A civilian perspective on the day of the invasion.
This day he would later only be able to recall in snippets. The earlier parts, the normal ones, would haze around the edges. Disappearing into the expanse of time. He would never remember waking up in the morning that day, groggy around the eyes, back stiff after a late shift the previous night.
Arms aching after the gruelling work at the armoury. Heading downstairs bleary-eyed and half-awake- He wouldn't remember teasing his little sister over her new little crush over the dining room table, her red cheeks puffed and irritated.
He wouldn't be able to recall the hunched figure of Grandpa inclining over his chair and staring at the morning newspaper, honed in on the gossip columns like the old lady he actually was.
His moms hair in a bun, tufts hanging out at the sides as she made rice and eggs for breakfast. The shape of her smile in the morning light.
It was just a normal day - and normal days fade into the mundane content of life. He'd never had reason to register any of it. Just going through the notions of a normal day.
For all that it was actually quite a special day.
One arm on the table with her face propped up by her hand, chubby cheeks bunching around it - his sister pouted at him as she protested their day plans once more. "I just don't get it," she mumbled, whole body joining in her slouched disappointment. "We should just all leave together, it's not even that warm."
Grandpa didn't even turn away from his paper before making his response, tone dry and unamused as always. "I didn't work my way into living in this Village to let the damn heat take me 'fore my time."
Mom would stay home, and Grandpa would stay at the café nearby, gossiping away with the other old men. Until the weather went from sweltering to manageable in the evening air. The Festival would probably look even prettier in the evening.
Still, Haruhi and him looked at each other before snickering bemusedly, Grandpa had a way of bringing his struggles into everyday conversation no matter what.
And Grandpa really would ramble on about it, mostly during the late summer evenings, when staying in the house to sleep became cloying, humidity a killer. When they would drag their mattresses out to sleep on the veranda. Always set up so they could see grandpa clearly.
Sipping ice tea and cold water in the humid heat of Konohagakure's summer months.
He would tell them his stories then. Plenty of them just renditions of ones they'd heard before, but always with a detail or two changed from the previous time. They could never figure out if that was purposeful or their Grandpa just getting on in his years. Getting forgetful the way old people did.
"My family worked til' our bones went bleat dry. Slaved in the fields until we managed the money to get us entrance into the Village. Suffered through those examinations and controls for years." He would say, eyes aged and serene as he'd sip the tea in his gnarly hands. Fingers calloused and palms thick with wear. He wore that pride like a cloak.
"It was harsh world out there kids" He'd say then. As he'd said again and again for years. "You should thank the Gods everyday for our prosperity and good fortune."
Akito supposed they were prosperous. They lived in a good house almost in the middle of the Village, as close as civilians were allowed to live to the Hokage Tower. That bright white building who stood looming over them all day after day easily visible in the distance.
Years ago, when him and his sister were just a little younger, they would sit by the steps of their house and stare at the shinobi leaping over the rooftops. Some too fast to be more than streaks, blurs, some slow and steady - probably more relaxed inside the safety of the Village than outside of it where they worked to sustain and protect their home.
It was a special festival today. Related to the man with his face etched into the mountain. The first face of the First Hokage. Everyone he knew looked at all of those faces as if they were the Gods themselves. Akito only knew the most recent God though, Grandpa never needed much reason to sing that man's praises.
Regardless Konohagakure never needed much reason to throw a grand festival. It kept the people happy.
School had erupted into a frenzy when they'd found out, and no matter what the poor teachers did nobody was much interested in schoolwork after that. Haruhi and her gaggle of giggling friends had been chattering about it for weeks.
And so it went like this, they're walking down the maze-like market streets - the usual cacophony of sounds as smells kicked up to eleven as people dance and sing and a dozen newly erected wooden carvings of the First Hokage stood tall on every corner. All of Konohagakure's merchants rushing back home to get their wares and gossip sold.
Haruhi, light-hearted and curious ran toward the first merchant he saw, those prized civilians who got to travel all over the world, the most important of them protected by shinobi at their side. Doe-eyed as she asked the woman for whatever news she'd heard of the world, her purse hanging eager by her side.
Akito merely shuffled after her, he would have his own conversations with one or two later on. It really was the only reliable way of getting news.
Grandpa's newspapers were probably perused by shinobi before publication after all. Or that's what they would say at school, his classmates huddled into corners during breaks and gossiping as if there were no consequences. As if there wasn't people listening.
Akito knew better. Most of those kids were from the civilian clans that had lived here since the foundation of Konohagakure - his family had to slave and barter and gain entrance after years of his Grandpa's struggling. So his family knew better.
Akito would never join them. Grandpa always said to treat the shinobi as the power given human flesh that they were.
That's why he flinched when he saw the faux pas his sister had just committed. Glancing over at the shinobi who hovered over the trading merchant - the man's cold eyes taking in his sister quietly - Akito thought there might be some truth to Grandpas claims.
Civilians really were forgetting just who their protectors were, in the end.
"Haruhi, I thought you wanted to meet up with your friends?" He asked softly, approaching his sister slowly, sending a respectfully apologetic bow the shinobi's way, who's face lightened just slightly. Akito looked away then, relieved that they hadn't caused any offence. Usually you had to wait for the shinobi protector to be out of sight before approaching whatever merchant you wanted to talk to. It was basic etiquette.
His sister was just blathering on, hair swaying with her bouncy excitement, the amused trade merchant answering her childish questions good-naturedly. Before finally moving her gaze toward him, a pointed look his way.
Even the merchant was getting nervous then.
He sighed, dragging one hand through his damp hair. Little sisters really were stressful. "Time to go, Haruhi."
"Yeah, yeah. We can go now!" She shot back at him, throwing some coin the poor merchants way and blitzing away to whatever stall had caught her attention next.
He had wanted to catch her then. Pull her aside for just a moment and explain why you didn't do what she'd just done for the hundredth time. But as if out of nowhere.
Like a strike of lightning from the sky. Earth-shattering with the suddenness of it all. The ground shook beneath his feet, roads breaking open. People screamed in cold, ear-splitting terror as an actual monster rose into the sky.
Pure, humid air was replaced with dust and sand.
Particles dragging dry and rough down his throat with every one of his panicked breaths. His eyes swivelled around in desperation, the sight of his sister nowhere to be seen.
The world erupted into pure chaos. Shinobi shouting at civilians to go to their safe shelters. People screaming and running, crowded and hot. Shinobi everywhere jumping into battle with the Sunagakure ones he'd heard had come to visit them. The click-clacking of moving dolls and the kunai they'd make at the armoury clashing.
Fire, hot and sweltering shooting over their heads.
Akito, mind empty - seventeen-years old and absolutely nauseous with fear. Did the very opposite of what he should have done. What he hoped his sister, lost in the swarming masses headed to safety, was doing.
He turned around and ran home.
Because Mom was still home.
Gasping for air, sight blurring around him as he threw himself through the streets. He lost himself to the pitter-patter of his own heartbeat. The closer he got to their home, the more shinobi fighting he hurtled past. Ruined homes and upchucked grounds. Just barely managing to stay upright as he was ignored by all.
It had been mere minutes and the world was broken.
He saw the house in the distance, legs burning and going numb as he sprinted onward. He skid to a halt, dust kicking into the air.
The house had fallen. Cleaved in two and collapsed in on itself. Piles of wood stacked on to each other.
Akito screamed, hoarse - hands dragging through his matted hair - nails digging into his face. Face stinging as blood, wet and hot, ran down his face.
He stood there for a while, he couldn't tell how long, lost to the sound of fighting around him. Dumbstruck as the whole area eventually went quiet and dead along with him. No shinobi, no fighting around.
Just him and the remains of what used to be their home. Just him and his breathing and their home and the ringing in his head.
He could see the kitchen door laying on top of the debris, the markings of Haruhi and his heights carved into it year by year.
"Mom?" He finally managed to whisper, lips numb with the effort. Too low to really even be heard. He approached then, feet dragging on the ground - his tattered sandals digging into the cuts.
Crouching on the ground and lifting pieces off. Heavy and back-breaking, but he wasn't an apprentice blacksmith for nothing. His Master had taught him this. You lifted with your feet as your force, not your back. You tensed your hand and your fingers.
You focused on the job at hand. So he did. He lifted the heavy wooden pieces of their home, splinters digging into his hands. His whole body shook. Time was suspended in his task, he just needed to get the job done and then they could go home.
Home?
"Ah, Hyuuga-sama, stop! There's a civilian over there!" A child shouted from behind. Akito feeling strangely detached from his body turned around with his heart surging in his chest.
A child was clutched in the arms of a shinobi - leaf-emblazoned headband across the man's expressionless face. Empty white eyes staring back at him.
"Civilian evacuations took place over two hours ago, child." That uncaring voice informed him. Feet turning as if getting ready to jump away. Akito nearly bit his tongue in his haste to stop the man. Their saviour.
"My mother is in there, shinobi-san. Can you get her out?" His voice cracked, bloody hands hanging by his sides.
The afternoon sun beamed down on them all, it was a bright, beautiful day.
The man didn't respond, merely stared back at him. As if he didn't understand the request. This man with his blind-looking eyes. Perhaps he wasn't willing to? Did you need to barter with shinobi for something like this? Offer them something? Akito patted around his pockets gingerly, he had nothing to offer.
Haruhi had been carrying their money on her.
Please, I'm begging you." He pleaded instead, looked that impassive face in the eyes before he crouched. Forehead to the ground as he begged. He only had his dignity to barter with.
"Nee, Nii-san." The child in the man's arms voiced, her tone innocent and confused. Akito looked up to face the eyes of this nameless child. Her finger pointed toward his home. Goosebumps awakened around his arms, breath quickening, a chill running down his spine. As if he already knew, somehow.
"The woman in there is dead, can't you tell?"
And then they left. Disappeared into thin air.
Akito laughed, something wet dripping down onto his dirty pants, bloodied and pathetic.
He left for the closest shelter, limping all the way.