A/N: God damn...it's been a while. Nearly two whole years. I've been in a really shitty phase of writer's block. I was looking over old stories and came across this one. Inspiration struck and somehow I managed to actually pen down a chapter. I hope whoever's reading this enjoys. Peace
Chapter 4
"KOMOREBI"
~meaning: (sunlight filtered through tree-leaves…)
First Part: Hyūga Hinata
She didn't go. It wasn't meant to be and he wasn't her's to love. So she didn't go. Hyūga Hinata sat under a large tree, her back flush against the thick trunk. Sunlight speckled her skin where it reached her through the shade of the tree. Tears streamed down her face steadily—she wept silently, though, her heart hidden from the world the way the leaves veiled Konoha itself.
Her eyes were different. Her sight was different. She saw things differently now. She saw brighter brights and darker darks, saw images from a place beyond her time—scenes that weaved together like fairytales, and disjointed dreams of damned inevitabilities and infinite possibilities. She understood none of it and yet, somehow, deep inside, she had already accepted all of it as The Truth.
Her Byakūgan had evolved. It scared her. She had never heard of the Byakūgan being capable of any sort of evolution. It was an all-seeing eye, sure, but she had always believed its application to be on the battlefield, and its limitation ditto. But now, what she had was a truly all-seeing eye, capable of viewing not only the world around her but the world that was and would be. She could see the past, the present, and every. Single. Possible. Future.
So she didn't go. She didn't see Naruto because she couldn't see Naruto. She was afraid now. One misstep and things would change forever. One mistake—be it a spoken word, a misinterpreted action, a misrepresented intention—and reality would shift, not unlike the ocean waves. You see, water ripples, waves arc and flow, but sometimes crash, often violently, affecting everything they touch permanently.
So…she didn't go.
She had no name for it, this beautiful, cursed sight. Nothing to give it a baser meaning, something—anything—her brain could perhaps comprehend.
She ran her fingers through the grass beside her. It smelled sweet. She breathed it in. It calmed her. She played with the spots of light that pervaded through the branches and the leaves. She giggled a little in ecstasy at her new eyesight, then wept a little more at the somber scenes it brought with it.
She decided a name, then. She knew what she would call her newfound sight: Komorebi no Byakūgan. Like the sunlight filtered through the tree-leaves, the future flitted in and out of her vision, forever imprinting her mind.
"Komorebi," she whispered, testing the name on her tongue. She smiled sadly. More tears streamed down her face.
"Komorebi. Komorebi. Komorebi. Komorebi. Komorebi."
She held tight to one of the futures shown to her. In it, Naruto and her had a family together. A beautiful daughter named Himawari. In it, he loved her deeply. In it, he died at the hands of Uchiha Sasuke. In it, the world never knew peace, and her daughter never knew her father. In it, she got her man but didn't get to grow old with him. In it, Uchiha Sasuke slaughtered her entire family, her daughter too. In it, she was alone…and he was too.
"Komorebi! Komorebi! Komorebi! Komorebi! Komorebi!"
Hinata dug her nails into the ground and wept a great deal, peering through many different futures. She cried, not because she couldn't have Naruto, but because every scenario where her and Naruto became a reality, the world around them crumbled, and she could not be that selfish.
"KIRIN"
Second Part: Uchiha Sasuke
Sasuke awoke with a start. He was having nightmares again—in fact, his nightmares had begun the night he left Konoha, that fated day he murdered his best friend—no, his brother—in cold blood, and they hadn't left since; they clung to him like clothing caught in a myriad of thorns, and indeed, they tore into his very soul and demanded vengeance…for something greater than the revenge he sought to exact from Itachi.
He rubbed his eyes, sleepless from the constant screaming of his nightmares. He noticed the sweat caking his forehead as he ran his cold fingers through his unruly hair. The sheets on the futon were matted to his legs and soaked in his sweat, his fear. He cast them aside and decided to get some air. He left his room and waded through the maze-like fortress Orochimaru operated out of barefoot and shirtless, welcoming the coolness of the night as it rushed his skin. He made his way to the courtyard terrace and sat upon a ledge, looking out into the starless sky, gazing at the moon as if with some sort of inexplicable desire.
He thought about Naruto and Sakura; he thought about Itachi; he thought about his motive, his meaning; he thought about this decrepit fortress and Orochimaru's nefarious plans with him. He dug a hand deep into his pocket until his fingers grazed rough metal, and then he retrieved the item: his headband. The symbol of being a Shinobi—his birthright in some ways—and a proud badge of Konoha. He refused to disgrace that symbol by carving the tell-tale slash that stamped all rogue ninja. He had made a promise to Naruto and he intended to uphold it. After it was all said and done—when Itachi dies and his clan is avenged—he would return to the only place he could ever hope to call home. And to resolve himself on the matter, to be loyal to his promise, he would help Konoha whenever he could—discreetly, of course. But he would try. And that's what was important.
He gripped the headband tightly with both hands and stared at his dim reflection in the beaten metal. His eyes looked worn, old with regretful wisdom; his eyes' blacks were blacker and his gaze a little more tired. He noticed a speck of blood caked on the lip of the metal where it was stitched to the cloth. It was Naruto's blood, had to have been. He grit his teeth and stared harder at his reflection, with more intense conviction, willing the tiredness out of his gaze and bringing light into those dark eyes. The black began to disappear. A brighter red bled into his eyes, changing them, colouring them. Three distinct dots remained in the pool of red. He stared into his eyes woefully. He hardened his gaze even more than before. The pool of red began to shift, turning inward, churning like some foaming sea, and the three distinct dots were pulled into its current. The blacks stretched out and the red became hotter, like some angry fire from the pits of hell had come alive in his sight. It was like watching blood mix with water; to see it meld and taint clarity with its blinding red. Finally, his pupils settled, the colours stopped mixing, and his gaze was renewed. A pair of fuma shuriken (one in each eye) stared back at him. Whenever he revved the vindication in his heart they spun to match it; whenever he swirled the emotions of his soul it, too, swam slowly to match it. From within the fuma shuriken, a myriad of flower petals poured out—slowly, like leaves falling to the ground, or like snowfall on a calm winter's day. He stared into his own eyes and wept, for what it had cost him in order to obtain them was not worth the price, but he could never take it back now. What was done could never be changed, for it had been etched into the immortal rock upon which all fates are listed, and all destinies recorded.
Blood mixed into those tears and replaced them. Sasuke kept on weeping, the pain in his eyes blinding and therefore ironic to his newfound sight. He wept on and knew that he would never be able to stop mourning—not until Itachi was dead, not until he had returned to Konoha, not until he had fulfilled his promise.
Cloudbursts sounded overhead. It would appear that the skies, too, wept along with Sasuke, for his pain was immense, and his resolve ocean-deep.
Sasuke clutched the headband in his right hand and held out his left, moulding chakra into his palm but not allowing it to bloom into anything. He focused his chakra to that spot and extended it upwards, then yanked it back down. He titled his head upwards, never taking his focus off moulding chakra into his palm, and stared at the cloudbursts overhead. Raindrops sliced across his face like cold knives. The rain mixed with his bloody tears, and this time they replaced the blood. Sasuke pleaded with the skies with has hand still outstretched, beckoning the only thing he knew, that he desired: light.
Thunder clapped the skies, so fiercely it was as if the world had been torn asunder. Lightening whipped through the clouds, darting downwards now, shooting off sparks in every direction.
He did it instinctively, let all that chakra in his palm spark and rage and then blossom into a chidori. He pushed with all his might and the chidori shot upwards. It raced toward the sky ferociously, singing the particles all around it, making the air hot and heavy. He caught the lightening in the sky with his chidori and felt the power of the element in its rawest form surge through his body. It rushed through him in waves of endless energy, making him warm not hot, calm not scared, and he felt odd, wondering why it didn't hurt the way he had imagined it would…
"Kirin," his mother's voice echoed in his head. He felt chills crawl up his spin when he heard her ghostly whisper and he recalled the tale she would tell him of the creature known as Kirin, how it was gentle and careful, and that it never hurt those with purity and goodness in their hearts, but if you were evil it would come for you, and only when you became numb, when could no longer feel the pain and suffering it inflicted upon you, it would kill you.
A fitting name, he thought. Kirin…let the light judge matters of darkness. Indeed, it would appear Sasuke still had some light left in him, enough to keep the darkness at bay. All because of Naruto. His friend. His brother.
