By appearance nothing pertained to an interesting appeal upon him, gazing upon her in apprehension and knowledge no unique quality ordained her in vision. She stood before him as a woman, with stoic disposition, while her emotions were presented before him in bleak stoicism much as his own. Near him stood Hashirama, containing within his arms a toddler quite unaware of his present circumstance or of much as it were, while Jiraiya was presently holding his father's hand in complete ignorance of what was to happen. Or indeed, who the woman before them was to be, by the flickering of his gaze he could take notice of the Senju beside him and stare upon him with the worst, most sympathetic and pitiful expression Madara could fathom. While balanced on his hip the young Tsunade focused on her mother's hair, within his own depression the Patriarch forced a type of pleasant simper towards the woman, it was all that he could manage.

She was Maika, an Omega born of the Sarutobi clan, a beautiful woman by all common standards with spiking long blackened hair much as his own and sharp thin midnight eyes. Appearing much as an Uchiha with the pale skin matching most that of his clan. "Uchiha-sama, I have been selected to be your new wife. I would like to present my greatest sympathies for the death of your bride. I did briefly meet him during the negotiations he made betwixt our clans. He appeared quite the generous character." Priour to any response he could make, they were instead accompanied by Mito who announced herself by a mere bow in apology for her tardy arrival. Madara hardly withheld himself from rolling his eyes, the woman did well in maintaining a sweetened demeanour when surrounded by other people, that is especially including Hashirama.

It had been a sudden necessity this morning he had not anticipated, while within the confines of his home; while absent of company and during Jiraiya's visit to his Godfather. Madara had been sat within the dining room, accompanied by a cup of tea he had made without thought, it was among this time period that Naru had come to mind, by nothing of his own provocation. He hadn't even been in consideration of his bride, there had been no manner for his memory to have come forth. Alas it had, and the Uchiha had thought in a vague, very diminished amusement, how unusual it was for there to be a widower inside his clan rather then a widow: enemies rarely aimed for the Omegas of the clan, though the Matriarch remained a rather more common target then others.

By his thoughts, under the absence of his son, he got up, grasped the handle of the kunai he had nearby for precaution: and cut a clean slice upon his arm. The thrill of the feeling did little to shock him; it was, after all, to see if he could still feel. The sensation was a welcome and so common one. In looking upon the bleed, he focused on the pain; for as it were -at the moment- it remained the only thing that was real. The kunai tore a hole, a cut, the old familiar sting he could recognize from war.

In looking about him his eyelids collapsed upon themselves and the floor became his only vision. For beside him stood brightened blonde hair, near darkened skin, and eyes paying tribute to the skies, the smile he bore softened by a glowing gladness from upcoming motherhood, his hands rested over his abdomen.

He glanced once more to the bleed he now held, and his thoughts maintained the cruel thought over him; that in attempting to kill it all away, he had remembered everything. As it stood, Naru's fading image remained all around him in the agonizing remembrance he had no want for. Further, worsened inside him he felt the creeping hatred he hadn't held for many a year, but it was such that he could recognize it without an issue, however, it was within him now as a more intense feeling the impending thoughts of murderous considerations had begun to linger within his mind. His hands bore his weight upon the counter in front of him, as his hair before his eyes; in pained thought. The outline of Naru beside him in dissipating memory.

"What…" His arms collapsed and his torso fell over the counter, his head remained rested over his weak forearms. A weak, hardly audible sobbing sounded. "Have I become… My sweet love?... It seems… that everyone I know goes away in the end." The sound so increased. To himself he whispered to the image surrounding him; "you could have it all, my empire of dirt. I know I have let you down.. I let you-" he could not say the proper word, even in whisper, "...hurt." The pain, not from the cut he now had, but the knowledge he still maintained of his failure bore upon him as a weight over his lungs, and his sobs turned into hysteria. "Naru…"

The melody of himself cleared, alas no one had questioned his absence therein he imagined it to have been no time gone. However, he took in the image of the woman who was to be his new wife, and wondered why he allowed himself to still hold onto the crown of thorns he still held over the Uchiha as Patriarch. While he sat within a chair of lies; as they all, all his family, were vindictive of his innocence in his bride's death. Yet he, himself, was full of broken thoughts of the murder, those that he could not repair. The stains of time made it worse, the feels of remorse seemed to disappear, while anger from within its long confine to come and replace it all.


"Shut up! You know nothing about me!" It came as a vague sound, a slight whimper that he could barely maintain, strange for the enclosing feeling of anger he held. But, there was no action he could take, he could punch the smug expressions they portrayed, but by the simple wisdom of his long gone father he decided he would attack none but an enemy and despite their chosen behaviour of malice, the other children of Konoha were allies not those he could put harm upon. Instead he ran away from the area, his irritation was plain in his clenching jaw. Upon him, tears had begun to form, regardless of the want he had, he could not stop them from flowing, even by the embarrassment crept over him as he spotted the young figure of Tsuande walking with Tobirama, her hand being held as she spoke with her Uncle while in a joyful express. Her gaze drew to him however, something of a smile cresting over her visage, while he watched the Hokage keep the stoicism he so expected.

"Jiraiya-chan, shouldn't you be with your Godfather?" The wording had the tonnage of disapproval, further, suspicion. As was commonplace with the second Hokage, for that as partial reasoning he quite missed his Godmother. As it were, Tsuande hardly even remembered her own mother; it had even become a necessity that she be known as his Granddaughter instead, for the sake of her own protection -Jiraiya thought it to be a ridiculous rule, despite it being much as his own, had yet to even be fully implemented.

"I was on a walk." He had, but had been crudely interrupted by a group of children who still had yet to learn how to keep their mouths closed under orders. The man before him sighed, as his niece looked up to him in curiosity, he said nothing however.

"Very well. Go home please." Those were his only words, however, the sweetened young girl beside him chose to turn to her slightly older comrade.

"Why you crying Jiraiya-kun?" He met her gaze without any feeling of his own.

"Some children were making fun of my Dad."

Her head tilted "...Tou-san? I don't believe I have ever met him."

"He's dead." And that was all that became of the conversation. It weren't as if he were allowed to speak his father's name; or him at all as it were. Jiraiya had to force himself to hold in a particular silence from any information of his parents or family. As it stood in present, Tsunade was yet too young to understand the implications pertaining unto his heritage, she was only four and hardly past her toddler age. The -now- white haired boy knew well by his limited experience that those of the village whom knew of his heritage would say nothing in reference of his father; lest it be his clan who always found a means of defence for his criminalized actions upon the shodai, or the small children who had heard of his parentage and knew not how to hold their tongues. The Hokage had taken action for it shortly after his brother's delayed death from the 'battle of the end,' portraying the Uchiha clan as untrustworthy for their continued loyalty to their traitorous former Patriarch. Yet, making certain under the finite request of Hashirama that Jiraiya would remain unknown as Madara's son unto the newly formed village.

"Tobirama-san, should you not be in your office?" It was before Tsunade could make a response, that the new Patriarch of the clan placed herself within the conversation. Within her voice, echoing from her throat came a deepened anger she could not formally express while in the view of so many surrounding persons, some watching even being civilians who would comprehend nothing of their animosity.

"I do not believe that is yours to know Naori-san." Much as his own family continually portrayed he said as much with a firm stoicism that Jiraiya well recognized. Alas, she vocalized none of her ire towards the man, rather grasped upon her Godson's lax arm and gesturing only minimally towards the compound their district had become.

He did, and she sighed loudly beside him in her slowed pace. "Jiraiya-chan, why do you feel in the mood for a visit unto the shine?" While she inquired, they passed a young, much older man, one of the Nidamie's students from the Sarutobi clan, Jiraiya could familiarize his face from the few times he had seen the man in the Hokage's office while his father had still been a member of the village.

An embittered part of himself disliked the man as simply being a member of the Sarutobi clan.

The memory came over him in strange, distorted pieces. However, he did take notice that the images had come at all, his sharingan-embedded eyes flickering about his surroundings, of course with the pupils being the quickest to adapt to light and circumstance in tandem with the advanced irises; Jiraiya near never had fogged over vision. That being the reasoning for him spotting his second golden-haired student by his side tending to a hole largely indenting his chest. More peculiar in addition that Jiraiya was close to certain that Naruto hadn't known any medical ninjutsu priour to his disappearance. The hidden clansmen had particular sight for the manner in which his formerly immature apprentice had begun to integrate a small portion of noticeably red chakra into his wound.

Beneath the rapid movements he forced to keep underneath his skin for the sake of his healing, Jiraiya could also take notice of the jinchuuriki concealing the mumbling gibberish from the fast actions of his moving lips. In closely watching the curious behaviour from the Uzumaki, the sannin took apprehensive comprehension of the hardly legible whisper made which sounded -to the Uchiha male, as if Naruto spoke: "...Mada…. Son... Alive."