— Just a heads-up, your favorite/major character is most likely going to meet a really painful end. Like somebody dies/not everyone dies. It
— Shaman!Sasuke is slightly but unabashedly unhinged.
— if you are familiar with the fic, it was named "Edge of Horizon," I renamed it, and probably will rename it again soon, not sure. If you have any suggestions please feel free to share.
— So, basically, I was inspired by George R.R Martin's book, Fire and Blood. (In some way), if there's something I mention in a chapter, I'll point it out. But for now, let's just say this text passage idea is mainly based on that book.
(No one knows what happened within the shrine's walls; only that he walked into it a boy, and came out from it a man.)
— The History of Sasuke The Magnificent
As the clouds drift apart from the full moon, the room becomes bathed in a soft, indistinct glow. The gentle radiance exposes every tiny particle of dust suspended in the air and lends a polished sheen to the objects scattered throughout the room. Sasuke's eyes abruptly dart open, fixating on the fluid motions of the clouds outside his open window. His gaze remains locked on them, his mind absent and sleep eluding him. It has been quite some time since he last found restful slumber.
He finds himself tormented by dreams, drained of his chakra. The fevers have plagued him for hours, leaving his body weak and his mind tangled in a haze.
Tonight's sky acts as a poignant reminder, igniting a wistful ache within him. Once, he used to gaze longingly at the stars, marveling at the night's vastness and all it represented. The night held an enchantment that still tugs at his heartstrings.
Even now, in his weariness, he can't help but lift his gaze upward, if only for a fleeting moment, to reminisce about what could have been.
His family, clan, and brother are all lost, forever gone. Now he's all alone, all that's left.
Sasuke frowns and swiftly turns aside, his gaze locked on the ceiling above. In his mind, nights have become a red canvas, like the smeared blood of his family, with their moon and its lone eye shrouded behind dark clouds, looking down at him as he ran from the kinslayer's blade.
The nights since then have carried a heavy burden that emits a foul blend of blood and humidity, hanging over him like a stifling shroud. They represent his overpowering feelings of loneliness, dread, rage, and despair.
Even now, the moon is ornamented with the sinister flicker of the Tsukuyomi, instilling a deep-seated, cornered-animal terror that rests uncomfortably in his belly. In his half-asleep condition, he realizes that this strange sensation is really a mental trick, a figment of his imagination.
A cooling, creeping fear rises within him, its languid motions echoing with each weary gaze he throws upwards. Along with his anxiety, he is filled with embarrassment and shame—a gnawing self-consciousness about his own ridiculous vulnerability.
He reflexively tightens his grip, feeling a strange and persistent amalgamation of sensations—tense stress in his shoulders, fluttering in his stomach, and unmistakable shame at his vise-like grip on the substantial blanket spread about him. Throughout it all, an overwhelming sense of unease fills the air, leaving him suffocating in a stifling thickness that he can't shake. Something unidentified remains, keeping him on edge and tainting every breath he takes.
The silence irks him.
Turning onto his side, Sasuke reaches under his pillow, his fingers instinctively finding their way to the cool touch of the concealed Kunai—his father's Kunai, precious and bitter. Clasping it tightly, his turbulent gaze is drawn to the wearied movements of the dancing shadows.
This feeling brings to memory the image of his parents bleeding out while his brother, who was no longer his brother, loomed over them with blood-red eyes—cruel, cold, and so unfamiliar. His conscience is plagued by the events of that night; they are still fresh and too raw, like an open wound he has not yet patched.
As the clouds drift farther from the moon, which he had momentarily imagined to be red in color, his heart skips a beat. A scene he had merely witnessed in the kinslayer's Genjutsu and, much earlier, on the Naka Shrine's walls. Uncertain, but instinctively tracking the shadows and clouds outside his window, he looks for the eyes that are unquestionably looking at him.
He twitches in discomfort, wondering whether it's really a mental illusion. Even so, he is unable to shake this sensation—this weird, unanticipated fear—which is ingrained in his limbs and makes him want to take his life at this very moment. He clenches his jaw in response.
It's too real to be an illusion; it's not just that.
Then his thoughts stray suddenly to the temple on the forest's border, coiled up like a slumbering white beast on top of its long curved stairs, surrounded by plum trees. In his memory, plum trees had thrived around the lake the last time he was there, forever soaking the air.
It was there that he learned for the first time how to breathe fire.
The beauty of overcoming misfortune and the hope that comes from being resurrected from the ashes of one's former self, stronger and fiercer, were two things that plum blossoms stood for in their faith, according to his grandmother's words.
However, Sasuke believed at the time that she just enjoyed attaching dramatic meaning to even the most trivial of matters, as she had done repeatedly in the past. The temple is constantly frigid inside, even with the several wall-mounted torches that glow brilliantly throughout the day. Standing close to the altar, paying respect, and praying as fast as possible before perspiring is the only way to truly feel the warmth in the temple. He recalls the moment his grandmother forced him to kneel with Shisui, who felt scandalized and embarrassed that she had singled him out among their cousins and chastised him for something he hadn't done. She showed him how to pray correctly, holding his shoulder firmly yet gently.
She emphasized to them, "Prayer is, and must be, deeply emotional." The radiant smile she once wore had faded, and her gaze was fixated on the altar. "Engaging in prayer devoid of emotions, devoid of the essential reverence, is a disservice to its inherent dignity." Shisui appeared to be huffing and puffing the entire time, but as she turned to face him with her burning Sharingan, he complied. Sasuke had asked for a few things: strength and power, unfailing knowledge, an unbreakable and well-honed sword, and armor thick enough to protect him from any weapon. He didn't have a sword and didn't know how to wield one, but he still prayed. It was foolish of him to put his faith in words rather than measurements.
As a clanless Uchiha, he has no family to turn to for guidance or protection, so he must always exert arduous effort to uphold his own holdfast. He is now completely alone in a cruel world that won't spare him. Prayers won't help him in any way. Words are wind, and prayers are words.
He always found himself caught in the whirlwind of life; reality itself seemed like a chaotic storm, snatching away precious moments in the blink of an eye. It was clear that he needed more time, for unlike his brother and Shisui, he was a slow learner—or, as his mother bluntly phrased it, "a perpetual student who never truly grasped the lessons." Driven by impulse, impetuosity, and a touch of naivety, Sasuke held an unwavering determination to achieve his goals and uphold the prestigious legacy of his family. No matter how hard he tried, no matter the extent of his efforts, fervent prayers, and selfless offerings, he couldn't escape the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy.
The fact that he couldn't save anyone served as a constant reminder of his own perceived weaknesses. He's all that's left, all that's left to bear the heavy burden of being the very last. Since that day, Sasuke Uchiha has never known peace.
There was a constant battle going on within his mind, emotions, and complete existence. He only returned to the temple to see the Stone Tablet, which he couldn't read because he didn't have a Sharingan anyway. He had no reason to return; he hadn't awakened the Sharingan, and he had lost faith in the empty Temple.
His mind snaps back to the present, his grip tightening around the kunai, his gaze grows more focused. The wind seems to hold its breath, casting an eerie stillness over the Uchiha compound. The familiar silence that once enveloped the compound now feels suffocating, weighing heavily on his senses. It pierces his ears like a painful ache. In the past, the compound thrived as a tight-knit community, a society unto itself. They even practiced a unique religion and worshiped deities unknown to the rest of the village, separate from the traditions of the major clans. His uncles would often joke about living in their own independent village, a place exclusively reserved for the Uchiha.
Straightening his stance, he rubs his tired eyes in an attempt to banish the persisting doubt. The unsettling sensation tingles through his chest, deepening his unease. Could it all be a mere illusion, a trick of his weary mind? He questions. However, the oppressive silence that hangs in the air is too real, too tangible to be dismissed as a figment of his imagination. It weighs heavily on his senses, enveloping him in a foreboding aura that refuses to be ignored. The truth is undeniable: something is amiss, and he can no longer deny the prickling intuition that warns of an impending danger.
The weight of a deathly silence settles upon the surroundings, wrapping around like an impenetrable shroud. It is not a mere absence of sound; even the trees cease their rustling, the mournful call of an owl is abruptly silenced, and the winds themselves hold their breath.
"This is foolish," he thinks to himself, attempting to rationalize the growing unease that grips him. But then, from the depths of the stillness, there it is—the faintest of whispers, barely discernible against the solemn backdrop.
"God-boy, flame-boy, storm-boy," the haunting chant murmurs in the air, growing clearer with each passing moment. The words of an ancient ballad resonate through his senses, causing a spark of familiarity to flicker within him. It is his mother's song, one she would often hum to herself in moments of solitude or sing to him, her voice a comforting melody. Yet, in this context, the familiarity only deepens the eerie atmosphere.
Gripping his fists tightly, he strains to detect the whereabouts of the intruders, attuned to the eerie absence of sound. There is no rustle of wind, no chorus of chirping crickets, not even a faint creak from the worn-out bed beneath him. The silence is absolute and death-like.
His first assumption is a genjutsu.
The entity, whether human or otherwise, feels incredibly near, its presence permeating the very air as though intertwined with his own veins.
Sasuke's breath hitches, emerging hoarsely as he questions, "Who's there?" The only answer is an oppressive silence, accompanied by a dissonant melody reverberating within his mind. "Twister of fate, progenitor of all, vanquishers of lies," the song murmurs.
In response, Sasuke instinctively adjusts himself, swiftly drawing a kunai and positioning it firmly before him. He channels his chakra, murmuring a forceful "Kai," yet the unyielding melody persists, refusing to release its Genjutsu-like grip on him. Abruptly, the voices shift, morphing into echoes of his own family, like ghosts of memories. They carry an intangible weight, evoking within him a mix of nostalgia and longing.
He listens tenderly to the chorus of the dead, a not-so-subtle longing aching in his heart.
The lyrics of the haunting song take a different turn, no longer mirroring the familiar words he remembers. Instead, they echo with a haunting refrain: "God-boy, flames-boy, storm-boy." Each syllable resonates with an otherworldly intensity, lacking the tender affection of his mother's voice.
A tinge of worry—of surprise.
Undeterred, the song continues, "Come away, O human child. Do not be afraid."
Sasuke repeats his question, his voice a soft whisper this time, "Who are you?"
The melody persists, weaving a new verse, "Die in fame, die in flames, and meet your deathless death on the altar's shrine."
The words hang in the air, their meaning lost to him. Intrigued and apprehensive, Sasuke finds himself stone-still. "What are you? Show yourself." His voice, for once, lacks the confidence he usually radiates; it's all doubt and none of the aggression he was aiming for.
As a surge of adrenaline courses through his veins, Sasuke fights to maintain control over his rising panic. His eyes glow with intense fervor, bulging with the weight of uncertainty.
The sudden vulnerability he experiences stirs torment within him, leaving him unsettled. A feeling he despises—the all-consuming fear—begins to seep into his being once more. In a haze of delirium, his gaze wanders towards the door, his mind clouded by a strange sense of unease. The world around him becomes a blur momentarily, and Sasuke's desperate desire for clarity becomes entangled with a growing sense of bewilderment.
The sensation washes over Sasuke with a jolt of recognition, like the nightmares he endured within the confines of the Tsukuyomi trap. There, the sky turned a foreboding shade of blood-red as crows feasted upon the corpses of his relatives, and the repugnant stench of death filled his nostrils. The world around him seems to shrink and narrow, his vision tunneling in on the immediate surroundings.
The surge of adrenaline quickens his heartbeat, pounding against his chest like a war drum. A searing agony shoots through the back of his neck, immobilizing him momentarily. The pain becomes unbearable, igniting an urgent desire to press and scratch at his scalp.
"Come away, O human child. Do not be afraid," it says.
His eyes widen as he surveys his surroundings, his gaze darting frantically in search of something. His attention is squarely drawn to the mirror in front of him. There, staring back at him, is his own reflection, yet it is altered in a way that sends a shiver down his spine. His face appears feverish, his eyes bearing the unmistakable mark of a red Sharingan, its two tomoe swirling within each pupil.
His vision sharpens, honing in with hawk-like focus. His eyes remain fixated on his altered reflection, nearly unblinking as he tries to process the impossible reality before him.
Inhaling sharply for breath, Sasuke's trembling hand tentatively reaches up to touch his face. His eyes blaze with an otherworldly red hue, an intensity that sets them apart from Itachi's, his mother's, and his father's.
There is something undeniably powerful about them, as if they possess their own unique radiance. Or so he suddenly thinks.
"Kai," he utters, unleashing a surge of chakra that ripples through the air around him. However, to his dismay, nothing changes.
The Sharingan, brilliant as the sun, remains firmly entrenched within his eyes, while the haunting echoes of whispered voices persist. "Son of the sea and the sun, dearest one," they whisper in an echoing rain of whispers, their words both soothing and perplexing. "No usurper may stand against you. Come away, human child."
As he takes a deep breath, his chest rises and falls with anticipation, a kaleidoscope of memories flash through his mind.
The images of his beloved family, so vivid and alive, stir a bittersweet ache within him. The weight of their absence intensifies the loneliness that has clung to him for far too long.
But then, a gentle tug in his gut, an inexplicable pull that defies reason and caution, with no explanation or a logical justification.
"Where?" Sasuke asks again, his voice trembling.
"To the shrine," they respond, its ethereal timbre echoing in his mind.
Sasuke implores, "Why?"
"The Gods desire for you to have a great future, Sasuke Uchiha."
For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he feels alive.
He sees that he isn't alone as soon as he leaves the house barefoot. There are hazy, overlapping figures writhing through the silence, feline-like, in the breeze, like ghosts. A glimpse vanishes in a split second. Sasuke is uneasy. He subtly tightens his grasp on the kunai.
He straightens himself as awareness jolts over his shoulders, whispering to himself in understanding, awed "Summons..."
Sasuke keeps his gaze forward, but he sees, peripherally, the massive silhouettes of felines lurking in the shadows; their eyes are a blazing gold, glowing like the heart of a star.
He comes to a halt, a little hesitation sticking to his motions. Absurdly, as their massive bodies drop towards him on the rocky road, the felines delicately lower their heads, offering a bow. Sasuke stares evenly. He pushes himself to walk towards the familiar path to the shrine.
Unfazed by the ANBU squad of two perched on the nearby houses, communicating through gestures, he continues on his way, oblivious to the uneven terrain beneath his feet and the layer of dust slowly accumulating on his barefoot
A cluster of trees towered around the rain-slick hill. The moon shed a gray hue over the lake's deep waters and the red archway of the Naka shrine, sweeping them in a mellow white.
And then, in the distance, a light.
The sight of the torches ignited within the inner hall raises alarms for the two ANBU. They appear in front of him with a sense of urgency. Positioned on the stone steps, one ANBU unsheathes their weapon, assuming a defensive posture, while the other instinctively positions themselves in a protective stance in front of him.
"Sasuke Uchiha-kun, please step back!" The ANBU warns, glancing back at him. "There's an intruder and we haven't identified their summoned creatures yet."
Sasuke's eyes burn as he mutters absentmindedly, "No." The scene before him blurs momentarily, but he locks eyes with The ANBU, Hawk, and declares, "they are mine."
Hawk reinforces his already pillar-straight stance and turns to face Sasuke with a vague, contemplative stare. Sasuke is unsure whether the man is wary of this irregularity or eager to examine it.
They hesitates, glancing at each other. Sasuke recognizes their gaze, as expression and as a spurious willingness, the customary blankness in their posture. There's some small dilution of doubt against his statement. A question unasked.
The ANBU positioned atop the steps, Boar, openly stares at him, his eyes darting between the entrance of the shrine and Sasuke. Meanwhile, Hawk, the other ANBU, sends a wordless message to his companion through a distinct hand gesture, prompting Boar to pause in his actions.
The agent stares for a few moments, as if expecting an escape attempt. "Very well," Hawk eventually says, curtly.
The petrichor of the day's post-rain splendor is still in the air, ever accompanied by the sweet odor of plum blossoms carried by the steady breeze in this particular area of the woods. Sasuke lifts his palm, allowing the golden and gray light to flood through his fingers and bones and through.
A looming shadow creeps over him, while the sound of footsteps resounds from somewhere deep within. From the dimly illuminated passage, a pair of captivating golden eyes peer out of the inky darkness, fixed on him. The flickering flame in the corridor dances its way through the door, bathing the feline in a soft, warm embrace of golden light.
Draped in an opulent shroud of ebony fur, the creature before him astounds with its unprecedented density, or perhaps it is simply the sheer power emanating from its sinewy muscles. Towering at a height comparable to that of a horse, this feline presence eclipses him by a good margin, at least three inches or perhaps even more. The flames dance along its majestic form, illuminating its silhouette with a mesmerizing display of light. Every contour appears holied in light
Sasuke stares up at the feline with shell-shocked wonder.
At first glance, the creature resembles a panther, but upon closer inspection, he realizes the distinguished dissimilarities. The beast before him boasts a colossal frame and a remarkable abundance of muscularity, surpassing even his late father's panther in size.
.There is a cold pit sinking through his stomach as he instinctively takes a hesitant half-step forward
A sudden realization dawns upon him, shattering his initial assumption. This magnificent creature is undoubtedly a tiger—a black tiger, to be exact.
All Sasuke can think of is his grandmother's words when she taught him about the meaning of the shrine's carved walls and sculptures. "Tigers are many deities' vehicles, Sasuke-chan," she had stated. "Even we, the Uchihas, find it difficult to make a contract with one of these majestic creatures; it is a privilege reserved for the Lords' favorites or temple servants."
The lords' favorites.
The regal creature casts its discerning gaze upon Sasuke, then gracefully lowers its head to meet his eye level. There is a palpable air of reverence as it speaks, "You must be The Last."
Sasuke grimaces. "I am," he says, his glare unwavering. Defiant. The truth is no longer a weapon to wound him; words hold no power over him. Not anymore.
Sensing the cautious approach of Boar, the closest ANBU member, the tiger unleashes a wave of potent Killing Intent. Its intensity is almost otherworldly, a frigid coldness that seems to transcend humanity. The bone-chilling aura freezes Boar in his tracks, rendering him immobile fleetingly, before taking a defensive stance.
The blade again gleams under the moonlight, and Sasuke looks at the agent. "Set aside your sword," he says, his voice no longer cracking. "And don't follow us."
"We are obligated to stick by you and eliminate any potential harm," Boar never takes his eyes off the tiger, "whatever it may be."
His words aren't overtly offensive, but they are still somewhat rage-inducing enough to snap Sasuke out of his absent-minded status.
Sasuke glares at him, "You are not allowed to enter the shrine. Scram ."
"This is simply irresponsible, and by all means, unacceptable."
"It's a must, because non-believers in the Three Holy Siblings aren't permitted," Sasuke repeats his grandmother's words, feeling a cold anger beneath his skin. "And it's a legal requirement to respect one's beliefs, isn't it?"
Responding to Hawk's sign, Boar grudgingly complies, his reluctance evident in his movements.
Then, in the blink of an eye, they vanish, disappearing from sight. However, the tiger's intense gaze remains fixated on a specific point in the distance, where they must be hidden among the trees.
With a subtle gesture, the majestic feline steps aside, granting Sasuke passage to enter. Without hesitation, he strides forward, his every step filled with a blend of anticipation and apprehension. The tiger shadows his every move, trailing closely behind.
It's cooler inside, a little damp, and smells like brackish water and smoke.
"The forces that have brought us together hold a significance beyond chance," the tiger imparts. "It seems that the very gods themselves have ordained a grand future for you, Sasuke Uchiha. You have kept them waiting for far too long; it is time to answer their call."
Sasuke tries to ease out the cornered tension that tightens his limbs.
It's an ugly thing that stains his thoughts—a faithlessness. The Holy Spirits weren't there when he needed them, when their children needed them. Suddenly, at the very thought, he's a child again.
A sort of heart-deep anguish and sorrow crawl through his chest. The tiger's eyes on his back feel like a heavy burden, like his grandmother's gaze.
He doesn't need a second invitation; he sidles forward, fingers crooked, and sinks to his knees before the soot-covered altar, where above it, floor-to-ceiling, dusty tapestries of The Holy Three cover the walls. Their immortal deep-set and red eyes peer down at him.
The flames twirl and crash, luring him in closer and kissing his face, burning his heart. The flames are as bright as the sun and as furious as its breath.
"Amaterasu-sama, give me the courage to face my enemies," He starts, looking up at her. There's no comfort in her gaze— only fury, and fury is familiar, it's a second-skin, it's smoothing, "Let me meet them with nothing but fire in my eyes."
The flame sputters sharply, snapping like a whip.
His voice resonates with a fervent plea. "Tsukuyomi-sama, bestow upon me the wisdom to see through deceit and never be led astra."
Memories of his brother's betrayal and the words he had once taunted him fuel his anger.
His reverence then shifts as he directs his entreaty to Susanoo-sama. "Susanoo-sama, bless my blade with your divine power," Sasuke whispers, his Sharingan blazes fiercely in vibrant shades of crimson, "I beseech you, my lords, listen to my prayers. Unleash your wrath upon the heretic who defiles the sacred blood flowing within your children. May he suffer the consequences of his sacrilege at my hands. Grant me victory over my adversaries, for I refuse to allow them to prevail. Bestow upon me your blessings, my lords, infuse me with your unwavering strength, so that I may wield justice in your esteemed names. I am prepared to fight valiantly and even face death itself in service to your cause."
As the flame sputters and splits, Sasuke hears the answer, "No usurper may remain standing against you."
His vision fills with vibrant red, so brilliant that it blinds him, so beautiful that he wonders why he hasn't discovered it before, so repugnant that it makes him want to throw up his dinner. The world is sharper, clearer, hideously vivid.
It is mesmerizing— and the altar's warmth is comforting. In an episode of need or epiphany, he lets the flame claw at his fingers, and he doesn't pull away. He allows the pain to consume him, to destroy him, to free him. The moment is fleeting, barely there, because the pain has stopped, and the heat is gone.
Sasuke gazes down at his palms, his eyes fixated on the unscathed, unwounded flesh. Absent-mindedly, he channels his chakra, twirling it with the unexpected discovery of pale-blue flames spiraling out from his hand. The ethereal fire dances and crackles like an intangible whip, "What is this?."
In a state of bewilderment, he stumbles backward, his eyes fixated on the flickering flames before him. A haunting echo resounds through the corridor, enveloping him in its ethereal whispers. The presence of two ANBU lingering at the entryway weighs heavily on his senses, their scrutinizing gazes piercing his back.
Yet, his attention remains captivated by the dancing flames, where fleeting images materialize amidst the pulsating embers of an old, smog-veiled altar. The searing flame flickers, laying bare the corroded, fragmented walls encasing him.
Fear and confusion intertwine within his racing heart.
The acrid odor of smoke and burning flesh permeates the air. From within the depths of the flames, a distant echo beckons to him - vision that carries hints of impending danger, hints of unspoken terror, of unseen horrors lurking just beyond the reach of the fire's illuminating glow.
Intrigued, Sasuke leans closer to the altar, feeling the cold, impassive touch of its stone surface beneath the warm hand.
Suddenly, he hears a faint whispering of footsteps coming from the entryway.
The flames finally whisper through a voice of a being that was not quite human, nor quite divine, but something altogether different and eerie, 'You shall never be the same again, Sasuke Uchiha'
His eyes lost their clarity. And then, out of nowhere, a gust of wind blew through the chamber, extinguishing the flames and plunging him into pitch darkness.
Sasuke fumbles. He feels a cold chill running down his spine.
