Poets are not to blame for how things are.

The road was cold and lonely, but Sakura embraced it.

She needed to capitalize on all of her available distractions, which were regrettably few now that she was traveling alone once again. She focused on what she could, like the crunching of snow beneath her sandals or the fleeting shapes of fog her breath would take as she trudged along. She identified birds by their song, named herbs and wildflowers as she spotted them, reciting their known properties and uses as if she were studying for a test.

For all of these reminders of her intelligence, she did not feel any less like an absolute moron.

She did not bother anymore to meditate each morning, but every evening she made sure to throw precise and controlled punches at a clone. It did not quite have the desired effect, to take the edge from her anger, but it was something. Often she would spend hours sparring, tiring herself out in an attempt not to struggle to fall asleep and be left with her thoughts.

It never worked, and she would toss and turn in her small sleeping bag for so long that she would grow frustrated, pack up, and hit the road in the dead of night. She simply could not afford to think about Itachi, what she'd done with Itachi, what Itachi had done to his family, how...casual he seemed about the whole damn thing, and how she'd been so much of an idiot that she'd believed he was a kind person.

She could still taste him on her lips, lingering like bitter water drunk straight from the stream weaving through the forest outside Orochimaru's estate. She could still smell him, a mossy and sometimes wood-burnt scent that would catch in her nose. She could feel his touch, hear his smooth, deep voice and the small laughs she'd learned to coax from him.

Then, she would hit herself so hard in the head that her vision spun.

It seemed the thoughts seeped in regardless, as if she was little more than a blanket left out in a surprise summer storm. She found herself wishing desperately for someone, almost anyone, to confide in. She would even take her mother's quizzical looks or Kakashi's try-hard, over-the-top attempts at deep, meaningful comfort. Hell, Naruto's ear would be welcome at this point.

But she belonged to no one now: no shinobi team, no eccentric found family, no criminal organization, no relationship, no anything. It was at the end of her second week in the wilderness, meandering with no real goal, that she finally realized there was nothing left in her but her anger. With each of her footfalls she could feel as Inner took more and more of the reigns. To protect her kindness, it was a necessary step. She had to harden herself to all of this, to everything, if she were to have a chance of keeping her sanity and ensure her survival. She did not know if she still had any faith in her goal to change the world, and it was with a small sigh that she understood she may not anymore care.

When all is lost, find your way back to me.

Though she could still hear the words of that colossal snake, she would squeeze her eyes shut against it. No longer would she be swayed by fantastical journeys or whimsical whispers or promises of power. She had to do it all within her own means.

And things would repeat in this way, this miserable cycle. Little sleep, high-intensity self-spars, finding as much distraction as she could in the forests or along the rivers or on mountain peaks, her mind slipping beyond her control into reminders of her stupidity and her love, which were often one in the same.

It was on her third week alone that she felt the approach of a chakra signature far too powerful to be that of any civilian or passing shinobi. She was on her guard; her sensory range was nowhere near as far as Itachi's—and certainly not Karin's—and that the person seemed to be making a beeline towards her was alarming. She kept her own chakra signature concealed to the level of any civilian, but whoever was coming must have known who she was.

It was no one she recognized, and she was relieved at least that it would not be an encounter with Team 7 or the Akatsuki. If it were a fight, well, she was sure she could handle most enemies, and if not then she would be too dead to care.

The man was not of particularly intimidating build, when he came into view. There was a deceptively dignified air about him, radiating a calm so perfect that she knew he could snap in an instant. Covering his face was a mask, but not like Kakashi's; this was a wooden orange oval, swirled as if meant to hypnotize those who gazed upon it. From the distance he kept, she could not make out the color of the eye beneath the single hole on the right side of his face.

She readied her defenses as subtly as she could manage. Chakra down through her fingertips, her hands ready to fly to her sword if necessary.

"Relax," he began, far too calmly. "I mean you no harm, sis."

His familiar tone grated on her instantly. "And how do I know that?"

"I suppose you don't. Perhaps you're just seeing more Uchiha ghosts."

She bristled to hear such a thing, seeing flashes of that man in Orochimaru's laboratory. But the person before her was not nearly tall enough or looming enough or muscular enough, and she did not detect a trace of that intense hatred that'd scared her so deeply back then. Maybe, though, she was just not as easily frightened as she'd been all those years ago. Either way, she would be an idiot to underestimate someone who spoke so casually of things like that.

"If you're a ghost," she reasoned, "then I can walk right through you and be on my way."

As intended, he caught her meaning. "Indeed. If you leave, I will stop you—and I don't think you want that. Maybe this will hold you intrigue: I'm here to tell you more about your Itachi."

She lowered her chin, keeping her eyes on him beneath her furrowed brows. "Not interested."

He laughed then, sending a shiver down her spine. "I know what the two of you have done," he said darkly, "as little as mere weeks ago. I swear I can still smell it on you."

"You wanna run that by me again?" This man must've had a death wish.

"No need to lose your temper, sis."

Tch. "Quit calling me that."

His hum was thoughtful, but she would never again think to mistake someone's levity for kindness. "Then what would you prefer? Auntie? Sakura-chan? You are an awfully cute one, you know, but your personality isn't very charming."

So now he was a pervert, too? "You're just some freak," she spat as she started walking again. "Leave me alone before I—"

He was behind her then, so fast she hadn't even felt him move. A kunai was poised at her throat, her forearm twisted behind her back and caught in his squeezing fist.

"Before you what, girl?" She bit at her lip, keeping her breaths steady in spite of her budding panic. "Stay and listen. What I plan to tell you is for your own benefit. How can I claim to be an upstanding survivor of the Uchiha clan if I let the chance of true love slip through my descendant's fingers?"

"You expect me to believe that?"

"About love? No. But my name is Uchiha Madara, and that boy is of my blood. Walk with me, and I will tell you what it is you need to know."

Her eyes went wide, her blood turning icy.

Madara.

She turned those syllables over and over in her mind, wondering why the hell they sounded so powerful and profound and familiar, ringing in her head like a bell struck an age ago. She could see his mighty stature, hear his deep, commanding voice, feel the power radiating from him like a just-stoked fire.

She did not know how she knew, but the man with his blade pressed against her throat was most certainly not Uchiha Madara, no matter what he said.

When he released her with a light shove, she fell into cautious step next to him. From the corner of her eye she watched him, ready to defend or dash, whatever was necessary.

He carried on, unaware or uncaring of her musing. "You will not have heard my name. In the Leaf, it has been scrubbed as if a stain upon a surface, and most of those who care to remember it are my own kin. All dead and buried now, though. You know of the Massacre—"

She sucked her teeth. "I only care about that if what I know will be contradicted."

"On the contrary," he said, "what I have to say may burn the fire in your heart ever brighter."

She pressed her lips into a thin line, scarcely feeling anything but her rage when he said,

"It was Konoha itself that sanctioned the slaughter."

That'd stopped her dead in her tracks, but the man slid his arm around her waist and thrust her forward. But his menacing familiarity with her ceased to mean anything when she'd just heard something like that.

"Lord Third, the council, all complicit," he went on. "Do you want to know why?"

Her throat had gone dry.

"Of course you do," he said lowly, not bothering to wait. "The Uchiha were planning an uprising, of sorts."

What the fuck?

As if he could hear her inner self, he hummed in understanding. "That puts things into perspective, doesn't it?"

"Enough to warrant—that?" She could not bring herself to speak of that day as openly as she had with Itachi. Even if the Uchiha had planned on shedding blood themselves, it would never justify killing every single one of them in retaliation. "No!"

"I knew you were a smart girl." That sent a shiver up her spine, the sensation sickening. "My clan was under constant surveillance, even before the first whispers of revolution began. When they did, Hiruzen wanted to talk things out, but Danzo was eager to see blood. Your Itachi was caught in the middle of it all."

"How? Why?"

"He was Hiruzen's mole. Who do you think was keeping watch all that time?"

"Why would he...?"

The man simply shrugged. "His love for the village outweighed his love for his family, so it seems."

"If he could kill all those people," she murmured, "why didn't he just kill the council for suggesting it in the first place?"

"I think you already know the answer to that."

In her ears she heard an echo of her younger self, clutching the straps of her bag as she looked into Orochimaru's narrowed eyes. They train kids as killers.

"He did it because he thought it was right," she breathed, taking a staggered step back. She brought her hand to her head, fighting the knowledge. It had been a confirmation of what she'd always known—she should be cheering to be so validated. But instead she was dizzy, so overwhelmed it made her sick. She swallowed, leveling her eyes on the man once more with a new question. "So you knew about this, but didn't think to stop it?"

He laughed, really laughed—a hearty thing that was so wholly out of place with that air of intimidation he'd so carefully crafted. "Stop it? I welcomed it."

Dumbly she stared at him.

His laughter finally dissolved, and he gave a lighthearted shrug before letting his hands fall to his sides. "I despise both the village and what my clan had become, and it was a simple coincidence that I'd been plotting to raze Konoha to nothing but rubble around that same time. Itachi extended to me an arrangement of sorts. It was a fair compromise, in my eyes, to exact my vengeance upon the family who betrayed me and cripple Konoha's power in the same swing of the sword. It is thanks to Itachi's fondness for the Leaf alone that your home still has a beating heart."

She trembled. "Why?"

"Why what, girl?" he snapped. "The Leaf kept the Uchiha under its thumb—there is so much of history they've rewritten and twisted. So much you children would never think to question! When I called for revolution, my clan did not rise, content to live with the meager scraps the Senjuu threw at our feet like we were little more than dogs."

"Lord First?"

"The very same; a man who sowed the seeds of discord against my family and allowed them to grow like weeds. I lived on in spite, and the time is nigh for me to act yet again. The village is back in the hands of Hashirama's blood and I believe that you, Haruno Sakura, are key."

"Key to what?"

He said nothing, but slowed his steps to stop and look out at the wide landscape beyond them. She stood a careful distance from him, watching him all the while.

"Take some time to think about it," he finally concluded. "As I've said before: you're a smart girl. When I'm next ready to act, I will find you. Do not go looking for me."

As quickly as he'd come, he now was gone; Sakura stood for a long while, overloaded by all the man had thrown at her.

There was always the possibility that it was all a lie, conjured by a fractured mind—a lone Uchiha driven mad to discover his entire family had been slaughtered. It was all so outlandish, but then again, so was the fact of the massacre itself in the first place. And if this person saw Sakura as instrumental to whatever plans he'd had, then of course he'd say whatever he needed to sway her to his side.

But he hadn't been shy about his hatred of his own family. If he'd claimed to be an avenger of the Uchiha, well, that would've been the better story. So if it was the truth? Then it wouldn't have been a test of Itachi's abilities at all. That still didn't mean that, in her eyes, he was absolved of the crime. He had made his choice, put village above family in the most extreme way, permitted and encouraged and covered up by the powers that be.

She thought back. She as part of Team 7 had sat by and watched plenty of bloodshed, kill or be killed. She'd worked close by Orochimaru's side in his research on captives both willing and not, seen the prisoners and the coerced rogue nin and, of course, the children, and had said nothing, made no effort to put an end to it or make it right. And as part of the Akatsuki, she had aided in the capture of two Tailed Beasts, losing one and saving the other. But now as a defector of the organization, she would no longer have the opportunity to save the other jinchuuriki.

Something absolutely had to change, now. She was totally and completely fucking sick of hidden villages and Kage and daimyou and this cycle of hatred and—

She froze.

An idea was hatching in her mind so quickly that within seconds she could not contain it. In an instant she pored over logistics: manpower, espionage, techniques, bloodline limits. Mental maps, whose alliances lied with whom, whose alliances were prone to changing at a moment's notice, all of it.

She could picture it perfectly, a world without political overreach and the strength enough to carry out atrocities with no repercussions. A world where children were free to actually be children, not seasoned murderers by age eleven. A world whose denizens were not betrayed by the very powers they created to protect them. It was always the logical end to her goal, even if, when first she'd set out become Orochimaru's disciple all those years ago, she had not yet realized it:

The total annihilation of the Village Hidden by Leaves—and by extension, all hidden villages of the world.

The logical end, yes, but one that could not be carried out alone.

At once she altered her course, breaking into a sprint. The eastern outpost of her former master's extensive compound was not far at this speed, and she dearly hoped Karin hadn't grown to hate her in the last year.