A Fork in the Road
"Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?"
(Death is Nothing At All, H. Scott-Holland)
Wherein Orochimaru, age eleven, faces a dilemma— the inescapable transience of his own existence.
Already, his sensei keeps a closer eye on this prodigy. Here, careful words mean a different seed will be planted in a young boy's heart. What sort of tree will blossom? Who will Orochimaru become, if not an unapologetic villain?
It's that time of year again. A whole year has passed so quickly, the boy muses, a small bouquet of blue forget-me-nots in hand. He kneels beside a carefully tended grave— one small black square of rock in a field of hundreds, and places the flowers beside it reverently. This marker means more to him than any other; beneath it rest the ashes of two people that brought him into this world and set him on the path to become a shinobi.
His father, a chuunin specializing in stealth and sabotage. An easygoing man with a kind smile—he inherited the man's pale complexion and long, black hair. A petite woman with the same serpentine, golden eyes as he sees every day in the mirror, always encouraging his curiosity. She had been a chuunin, like his father, although in the research and development division. They lived long enough to celebrate Orochimaru becoming a shinobi himself, but... A skirmish along the border with the Land of Rain had brought an end to their lives, as well as the lives of the half a dozen chuunin and the jounin commander stationed at the same outpost. Only a year, and I've already forgotten their voices.
He rises, gazing at the stone with regret. He's given up on crying long ago— but even now, his eyes ache with unshed tears. It's unfair. They were good people, and great parents. They should have lived. His eyes are drawn to small clump of white beside the grave, a white snakeskin among endless blades of bright green grass. Hm?
A reassuring hand on his shoulder startles him from his thoughts. A solid, comforting presence— Hiruzen-sensei. "I knew I would find you here today." Sensei, who watches over him, and celebrates his victories, since his family no longer can.
"Sensei? Is it not our day off?" Posture stiff, the serpentine boy gazes at the gravestone, annoyed with himself. Am I late for a meeting? "It is. But that's no reason to spend it alone."
Orochimaru scoffs internally— Jiraiya was orphaned at birth, and Tsunade's parents still live. Neither of them would understand... Neither of them really understands me, either. A comforting squeeze on his shoulder, voice chiding gently, "Orochimaru, you will have to give them a chance eventually. They're your teammates... All three of you have talents in different fields." Sure, if peeking on women or being a cow-eyed teenage girl are talents. They're more like an albatross dragging me down.
"I have no particular feelings about them, bad or good. We can be comrades without being friends." Orochimaru replies, expression stubborn. His sensei suppresses an exasperated sigh— troublesome children. "You do have to trust them to watch your back." Orochimaru, brows furrowed, expression skeptical, mutters quietly. "If you say so, sensei."
Hiruzen follows his most suborn student's gaze, and smiles faintly. "Ah. A white snakeskin. A good omen— good fortune and rebirth."
Head tilting slightly to the side as he considers it, Orochimaru asks, "Rebirth? Like reincarnation?" Hiruzen-sensei ruffles Orochimaru's dark hair, a gentle smile on his face, "Hm. Perhaps not quite so literal. It means more of a rekindling of an individual's spirit, or an idea."
"Oh. So more like— good luck and inspiration." A shame... it would have been nice to think Mother and Father had been reborn. "Sensei, don't you think it would be nice to live forever? Ninja lead such short lives." Like a fire— a brief, beautiful flare of light and warmth that quickly dims.
"That ninja tend to have short lives is certainly true... Though this was even more so before the villages were established, during the era of the warring clans. Still, the point is not to live a long life, but a meaningful one." Expression curious, Orochimaru asks for an explanation, "Meaningful? What makes a life meaningful?"
"The more hearts you touch during your brief existence, the longer your spirit will linger in the hearts and minds of the people. That is true immortality. For example, a doctor that engineers a cure for what was once an invariably lethal disease lives on in the hearts of the people he cures, even if they never meet. A great sensei will always remain to guide the hearts and mind of his students. And the spirit of a leader, such as the Hokage, lives on in his people."
A faint smile, "So... so as long as I remember my parents and what they believed in, they will live on in spirit?" Sensei. Even if it is just a kind thought— thank you. "Yes. And you are not the only one that remembers them. Amaya-chan and Mitsuo-kun had comrades. Friends." Orochimaru nods mutely, and steps away from the gravesite, expression thoughtful, but no longer so morose.
"Now, Orochimaru-kun. As usual, I have given you much to think on. Shall we get lunch— my treat?" Hiruzen is gifted with another faint smile from his student, and a slight nod, "Thank you, Sensei." He knows that thank you is for more than the offer of food—Orochimaru is an isolated, taciturn child, so terrifyingly brilliant, and yet... and yet, he is still a child with a fragile heart.
Hope you enjoyed!
Technically, this is in chronological order from the last scene this time; I couldn't resist. But don't expect that to continue! This is setting up for a deliciously wicked idea I had... which you might see, next time. Soon enough.
Now, I have to go back to working on the next installment of Transposed.. (Still, why was I working on this before 8AM on a Sunday morning?!)