"She's crazy—"
"She's brilliant—"
"She's a monster—"
"She's a TRAITOR—"
"She's—"
"Haruno Sakura!"
"Hai!"
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A title.
"They call her the Dreamweaver."
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"You will expel her."
"She is first in her class."
"And that excuses her for casting a B-ranked genjutsu on my child?"
"She would be a useful addition—"
"You will forgive me for my skepticism after what happened to your last useful addition."
"I do not blame you, but she is nine years old. We must do right by her."
"...Konoha doesn't need her."
"Perhaps not. But would we be able to live knowing that we killed her?"
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A game.
"Do you know how he died, Sakura? How he really died?"
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"I am giving you a choice. Know that you are free to walk away."
Sakura clamps down on the sudden, unfamiliar urge to snort, turns away, and walks to the window. She crosses her arms and looks out. Across the street, a tea shop owner is sweeping leaves from his entryway with a long-handled broom of bamboo twigs. A young boy walks past with his arms laden with books and his teeth clamped tightly around a half-eaten apple.
These are the people she has sworn to protect. Sakura feels her vision blurring and wills the tears away.
Because there isn't a choice. There never has been, for her.
At the heart of duty...there is only sacrifice, Sakura-chan. Remember that.
"Haruno. What is your answer?"
"I'll do it, Hokage-sama."
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A test.
"I daresay, Haruno, you might actually be worse than trash."
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"You really won't reconsider? You could die."
"I have to. It's my fault—"
"It isn't and you know it. Why are you doing this? Konoha isn't ready to lose you."
"Then why is it ready to lose her?"
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A toast.
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Sakura opens her eyes to an orange sky streaked with brown and gray and knows it is over. The smell of smoke hangs heavy in the air even though she knows the fire must be several leagues away; she supposes it is only natural that the destruction of a nation would leave its mark upon the entire land.
With shaking hands, she slowly drags her body up so that she is leaning against the trunk of the tree she had been lying on. The feeling in her legs has not yet returned. She does not look down at the ground far below, but ahead, where flocks of birds are rising from beyond the valley and scattering across the sky. If she closes her eyes, Sakura can almost taste the acrid musk of burnt flesh and dried blood on the back of her tongue.
She feels him an instant before he lands.
The branch of the tree he alights on sways beneath his weight, but he stands tall and unaffected, the statue of a god beneath a new dawn. His piercings glitter in the murky light, his hair probably brighter than the distant flames burning a civilization to ashes. Sakura stares at him levelly. Her throat is drier than sandpaper—there is no point in speaking.
He does not so much as give her a glance, preferring instead to gaze out across the valley in much the same way she had done moments before, arms crossed languidly over his chest. Had Sakura any chakra left in her body, she might have tried to time his breathing and sense the exact rhythm of his heart; as it is, she merely watches the slight rise and fall of his chest and waits.
"Do you believe in peace?" He asks eventually. His voice is smoother and softer than Sakura had imagined it would be. Sakura slowly flexes her left leg and draws her arms closer to her chest.
"Only when it is fought for." She forces her muscles to stay relaxed as he chuckles, waiting, patiently, for the right moment.
"You'll believe in the coming peace, then."
"I'm not so sure about that." In the distance, a sudden earth-shattering boom tears through the landscape and Sakura rips open the seal on her back, rises to her feet easily as she pulls out a kunai.
"Oh?" He inquires, posture unchanging as she takes a step closer.
Sakura bares her teeth in a sharp grin. "I haven't even fought yet."
"I see." He stares at her for a moment, a smirk sliding into his eyes, then lets his long lashes gently brush his cheekbones. Slowly, he uncrosses his arms.
"Well, then. Shall we?"
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"To Konoha!"