, cheeks flushed as he basks in your attention. Then he wriggles out of your grasp and runs into the genkan of the house. You can hear his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
"Mama! Nii- san's home!"
"Itachi- kun? Welcome home! I've prepared lunch. Go and wash up first before you eat, though."
With only slight hesitation, Uchiha Itachi stepped into his family home in his ANBU uniform and murmured, "I am home."