Chapter 29
The weather was blissfully warm on their faces as they made their way towards the fairly large village, seeping into their hair, their clothes and skin. It wrapped them up like a cosy blanket.
Birds whistled, children screeched in play somewhere in the distance and the rhythmic sounds of women sweeping the steps to their houses came through to them. It smelled like flowers, green leaves, soft grass and dry dirt.
It was a rather lovely spring-day.
Susumu's arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him inevitably down to his level as he let him. "Happy birthday, Kogu."
He hissed in reply, shooting nervous glances at the squad walking beside them. Way to make certain his fucking clan found out his exact birthdate- sure, Sutoro surely knew and Kama did too, but there was no need for anyone else to do. "Be quiet."
"Ah, but I got a gift for you!"
"Shush!"
Susumu pouted, lips jutting forward, puppy-eyes and all. "Oh, don't be like that."
From further up the front Kama shot them questioning glances upon their shout-whispering, but seeing Koguma's gruntled expression and the gleeful twinkle in Susumu's eyes had him hastily catch up on what was going on. He smirked in return.
Before he could twist out of his grip, Susumu shoved something right in his face. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on it, but seeing the hideously bright wrapping had him hastily grab and hide it against his chest.
"Go on, open it." Oh, that tone promised nothing good at all.
Koguma sent him another death glare, while trying to be sneaky in opening the damn present. The wrapping he hastily set ablaze. The gift itself was small and light and had the distinct air of being handcrafted with the weird box it was propped into. Shooting another wary glance at his brother's anticipating nodding, he opened it.
A string.
He voiced as much.
"No, you heathen, not a string," Susumu vehemently opposed, tugging the not-string that was obviously a leather string out of its make-shift container. Considering the smell it had to at one point been a box used to keep Hiruzen's tobacco. A rather nasty habit the hokage had picked up, if Koguma might say so himself. "It's a necklace."
Koguma shot him a dead-pan look. "You're gifting me, a grown-ass man, a necklace? What are you? Five?" But when he shot a look at what his brother had pulled out of the box, had him pause in his teasing.
"It's a bear-tooth. I found it in the Hatake-mountains way, way back. Had even asked Kama if it is what I think it is, not that I end up giving you a deer-tooth or some shit-" Susumu rambled on.
The canine was crooked and slightly stained from use, with a hole at the top that his brother had obviously drilled into it to attach it to the leather string. It was as long as his middle-finger.
"You thought this could be a deer's tooth?" he asked incredulously.
"How the hell am I supposed to know what deer's teeth look like? Not like I was ever responsible for cutting them up back in the days, that had always been your job. It would be exactly the type of shit to embarrass myself with."
Koguma couldn't hold on to himself any longer and roared in laughter upon his brother's pouting expression, head dipping into his neck, eyes scrunched together and mouth wide-agape, showing the neat rows of his own razor-sharp teeth.
"Kogu, it's not funny-" His laughter only grew in intensity hearing him whine and after a while, his sides began to sting with the strain. "Why are you always laughing at me like that? I try to do you a favour-" Koguma had to wipe the tears from the corner of his eyes as he doubled over, holding his straining belly. "Kogu!"
"Ah, Susumu," he hiccupped, his face flushed from the strain and amusement and the dimples were very prominent on his cheeks. "I'm sorry." He wiped at his misty eyes once more. "I thank you."
"For the necklace or for giving you the chance to laugh at me?"
New laughter bubbled up in him at that. "Both, definitely both."
His brother's lips pinched, but he was sure to see him try to hide a smile with it. "You're such a pain in the ass."
"I'm sorry," he repeated once more. He took another look at the necklace and then pulled it over his head and fastened it to rest underneath his high-collared shirt. "Thank you, it's a good present."
Susumu fingered the bump the tooth left on Koguma's chest. "And yet you hide it."
"I'm merely keeping it safe," Koguma corrected.
"It's a silly present."
He cocked his head and laid his hand onto Susumu's hair to give it a soft pat. "It's not. Thank you, Susumu. I like it very much."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."
Exchanging a short glance that just brimmed with amusement, both men turned to catch up with the squad once more.
Susumu crossed his arms behind his head as he kicked large pebbles in front of his feet. "I can't wait for this shit to be over with." Another kick, another tumble. "Kiyko's gotta be blown up like a balloon now."
"Five weeks to go," Koguma added.
"Her stupid brother still let's her slave on in their shop. She needs rest-"
"I think Kikyo's grown enough to know when to stop. She's just doing it to keep her mind of things."
Susumu hummed, somewhat placated with his answer. He managed kicking a pebble right up to the village's edge where he spoke up again. "Ya think Hiruzen will manage to pin down the raikage for the peace treaties any time soon?"
Koguma's brows furrowed as they entered the village and all its citizens rapidly disappeared into their homes, leaving the streets desolate and wasted. "That man's slippery. Might take a while yet."
His brother groaned, sparing exhausted glances left and right himself- flushing out villages was something Susumu hated with vigour for how boring it was. "What did Kama get you anyway?"
Koguma shot him a conspiratorial glance, one eyebrow cocked. "Do you really want to know?"
"Ugh," his brother grumbled in disgust, "not with that tone of yours I don't."
"He woke me up before sunrise with kisses going down from my neck along my spine-"
His brother pressed his hands over his ears and hummed a song to drown out his words. "Mercy, please-"
"Oh, Susumu, curiosity killed the cat, you-"
Koguma tensed, Kama shouted and then kunai rained down on them.
The skin on his upper left arm and cheek burned as it was grazed, but worse was the distinct sound of choking coming through to him. He whirled around to where his brother had stood and was now collapsing to the ground, his hands pressed around his throat and blood gushing out from between the fingers.
He was beside him in a second, kneeling on the dusty ground and quickly tried to assist his brother in sitting upright against his lap to help him breath.
He didn't care for any attack that could be happening, for two other Hatake having gone down, for Asa's painful hiss as he held his ground against an enemy, or Kama's barks of commands. His eyes locked with Susumu's honey ones as he too tried to stop the bleeding.
The white bandages on his hands stained deep red.
"Susumu," he breathed as he felt the man's rapid pulse underneath the fingers that were dipping harshly against his throat. "It'll be okay. Please don't move-"
His brother continued giving off those same heart-clenching gurgles, while blood began seeping out of his mouth as well and stained his teeth bright red. He looked panicked, utterly panicked in the face of his dying, eyes blown wide and muscles rigid. Rapidly blueing lips moved, but all that got out between them was more blood and chocked gurgles.
"Medic!" Koguma called, although he had seen the only person trained in medicine go down with a kunai in his eye himself. "Medic," he moaned feeling his brother struggle so. He tried shifting him upwards again, help him get rid of the blood, help him breath-
Susumu's hand shot forward from his own throat and against the side of his arm, leaving bloody imprints in his wake and bruising the flesh underneath. His eyes were drilling as if he was trying to ask him something and it took Koguma a long moment to recognize his brother's finger tapping against his skin.
'Okay. Okay.' Over and over and over and over and over-
"Okay," Koguma sobbed back. "It's going to be okay. I'm here, I'll take care- You'll be okay-" The hollow words just kept gushing out of him as he had to watch his brother die for eighty-two seconds, unable to do anything about it.
Susumu stilled at last with a final wet rattle that shook his whole frame. A lone tear ran down from the corner of his glazy eye and into his pale hair.
Koguma's grip at the side of his throat remained firm for another couple of heartbeats, but then he eased them and instead laid his brother down softly onto the dirt road now wet with his blood. Honey eyes continued staring up into nothing and another trickle of blood seeped out of his mouth.
The world was empty around him. No smells, no feeling, no sounds-
He got out of his kneeling position, his clothes drenched in blood and stared wide-eyed at the chaos around him, the world continuing to spin, the enemies charging and squad four holding their ground-
Drawing his kodachi wasn't even a thought entering his mind, instead he grabbed for the next best person with his red red hands-
Their necks snapped without any effort.
Another kunoichi, another snapped neck.
A dirt-stained shinobi, head bashed against the ground.
Large eyes staring in fear, merely a kid- head caved in underneath his grip.
On and on he went, taking down whoever he laid sight on without a sound, not caring for their screams, their moans-
On and on and on and on and on.
Snap, crack, splinter, squelch.
Eyes were nasty and a terrible way to go and yet he popped countless of them, pushing his thumbs straight into their sockets as they clawed at his lower arms and thrashed against his weight.
On and on and on and on and on.
More blood gushing out of teared throats, the salt and copper taste stinging on his tongue like acid, choking filling the air-
Rip, tear, thrash, bite, maul-
On and on and on and on and on.
At one point he wasn't even met by kunai anymore, but with scythes and crude chopping blades, or clubs and pitchforks, or bare hands and arm raised in defence and yet he cracked their spines straight over his knees, caved their heads against the walls and grounds-
On and on and on and on and on he went.
It wasn't enough, there were still more, so many more.
Fire.
He needed to get rid of them, needed to take care of the pest of them continuing to come into his sight, flee from his form. He'd get them all. Get every single one of them.
There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide-
A quick sequence of hand-seals, a deep breath aching in his chest and then he spat it out, roared it at the village, at the people screaming and staring and running-
On and on and on and on and on it went.
Finally the air smelled like something else than blood, tasted of something else than blood- like ashes and burned flesh and burning straw and wood, cracked stone, welted grass-
Still there were people moving in the corner of his eyes.
More prey shaking before him. He had to get every single one of them.
He whirled around and charged -
"Kogu," he heard. He listened, because he knew that voice and then he smelt. Whet fur. Home. "Kogu, love, please, they're kin. They're your kin."
The figures before him looked indeed familiar, blonde and silver haired, clutching at their swords as if they could save them - He had killed kin before, it was of no consequence, he'd do it again. So soft, so weak, so pathetic-
"Kogu, please," the voice pleaded again. He turned, he regarded. More wary now, he didn't like the pleading, didn't like the sound of fear coming from whet-fur. "Kogu, calm down, please, it's done, it's done-"
Lies upon lies upon lies. No, it would never be done, could never be done-
They had killed his pack, his pack, his brother, his only living cub left, dead, dead, dead.
The figures tensed before him and one shifted, stepped backwards, pupils wide and whimpering. Prey, prey, prey, so he pounced-
Red eyes, standing in front of prey. He knew red eyes, Madara had red eyes, Kagami had red eyes- Red eyes were safe, were pack-
The albino had red eyes, but paler, much paler.
No, these red eyes were safe.
"Koguma," the red-eyes spoke up. Shaky, yes, but clear. "There are more villages waiting." That was true, this was only one village out of many, so many more to hunt down, to make pay, to cleanse of the stain - "We need to bury Susumu, Koguma. Wash him and bury him as you did with Yasashiko."
His gaze snapped over to his brother lying several hundred feet further down the street- feathery hair swaying in the breeze, skin pale, honey eyes staring at him with his head lolled to the side. Birds of prey. A falcon with a cut throat.
Yes, he needed to be buried, far, far away from the albino so he'd never get his hands on him like he had with his other cub, with Risu-
"Yes, the albino won't get him," red-eyes agreed. Safe, red eyes were safe. No lies there, no fear, only resolution.
With a quick move he grabbed onto red-eyes, pulled him to his side and kawarimied him over to his brother. Red-eyes stayed still, like a good little cub, such a good little cub. He purred at him to subside the trembling in his body, it wouldn't do for red-eyes to get scared, he'd take care of it, had taken care of it all before.
He crouched down and picked up his brother, cradling him close against his chest, terror shortly coursing through him feeling him so cold already, his scent weakening-
Cold, cold, cold, dead, dead, dead.
"Kogu-" wet-fur spoke up, much closer now, too close to red-eyes. "Please, Kogu, let me help-" He growled. He hated the pleading. Pleading had gotten him nowhere before. Lies, lies, lies.
The familiar voice fell silent at that. Good. Good, he had things to do, cubs to be taken care of, prey to be hunted-
He grabbed onto red-eyes as well and kawarimied them far, far, far away.
Grass swayed softly in a breeze, brushing against his ancles with every step, covering his boots and the hems of his trousers in dew, flattening underneath his feet.
His arms were numb, the joints in his shoulder and elbows and wrists and fingers stiff. It mattered little. He carried on.
Up and up and up and up the hill he went.
The ditches next to the grown-over dirt road were just as unkempt, reeds standing three metres tall within, the water flowing down in it smelling stale and bracket.
The grass underneath his feet flattened.
On top of the hill the breeze was harder. It shook the stalks of the meadow like waves on the sea, the morning light flittering like bronze across it.
He stopped. He regarded.
There was a cabin standing in the middle of it. The roof was whole, the windows were parched, the porch was swept-
and yet it looked abandoned. Lifeless.
His eyes flittered to the well slightly to the left of the entrance – covered up.
The barn to the right – silent. No bleating of sheep to be heard. The smell of wool had faded.
He walked up to the cabin, the stalks underneath his steps breaking now, leaving a trail through it. It stood out ugly against the gentle sway. Like a scar.
Forgoing the steps up to the porch, he instead headed around the building to the backside. There was an orchard there, filled with apple trees standing in full bloom. He didn't go any further, because he had found what he was looking for.
A grown-over bump of earth underneath the oldest of them, a tree once split by a lightning-storm and standing all crooked and mauled. There was no headstone marking it, but he knew, he knew.
Jin had loved that tree, even though it had barely carried three apples each season. He had often told them he wanted to be buried underneath it.
He took a second to just stare at it, but then his aching joints reminded him of the task at hand.
Turning around he went up to the cabin again, up the porch and then into the house.
It was dusty, cold and mouldy.
He followed the familiar path to the kitchen, saw the cane leaning against the table, like an afterthought. Like a memento. Like it was waiting for its owner to show up again.
A deep breath shuddered in his chest.
Ever so gently, he leaned over the table and laid down the body he had been carrying around for days.
Feathery hair, honey coloured eyes now closed, mouth still slightly agape, blood covering the throat. His brother.
He brushed some of the strands back from his forehead and stroked across the pale cheek. The skin was cold and gaining a blueish hue, but still soft.
He stood and he regarded for a long while.
It took some time before he noticed that someone was addressing him. Reluctantly, he turned his head.
Red-eyes.
Asa.
"Koguma, I fetched some water from the well to clean him up."
Yes, he did need to be cleaned up. The blood was crusty and brown as it began to flake off his skin and stiffened his clothes. It stained his pale hair.
Without a word, he accepted the bucket and put it down beside him. Asa kept a safe distance.
Koguma couldn't blame him.
With care, he began taking off the stained clothes from his brother, the dark Konoha uniform that had always made him look even paler, the armour that hadn't been able to protect him in the end, the sturdy boots that were barely worn- they had been new.
Blindly, he accepted a piece of cloth from Asa and dipped it in the water bucket. Slowly, he washed his brother.
The wound that had killed him, the ugly scar on his side that had brought them to Konoha, the pale bruises from recent spars, other little scars, telling tales of what they had done, seen, went through.
He had always taken care that his brother's didn't get injured. The big scars Koguma had always carried for them.
For a moment his composure waved and he had to scrunch his eyes and grid his teeth as his body strained and shook. Just a small sob managed to break through, before he panted with effort to calm down again.
Once finished with the body, he washed his brother's hair, flushing the brown and red out of it and leaving only pale strands. He didn't put them in a bun and instead let them cascade over the table to dry.
Then, from a scroll, he summoned the winter Kuma-clothes his brother had worn ever since Bear's Den. It would be too warm now to wear them, but his brother was ice-cold and dead anyway. He could need the warmth, the soft fabric, the comforting colours and smells.
He finished clothing him and he regarded.
There was no way that Susumu could be mistaken for being asleep. No way that he looked peaceful, or content or gentle. He simply looked dead. Dead and lifeless.
A second, more softer sob shook his shoulders. It sounded almost like a whimper.
Koguma picked up his brother, turned around and walked out of the kitchen, out of the cabin, down the porch and into the orchard again.
Asa was already waiting there, sitting in the grass and simply watching it sway in the wind.
Koguma walked right past him.
Digging the grave went just as quickly and neatly as it had with Yasashiko- Koguma had considered doing it with his hands, had already begun tearing at the grass and scratching at the firm soil, but Asa's firm grip on his shoulder had stopped him from harming his fingers any further. He had been sobbing in a constant stream by then.
Instead, he now grabbed his brother and hoped down into the grave with him. The memory of lying with him in the snow, encompassing them in much the same way left and right, shot through his mind. The dirt trickled around them as he put him down, arranged his feathery hair around his head and over his shoulders and straightened the hitched up clothes, brushing out any wrinkles.
Then he paused. He regarded.
No, he couldn't regard, because he could already feel the tears stinging in his eyes, feel his heart clench and gut churn and limbs shake and breath stutter. So instead, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against his brother's forehead, his closed eyelids, his cheeks, the tip of his nose and onto his lips.
"I'm so sorry."
Susumu didn't answer.
"Forgive me, I'm so sorry. I'm-" Another choked sob came past his lips. Tears dripped down onto his brother's face and ran down into his hair. "I'm so sorry."
He had to lean against the side of the grave to not lose his balance, to not collapse on top of his brother, to not simply lie down next to him and beg Asa to be buried beside.
He wanted so badly to just be buried beside, be done with it, be with his brother until the very end, have his brother be with him until the very end. The earth was cool and quiet and soothing. He just wanted to sleep. Just sleep.
It took a while to get control over his emotions again. When he did, he leaned down once more and wiped away the tears he had let so haphazardly fall down onto his face. Nothing should stain his brother now, not even his grief.
He couldn't resist pressing a final, long kiss against his forehead.
Susumu didn't smell like bird of prey now. He smelled just dead.
He wanted to say more, beg him for forgiveness, promise him it would be alright, that he would get to see Risu again, that they could both start mocking him from between the stars, but he couldn't.
There was nothing he could say to make this any better.
Instead he jumped out of the grave again and up into the swaying grass, the green, the blues, the browns, the white of the surrounding nature. Susumu's grave carried the same colours, the green of his clothes, the browns of the earth, the white of his hair, the blue of his skin-
Koguma took a handful of dirt.
He paused. He regarded. Then he let it rain down onto his brother.
His hands were shaking the entire time.
At the end he took a step back-
Two graves lying right next to each other, one fresh and the other grown over, underneath a burned and mauled apple tree blooming with a handful of flowers and three dozen leaves.
"Please take care of him, Jin." He wiped across his face, feeling new tears spilling over his cheeks. "I'm so sorry." He wanted to repeat it again and again and again, but what good would his regret do? It wouldn't sooth any of the pain, it never would.
Anger at himself flushed through him, dull and washed out, but at least it was something else than this pain, this sorrow, this misery, this regret. So, he turned around and charged back into the cabin. He needed to get rid of the clothes that hadn't managed protecting Susumu, burn it all up, get rid of all Konoha that had stained him.
The door slammed open and rose up a cloud of dust on him. Footsteps followed down into the hollow sound of the empty space. He tore at the bundle lying at the base of the table-
Susumu's katana and his weapon pouch tumbled to the ground.
He hadn't even registered taking them off.
He paused. He regarded.
The katana he had to keep, had to keep for-
The child. Gods, the child, the child, the child, the child-
He had crouched down to the ground and started tearing at his hair, his breathing erratic and shallow.
When he began feeling light-headed and stars appeared in his vision, he forced himself to stop his breathing, to come back on his feet, to calm the fuck down. What good would it do to panic now?
So, better not think about the katana now. Instead he took up the weapon pouch and emptied it on the table-
Kunai, shuriken, ninja wire.
Scrolls, Risu's first aid kit, Kikyo's letters.
Dried jerky, his canteen and some wrapped sweets.
A small wooden rectangle.
With shaky fingers he reached out for it and opened the small lid.
Risu, Madara, Susumu and him were staring back at him from both sides of the frame, one serious, one full of joy.
He tumbled back and straight into the kitchen wall, where he lost his balance and fell onto his bottom. He stared, stared, stared at the smiles forever frozen on their faces, his pack his pack his pack his pack his pack.
He had failed them, failed every single one of these smiling faces in the photograph, had failed Risu, had failed Madara, had failed Susumu, his cubs.
All dead and gone and never to return and here they were, frozen within the picture.
His throat hurt, it hurt so badly and his head pounded and he felt that he was tearing once more at his hair, heard that he must be screaming, tasted blood in his mouth from the effort, smelt his own stress, his pure panic.
Inadequate, useless, worthless, pathetic.
It hurt, it hurt so badly, his chest strained, he couldn't breathe, his eyes burned, his muscles shook.
It hurt so much.
It hurt so, so much.
Suddenly, warm hands clasped down on his cheeks and forced him to turn his head. He looked straight into spinning, red eyes-
Warm breath fanned on his face. He opened his eyes.
Roundish face, still not having shed the last of the childish fat, thin lips, long nose and dusty brown hair.
Risu.
Hazel eyes cracked open and his fingers squeezed his unbandaged ones. A sleepy smile tugged at his lips. "Good morning, Kogu."
"Good morning, Risu."
Suddenly, he was standing in Jin's kitchen and busy making breakfast. For a moment he was sure to hear Nami humming a song right next to him, but when he turned his head, she wasn't there. Instead the typical tap, tap, tap of Jin's cane echoed through the room.
"Are you boys leaving today?"
He had replied with 'Yes.' back then, he knew that deep inside, but this time he replied with "No, I think we'll stay a couple more days." Jin's answering smile lightened up the whole room.
Water dripped down in a steady rhythm- when had he gone outside to the well? He lifted his gaze and looked straight into honey-coloured eyes. "Ya think ya gonna be finished getting your fill any time soon?" Susumu teased as he wiped away the sweat clinging to his forehead. "Other's might be thirsty as well." Without waiting for a reply, his brother tore the bucket right out of his grip.
This wasn't real, none of this was real, no, it felt very surreal even.
"This is not-" He wanted to voice out his thoughts, but the earth shook and rumbled and darkness raced towards him, swallowing the meadow and the cabin and lastly Susumu, still smirking at him, whole.
It was dark around him. Yet he was sure to feel the warmth of a campfire, smell the burning logs, the smoke, taste the ash on his tongue. His steps echoed through nothing, until suddenly they didn't.
Fur to his feet.
He sat down. He paused. He regarded.
Still he couldn't see the campfire, see the fur, but he knew, he knew they were there.
Steps echoed across nothing once more.
Light flickered across a face as if illuminated by the invisible fire, throwing stark shadows across the harsh lines, hard mouth and steely eyes-
"Kogu."
"No."
His father faltered, looming above the invisible fire, his sheer presence demanding attention, demanding respect.
"No." More resolute and less shocked this time.
Beady eyes flickered over his form and for a moment he thought to spot sadness, but still the kept on walking towards him.
"No," he voiced a third time.
Another man sat down next to him instead.
Koguma stared.
Ever so slowly, he reached out with his hand and brushed through the wild and shaggy hair cascading over the man's back and front. Pitch black and sometimes shining red in the light of the invisible campfire.
The figure's head turned and Koguma slowly dropped his hand again as he stared into deep onyx eyes, flashing red for a moment.
"Koguma."
Smelling like bonfire and coal and cotton.
"You'd rather have me be here than your father?"
Koguma didn't answer and instead reached out with his fingers once more- unblemished, tan and no scars deforming them. He cupped the man's cheek gently, before brushing across the prominent bags underneath his eyes, the sweeping eyebrows above, the crinkles in the corner of them-
"You look older."
Madara held his gaze, but his mouth parted ever so slightly as if surprised by his words. "Do I?"
He retreated his hand again. "Is this what I simply wish you would look like, had you still been alive? Healthy, strong and resolute?" He let his hand trail through the man's hair once more. "Would I find strands of greying hair if I were to look for them?"
"I'm not that old, brat," the man seethed and batted his hand away.
Koguma stared at him for a long time, the corner of his mouth tugging upon the familiarity, the normality of Madara being embarrassed by something he said. "No, you never did get that old, did you?" He retreated his hand back into his lap. "I missed you."
Madara replied nothing, but his expression softened from his pouting and hissing.
"I wondered for a long time, a really long time if what I had done had been the right choice. Sending you away." He paused. "Now I know. Had you asked me to join, I would have. Konoha is rotten and full of ghosts of promises broken." He stared at the spot where the campfire had to be. "And yet I stayed."
His arms and hands and fingers looked alien in their unscarred-ness. "I am very tired, Madara. Very, very tired. I just want to shovel up Susumu's grave and lay down right next to him, just to sleep forever."
It was silent for a long time.
"Losing a brother is never easy." Koguma turned his head towards him again. "And it will always hurt, always. There hasn't been a single day in which I haven't missed my brothers." Madara's onyx eyes replied his gaze calmly. "But I am grateful for them, for everything they have given me and continue to give. Knowing they are still watching-" His fingers shortly touched the bags just below his eye. "Is comforting now."
"Why did you have to come back, Madara? Why couldn't you-" He shook his head. "No, don't answer that."
Madara stayed silent.
"I kept your gunbai and the scythe. None of the Uchiha asked me for it, so I kept it. I don't know where they buried you, or I would have laid it down by your side." Koguma reached out with his hand towards the invisible fire. The scars appeared immediately where the heat touched them.
"Nothing but illusions," he mumbled. Then he turned to face Madara again, lifted his scared hand and swiped right through him.
He vanished like smoke.
Koguma opened his eyes.
He paused, he regarded. Feeling something digging into his palm, he turned his head from where he lay and looked at the photograph he was still holding onto. Madara looked back at him, younger now.
He lifted his gaze back up and stared at the dusty ceiling, before turning it to the other side.
Empty.
"Asa?"
No one answered.
He raised himself from his position and then walked through the house, out into the orchard, the meadow, the barn-
No Asa.
He sniffed the air-
Grass, blooming apple trees, coal, cotton-
Bonfire.
"Asa?" He paused. "Madara?"
A falcon screeched in answer above his head, tumbling through the pale blue sky.
With a thoughtful look, he turned back again, packed his gear, burned Susumu's clothes and closed Jin's cabin.
Then he headed back to Konoha.