Sakura landed on her feet, her sandals crunching through grass in a small cloud of dirt. With a palm pressed against her temple to steady her spinning mind, she lifted her head, squinting upwards. The sun blinded her, and for a moment, all she could see was dazzling white and a vivid azure blue.
She blinked several times as she registered all the other sensations beyond the burning midday sunlight. Cicadas sung high in the trees that stretched far past her left and right; waters whispered and gurgled in the river that rushed before her. The air tasted of summer, rich with scents of meadowgrass, humid forest flora, and the mineral tang of river water.
Sakura stared at the perfect blue sky, somewhat dazed.
No Divine Tree branches. No cocoons.
Reaching out to the side, she steadied herself against the rough bark of the closest tree, getting fully to her feet. Running a hand through her hair and exhaling in a slightly shaky puff, Sakura pulled her stare from the untainted skies to where she sensed several presences somewhere to her right.
She tensed instinctively back against the tree as a figure advanced past her in a blur, a rock in his hand. Unconsciously holding her breath, Sakura watched as a very young Madara skipped the stone across the river in a practised throw; it bounced over the rippling currents in leaping bounds until it was caught by another boy on the opposite riverbank.
Sakura let go of her breath, nodding to herself in understanding and relaxing slightly where she stood against the tree. Though these versions of Madara and Hashirama were older than in the memories she had witnessed the last time she'd been here, they were unmistakable; she guessed that here, they were around her own age. Sakura would recognise Madara anywhere — she knew those eyes too well, even when not in Rinnegan form.
She watched as Madara caught the rock Hashirama had thrown, the both of them glancing down at the stones with grim expressions. She guessed there was some kind of message on those skipping rocks, but was too distracted by the situation itself to hazard guesses, her stare magnetising between the two of them. To see the First Hokage this young was one thing, but to see Madara at her own age was messing with her head.
Sakura pressed a hand over her lips, her many memories of his white-haired self contrasting against her view of him now; black-haired and dark-eyed, his skin tan from daily time in the sun, his complexion hale. Madara was so impossibly young, especially compared to the version of him that she'd left behind with her unconscious body. Sakura bit back another twinge of guilt.
She refocused on the scene before her, feeling like a student taking notes. She was half-tempted to do just that, and her hand strayed to her pack at her side; her fingers grazed the zipper before she looked down at herself with mild surprise. She had materialised here in her most familiar, comfortable clothing: her favourite red Haruno qipao and shorts, her worn but well-cared for black gloves, her favourite sandals.
Sakura hummed to herself. Was it her own unconscious mind that had bent the genjutsu to place her in her most comfortable outfit? Or was that a planned detail from the genjutsu itself? How much control did she have here versus static details she could not affect?
She jerked her attention back to the clearing upon hearing several arguing voices, and blinked with shock at the sudden tripling of figures on either side of the riverbank. Automatically stepping back into the shadows of the treeline, Sakura's searching gaze swept over the shinobi who stood braced beside Madara and Hashirama, their blades drawn and voices cutting across the currents.
She knew who the white-haired boy beside the First Hokage was. Who didn't know the face of Senju Tobirama? Images of his stony frown upon the carved cliff at home in Konoha passed behind Sakura's mind's eye, though it felt odd to think of that while looking out at his child-self. He was even younger than Sakura, not a single line of age upon his pale, scowling visage as he stood in a defensive pose beside his brother. And that older man with the ugly snarl beside him… that must be their father? Sakura couldn't recall his name from her past studies, and she turned her focus from Madara to the young boy at his side.
The sight of his face backhanded her. Astonished, she incredulously hissed his name. "Sasuke?!"
That was impossible. Sakura leaned forward, peering harder at the boy, struck hard by how he was Sasuke's spitting image. He was younger than Madara, perhaps the same age as Tobirama; too young to be brandishing blades like he was, ready to defend his family members should a battle rise from the bristling tension in the air.
A blur of movement, and Sakura restrained herself from acting as her observations were interrupted by the slashing of blades and angry cries. The standoff between the Uchiha and Senju had escalated, and she watched with a frown as she recognised that Hashirama and Madara had stopped the would-be lethal blows of the battle that had almost ensued.
Sakura pulled herself free from the tree, her fingers having dug deep into the wood. She scolded herself as the Uchiha and Senju disengaged, all the tension between them remaining as they backed off. I can't intervene, Sakura reminded herself as she turned to follow the Uchiha through the forest. These are only memories. They cannot feel, see, nor sense me.
Her ears prickled as she heard an unfamiliar voice growling through the trees. Lifting her head from where she walked at the back of the small group, Sakura looked past Madara and his younger brother to the black-haired man leading the way, his harsh words carrying to Sakura as he glanced back at the three of them. She easily recognised the harsh lines around his eyes, the fierce dark of his stare; there was no doubt in her mind that he was Madara's father.
She hated to admit that he was rather scary. Though he lacked the wild mane of Madara's adult self, he had all of his intimidation. His presence was just as frightening and oppressive as she had thought Madara's upon first meeting him, and Sakura found herself keeping a safe distance.
His lecture went on deaf ears to all of them, Sakura distracting herself by shifting her fascination again to the Sasuke-lookalike at Madara's side. He was glancing over at Madara with admiring looks, and Sakura tilted her head as she stared at him with interest. No, he wasn't completely identical to Sasuke, but was achingly similar; he had the same raven hair, the same eyes, though his mannerisms and personality were clearly different. He could easily be his twin. A certain sweetness remained in his gaze, hinting at a big heart that he wore on his sleeve, and Sakura already decided she liked him; much more than she liked his and Madara's father, at least.
But where was he in present day? The thought had Sakura troubled as she followed them through the forest, the sun dappling the dark of their hair and robes as they walked. She had never heard of Madara having a brother.
Sakura's observant gaze flicked to his hand as he gave Madara a reassuring pat on the arm when their father wasn't looking. Her attention narrowed upon the callouses hinting along his palm, and she looked back to Madara, recognising the jaded, bitter edges around his eyes. He had the marks of someone already blunted to the life of a shinobi; his brother, younger by several years, bore the same signs of the imprints of war.
They looked to their father as he led the way, the Uchiha symbol glinting in bright red and white upon his back.
Sakura continued to trail after the three of them, her troubled feeling sinking deeper through her heart. She wasn't sure if she liked how she was unseen and unheard, walking among a memory; though she had no desire to draw the undoubtedly unfriendly attention of their father, she wanted to ask Madara and his brother a multitude of things. Questions buzzed about her skull, and she itched to squash them with answers.
Though frustrated, Sakura reminded herself that she'd still had a victory of a kind. She had finally made it here, walking through Madara's memories in an incredibly vivid genjutsu. She closed her eyes for a moment, his Rinnegan eyes glinting through her mind while warmth spread down to her fingers and toes. So he gave me what I wanted. How much will he let me see?
Sakura recognised the Uchiha compound with a start. It felt like a combination of the old-fashioned house that had been her home with the Uchiha complex she knew from Konoha, though nicer. It was a large square stretch of buildings tucked into the forest with a courtyard hidden in its heart; its style was faithful to that of the little house, though it lacked rose gardens and flower arrangements.
Pressing a palm to her heart, Sakura hoped her garden might survive all right without her while she was in this genjutsu. She tried not to worry, following Madara and his brother along the veranda to their rooms, looking around with vague interest at the familiar architecture and thinking of her little home with concern. He would tend to the place while she was here, surely. And she certainly wouldn't be asleep in genjutsu for too long in reality. She had gotten the impression upon coming out of Madara's previous genjutsu that she'd only been unconscious for a few fleeting moments.
This remembered, Sakura nodded to herself, sliding the door shut behind her as she followed the two Uchiha boys indoors. This genjutsu would only take a few hours, most likely; then she'd come out of it, perhaps a little disoriented, but armed with a lifetime of knowledge for persuading Madara into ending the war at last.
Reminded of her purpose for being here, Sakura relaxed against the wall. She carefully observed as Madara and his brother settled on the tatami mat floor, sharpening kunai while conversing in quiet tones.
Madara was smirking. "That's a pretty good impression, Izuna."
Izuna's face lit up before he made a mocking scowl, continuing with his impression of their father. "'If I ever see you consorting with Senju again I'll make you regret the day you were born!'" He made a comical look of mock-anger that had Madara shaking his head, his dark hair falling over the curve of his smile. "Not so loud. You know Father will hit you upside the head if he hears you."
Izuna snorted, running the blade of his kunai along a handheld whetstone with a roll of his eyes. "He won't hear. He's gone off to oversee Kuro and Togakushi's training. They've been sparring all day." He eyed Madara with a more serious look. "Are you okay, by the way? About what happened at the riverbank?" Izuna shifted where he sat with a slight smile. "It's probably good you guys intervened. I was ready to cut Tobirama a new face, the way he was talking."
"I'm fine." Madara scowled, striking his blade a little harder along his whetstone; several sparks flew from the force he used. Izuna sat back with a snort. "Come on. I know you better than that, brother. Wasn't that Hashirama kid your friend you've talked about before? How did you not know he was a Senju until recently?"
"Don't waste your breath. I don't want to talk about it." Madara's dark eyes slid down to the blade Izuna held. "That still looks dull. Did you sharpen it at all?"
"Of course I did," Izuna answered defensively, and Madara sighed. "Give it to me. I'll show you how to do this properly. Listen this time so I don't have to show you again." Izuna handed his kunai over, and Sakura watched Madara's quick lesson on blade sharpening, her interest temporarily dwindling. With their conversation fading out of her attention, she slid down to sit near them, a square of sunlight falling over her shoulders through the latticed windows. She looked around the room, feeling a little less on edge.
Izuna and Madara continued to converse. Already used to the sharp grinding sounds of their blades running along stones, Sakura absorbed the sensations of the world around her for a long moment, her mind adrift. Her palms brushed along the cross-hatched textures of the tatami mat beneath where she leaned; there was a light sheen of sweat clinging to the back of her neck, the humid air of the room scented with stale hints of cooked rice and burnt incense from somewhere nearby. When she closed her eyes, she could taste the forest musk that hung on to her clothing. The keening of the cicadas droned on outside, upholding the distant birdsong that floated through the whispering trees in an ambient, buzzing hum. Soft padding of bare feet down the halls indicated the quiet activities of nearby servants; clothes rustled as Madara adjusted where he sat, and there was a slight draft that tickled the hair around Sakura's face.
She opened her eyes. In the shaft of sunlight that warmed her, specks of dust swirled through the air, dancing in indiscriminate spirals. When she brought her attention to the wood beams of the walls or the gabled roof above their heads, she could spot the age of the worn planks, the knots and lines in the wood down to the tiniest patterns.
It was indistinguishable from life before she'd come here, perfect down to every detail, and Sakura had to remind herself that this was not reality. It was an incredible dream, with a level of vividness she could not have imagined, but it was not real; it was a genjutsu. A recreation, a remembrance she had been given access to.
She held that knowledge against her mind, branding it against the back of her head so her thoughts could not ignore its presence. She would not let herself forget it.
Imbued with wonder, Sakura's focus trailed between Izuna and Madara once more, memorising and warm.
Sakura approached with uncertainty as Madara and Izuna took their places at the table, settling down and tucking in to their bowls of steaming rice. She stood in a shadow, her gaze both nervous and curious as her attention shifted away from their familiar heads of wild black hair to the others that sat near them.
Beside Izuna sat a narrow-faced taller boy with pulled-back hair as long and obsidian-black as the rest of the Uchiha. He was skinny, but just as lean and muscled as the rest of them, and Sakura guessed that he was older than Izuna and younger than Madara. Remembering the names Izuna had mentioned in passing earlier, she knew that he and the boy next to him must be Togakushi and Kuro, their other two brothers.
Kuro looked much like Izuna, but with shorter, spikier hair; he lacked Izuna's sweet manner, reminding Sakura vaguely of Obito. He held a similar inky darkness in his stare matching that of their father's, who sat across from them all in stony silence. Her eyes set upon him now, she watched as he looked between his sons, his own food sitting untouched before him. Deep lines from his neverending frown outlined the downward curve of his mouth.
Tajima, Sakura remembered with a blink. His name had been a single passing mention in one of the textbooks she had read as a child where the Uchiha clan had been discussed. The patriarch of the Uchiha during the warring era, he had been a powerful and merciless leader, though he had been eventually overshadowed by Madara and forgotten by most.
Sakura stepped forward, having to tell herself again that Tajima would not see her nor her struggle to figure out where to sit. As his gaze shifted from Kuro to Togakushi, Sakura moved past Madara and Izuna, both hers and Tajima's attention falling upon the empty seats beside him at the same time.
Pausing where she stood, Sakura noticed the way Tajima's eyes darkened upon the pair of vacant cushions. She didn't recognise the passing hint of emotion behind his gaze until he looked away, resuming a flawlessly impassive expression that hid whatever he'd felt. As Sakura settled upon the empty seat across from Madara, she realised what it was, her stomach sinking to the floor.
She looked between the Uchiha brothers with a knot between her brows before looking down to the empty space beside her. With her fingers running along the cushion she perched upon, she looked back to Tajima, some of her previous dislike fading as she reread what she had recognised in the shadows of his face. It was written in the way he watched his sons with careful, discerning scrutiny; behind his imperious mask, pain crossed fierce protectiveness.
There had once been more of his family sitting in these places. Where was his wife — the mother of his sons? Was it a sister or a brother that once sat where Sakura did now?
Sakura looked away, unable to watch Tajima's pain any longer. After a soft breath, she glanced back at Madara, her heartbeats stinging with deeper understanding.
He didn't notice the touch of her stare, glaring down at his bowl of rice that he picked at with his chopsticks. He reminded Sakura of Sasuke in this moment; a dark troubledness clouded his presence, his dark hair falling around his frown.
Sakura's gaze shifted to Izuna, who hummed to himself between wolfish gulps of rice. Kuro stole a bite from the Izuna's plate since his own was emptied, causing him to shove at him in protest, and Tajima snapped as they argued. "Stop that right now or neither of you get a meal next time."
Izuna and Kuro wore matching pinched expressions that they aimed at each other. Togakushi shrugged, staying out of the argument and pushing his bowl aside. Madara ignored them all.
He lifted his head as Sakura did when there was a splat. Izuna giggled behind a devious grin as rice plopped off of Kuro's furious face, both Togakushi and Tajima wearing matching expressions of unhappy surprise. Sakura and Madara blinked, their faces blank, before Madara let out a rich, rumbling laugh; Izuna sat up in a victorious poise, Togakushi cracked a smile, and even Kuro was snorting with amusement, wiping the rice-projectile from his face.
Sakura stole a bite of Madara's rice while he chuckled at his brothers' antics, smiling to herself upon feeling the air around them lighten. She eyed Izuna affectionately. The idiot looked just like Sasuke while acting like Naruto. She felt a fresh wave of disappointment that she didn't know Izuna in real life, knowing she would have gotten along with him well.
Sakura's heart tore with a vicious rip of homesickness that she hid behind angry chewing. She forced the feeling back. She would see them all again soon enough. For now, she would enjoy the privilege of sitting with Madara and his family, no matter the painful empathy and reminders it brought her.
Sakura sat up, rubbing her eyes and reaching automatically to her left. Her hand patted nothingness, and she felt a twinge of disappointment.
She looked around blearily. Had she fallen asleep in the living room again? Hopefully she hadn't left anything on the stove, and her brain stirred further awake, worried by the thought.
No, this was her bedroom. Sakura stared at the walls, disoriented. It was her room – right? It was almost exactly the same, but something was off. The structure seemed a little different, and the morning light normally came through the windows to the left of her bed, not from behind her. She rubbed the back of her head tiredly. She must be half-asleep, still; perhaps she could afford herself another hour or two of sleep before her usual training session with Madara and Akane. That must be why he wasn't here beside her – he was already outside.
Sakura groaned, getting to her feet. Madara was always ornery when she was even close to late. The grouch could have at least woken her when he'd gotten up rather than letting her sleep in, and she was grumbling to herself as she pulled on her qipao and shorts, stretching her arms with a sigh.
Her gaze trailed over to the side and halted upon the two figures sleeping calmly to her right, their chests rising and falling softly. Obsidian-black hair glinted in the early morning light, mussed and wild, covering their faces. A short distance deeper into the room, two more figures slept, bound comfortably in sheets; dark locks spilled across pillows, and soft snoring softened the quiet.
Sakura's face twitched with conflict as she stared down at Izuna and Madara.
Her blood coloured with several hues as a mix of reactions stirred through her heart. Excitement was her foremost feeling. Remembering that she'd successfully convinced Madara into showing her his life refreshed her taste of victory, unearthing her keen edge of studious interest once more. She was excited to have such a vivid look into his past, to both know and understand him well. While she had been disappointed that she couldn't directly interact with Madara and his family, she was looking forward to experiencing more through this incredible genjutsu, her anticipation tangible in the tapping of her fingers along her sides and in the racing of her blood.
Her secondary reaction was wistfulness. Already, Sakura missed her little routines, the daily paths she took while tending the house and practising her new skills in cooking and falconry. She'd trained with Madara in taijutsu spars, finding his invisibility a new challenge that made training refreshingly difficult; she'd enjoyed her paper-cranes distraction, reaching a thousand completed not long before entering this genjutsu. Hours of meditation had come easily when she was settled well enough in the home she had made at his side.
She also missed him, himself. Sakura scowled as she stared down at where Madara slept. It was both asinine and stupid that she missed him when he was right here, just much younger. She'd see him again soon once she emerged from his genjutsu. She would deal with his probable ire that she'd convinced him into this in the first place, and then continue on with her plan. Why did she feel so melancholy as she remembered that she was here in his past?
And that house she lived with him in was not her home. Sakura lectured herself internally, finishing adjusting her outfit and zipping up her qipao. She had let herself get too comfortable bonding with Limbo clones; she'd nearly forgotten why she was there in the first place. Perhaps it was good that she had this time away from her own Madara in order to clear her head and get a fresh perspective.
My own Madara. Sakura bit her lip as she turned and peered out the nearby window, staring out at the lush, thick forest. He wasn't hers; she couldn't let herself think like that —- but the dark-haired boy lying back behind her was not hers either. He was cold and distant, like Sasuke had been towards her for years. He looked different, acted different, felt different. He was nothing like the wild-haired, sharp-tongued Madara that awaited her somewhere outside this perfectly detailed world.
Sakura sighed, softening a little. She had grown undeniably fond of true Madara. She could allow herself to miss him just a little bit, even just because he was the one who acknowledged her, who felt and welcomed her presence. Beyond that, he had become more than a companion or strange friend these past months. She knew it was foolish to feel that way, but it was too late to backpedal from it now. It had gotten her here, after all. She would deal with her investment in him once the war was over.
For now, she would follow that affection back to the young Madara that she stood beside. Sakura shifted away from the window, looking to him as he and Izuna rose from their slumbers, pulling on fresh sets of dark Uchiha robes and tying their obis. Madara paused, glancing over, and the sun glowed along his face; Sakura observed him for a moment, seeing an echo of his future self in his features. The creases beneath his eyes were so much more subtle, his skin a light tan, his dark hair falling around his face and over his shoulders as it began to grow into a mane; darkness tracked through his eyes, though lesser an intensity than that of the Madara that she knew.
A flutter in Sakura's chest had her looking away from him with a huff. Damn him. He might look almost completely different while her own age like he was now, but he was still very attractive.
Sakura resisted the temptation to kick herself. Focus. She must be attentive while here in this genjutsu. She must take in every detail before she woke back up and faced reality. This was her last chance to know Madara, to gain what knowledge she needed to successfully persuade who she understood as one of the most stubborn, difficult shinobi to exist.
Sakura cleared her throat and stood tall as she followed Izuna and Madara through the narrow hallways, dodging servants as she went. They led the way into a courtyard, its center a wide patch of dirt well-worn from countless spars. They wasted no time, circling each other in defensive poses, dark eyes glinting with determined focus as they prepared to spar.
Sakura let out a sigh, leaning back against a beam. She wanted to watch, but felt her own itch to train. It had been part of her routines, both in her house with Madara and in her routines with her team. It was a natural part of her life, and to stand back and observe rather than participate felt wrong.
She felt out of place, and Sakura frowned, her shadowed green eyes straying from Madara and Izuna's spar that was a blur of limbs and dark robes. It was difficult to focus on them. She felt like the odd one out, a bright red sore thumb. How was she supposed to absorb everything and take mental notes when she couldn't focus? How would she make it through weeks like this, let alone months, or years?
Sakura sat back on the veranda with a moody expression, thoroughly annoyed with herself. This should be easy. She should have a fine time being Madara's observer through a fantastically-detailed genjutsu. It was a lucky thing that she had earned her way here, and she should be appreciating it, immersing herself in it, so that she might remember and use all that she learned here.
Immersion. Sakura pondered that, tapping her fingers along her chin and glancing down at herself. She did indeed stick out, even just visually, and she let out a sigh. Maybe if she matched everyone else, she would at least feel aesthetically like she had a place here, and perhaps she would focus better.
It took Sakura a short stretch of minutes to hunt down a spare set of Uchiha robes. She shrugged them on and tied her obi securely around her waist, nodding to herself and returning to the courtyard. She already felt like she was a little less obvious, a little less out of place, and she settled into a cross-legged position near where Izuna and Madara continued to train, exhaling softly and wiping the sweat from her brow. The sun beat down on their backs, the Uchiha symbol bright upon their plain clothing, their faces set in focused, grim expressions. They sparred like they were about to go to war, like they were already in a battle for life or death. Servants continued to move in silent, neat paths through the house and past the veranda; a black cat lazed along a ledge, watching them fight as the constant buzzing hum of insects rose through the noon-burnt sky.
Sakura inclined her head, pooling her own focus. She might be here to blend in and observe, but she wouldn't waste a moment of time. If there was a chance that gathering chakra and honing her own patience within this long-term genjutsu would bring her value in reality, then she would make use of every second, regenerating chakra and thinking of ideas to expand her abilities.
Sakura lurched to her feet, clapping a clammy hand to her mouth and pushing through the darkness. Stumbling over Izuna's bare feet, she tripped her way to the sliding doors, shoving them open. She felt blindly through the darkness, opening several unfamiliar rooms and shutting them with increasing frustration before she saw a glint of light; seeking fresh air with increasing desperation, Sakura guessed her way towards a different set of doors, shoving her way out onto the veranda. With a nauseous gasp, she pitched forward over the railing, throwing up into the bushes just beyond. She dry heaved several more times before falling back, dragging along the sliding door until she collapsed to the steps. Wiping her mouth, Sakura dropped her head into her hands, tears streaming down her face.
She still felt sick with the images and smells roiling through her head. So much blood. The stench of it filled her nose, stinging her senses with iron and a tainted, sickly sweetness. The gurgling gasps and cries of pain rang through her ears painfully, and Sakura shook her head into her sweaty palms, willing the nightmares to quell. Her teeth clenched; she scrubbed at her tears, reminding herself that they were just dreams. Just dreams.
Memories. Obito's blood. Naruto's blood. Sasuke and Kakashi's blood, dripping down her arms, splattered across her face, and she hunched into herself, her chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid breaths. She couldn't shake the memories: her feelings of desperation and fear, her determination, her acidic forced hope as she had healed wound after wound after wound. Death was a shadow she couldn't shake, and it came to her on nights like this, choking her mind with nightmares.
But she had saved their lives, every time. Sakura's breaths began to slow as she focused upon that thought. Every time their life's blood had soaked her hands, she had stayed resilient, her fingers steady and her resolve strong. She had rescued them from the brink of oblivion and wrenched them back into life no matter the severity of their injuries.
She was strong. She would continue to be, and Sakura could feel herself calming; she lifted her head, her hands falling away from her face. Her tears remained, as did the sorrow behind her eyes, though her heart had slowed its frightened beating.
She looked up at the velvety violet night sky, blinking at the lack of Divine Tree branches. The moon was silver, pure and clean; there was no Tsukuyomi pattern, no blood-red light.
Sakura's heart twinged painfully in her chest. It was a lie. The world was not free; the sky was not truly unscarred. Was there any hope that it would truly be over? Was she lost in this genjutsu with no hope to change the world from its fatal end? How would she ever survive here? The mere concept of staying in this place for a lifetime was unfathomable.
Surely not a lifetime. Sakura inclined her head; her pale pink hair fell around her cheeks, framing her troubled eyes that dragged down through the midnight forest beyond the veranda. Since she hadn't been too confident before that Madara would grant her her request, she hadn't intensively pondered just how long seeing the entirety of his life would be. She supposed it was foolish of her not to consider that in depth, but here she was, and she had to face the fact that she might be here for a very long time — even if it was only fleeting seconds in reality.
A deeply lonely feeling settled over Sakura's heart, and she let out a soft, disconsolate sigh. How she wished she could be seen, be heard. To even feel the glancing touch of eyes again would make her at least feel real again.
Sakura set her expression in a fierce grimace, getting to her feet. She steeled her stomach. She would endure a thousand nightmares if it meant she would succeed in her goal and survive this genjutsu she had worked hard to earn. She would endure her loneliness and immerse herself deeper; she would forget her traumas, forget her worries, and she would focus on this world she walked in, making sure to absorb everything she could before facing whatever awaited her in reality.
With a forced confidence anew, she headed back indoors, finding her place beside Madara and willing herself to sleep once more.
Izuna came down from above at Madara with a kick that he easily dodged, aiming a hit that Izuna rolled past, getting to his feet in a cloud of dry sand and dirt; black hair swirled about his face. Beside them, Sakura warred against a clone of herself, sweat beading on her brow as she dipped and leapt and dodged. Blades clashed as their kunai struck, she and her clone in a terse standstill while Madara and Izuna similarly skirmished. Sakura met the eyes of her clone in a fierce rush, teeth clenched in the vigour of her training.
She faltered as she was struck with a sudden shock: who is that?
The clone's blade slipped, and both fell back. Sakura slumped on the ground as she stared up at her clone.
She peered down at Sakura, hilting her blade. Dirt smudged her cheeks, her complexion tan from daily sparring in the hot sun. Her hair was tied behind her neck, a stream of pink that swished down along her back, covering the Uchiha symbol between her shoulder blades. She looked a little leaner, a little more harsh than Sakura remembered herself looking, and Sakura got to her feet with held breath, unable to stop staring at her clone.
She ran a hand through her hair, trying to reason with herself. What was this feeling? This was completely normal. She'd sparred with her clones every day for weeks with no issue, and out of nowhere she had been shocked with a feeling like déjà vu.
Sakura stared at her clone a little harder. What had set her off? Maybe she was taken aback by her longer hair. She realised that it was nearly as long as Ino's, which she hadn't noticed as time had passed.
Ino. Sakura's stomach clenched, and she took a step back as it finally came to her — I've forgotten that I'm in a genjutsu.
She dismissed her clone with a wave, staring down at the ground in a moment of dizzying remembrance.
A genjutsu. She looked over to Madara, who stood with Izuna as they talked about their most recent spar; she blinked at the familiar sight of him. She frowned, trying to unscramble her thoughts. Memories of the past several weeks reeled through her mind. Mornings donning her usual robes alongside the boys, daily spars after she'd observed and learned from Madara and Izuna's endless rounds; hours of meditation each day, followed by terse meals with the Uchiha. Restless nights, passing nightmares that were less frequent lately — and a continual feeling of displacement and loneliness, fading somewhat with routines and with time.
Sakura rubbed at her temples, dusting off the branded knowledge in her head with a short exhale: this was a genjutsu of incredible power and lucidity that she'd entered weeks ago. She processed this for a moment, looking around at the humid summer afternoon with mild disorientation before shaking her head. Beside her, Izuna was arguing with Madara, his voice breaking through her already-foggy thoughts. "You cheated in that fight," he said, pointing at Madara accusingly, "we said no Sharingans for this spar and you used it there at the end. I saw it. It's not fair, I don't have mine activated yet."
"I couldn't help it. Sometimes it activates subconsciously." Madara ducked away from Izuna's quick punch, catching his fist and shoving him lightly. "You just need to get better at taijutsu in general. Anyone could have dodged those hits. Come on, let's try again."
They fell into another flurry of successive taijutsu moves, Sakura looking on; calm returned to her with the flow of this usual routine. She leaned against the nearby rail of the veranda with a sigh, an aching in her temples. She tried once more to set her mind right-side-up. So, this was a genjutsu of Madara's life, and she'd immersed herself fairly successfully — enough that several weeks had passed without her noticing, unlike how she had ached through the first day or two.
Sakura stood a little taller, feeling rather proud of herself. She had actually managed to immerse herself properly and pass the time, though she'd still felt somewhat out of place. She had blended in enough that she'd surprised herself with the sight of her own clone, changed in appearance from her time living and training alongside the Uchihas.
She tapped her fingers along her lips, thinking. Why had she been so panicked before when she'd realised that she'd gotten immersed in this genjutsu? It was a good thing, and what she had decided to aim for. It meant that she'd be truly absorbed, able to take in every detail perfectly. It was also the best way to pass time in this long genjutsu.
Feeling self-assured, Sakura released her hair from its ties, wrangling the band and tying it back up more neatly than before while thinking with refreshed focus. Yes, this was a good plan. If she had managed to pass several weeks in enough of a comfort level to forget her nightmares and fit in, then she would double-down so that she'd immerse even more effectively. Her plan was working; in addition, she had gotten a lot of valuable training in, having learned a surprising amount from observing Madara's spars and paying attention to Tajima's advice while he trained them in his own sessions. She hadn't even minded the lack of conversations directed at her anymore, having gotten used to being an observer, a kind of student.
Sakura adjusted her robes, brushing dirt off the dark fabric and wiping the sweat from her brow, feeling the flow of her thoughts rush in deeper currents that cooled and calmed her. Her previous worries she'd had about the length of time she would be here lessened the more she thought through her plan. Yes; if she managed to fully dive in, this genjutsu would be over all that much faster, and she'd squeeze every ounce of value out of it so she could use her new wealth of knowledge once she awoke. Perhaps she would be a little disoriented upon first being freed from the genjutsu, but Sakura knew without a doubt that she would recover quickly, knowing her sharp memory and knack for genjutsu in general.
But how would she immerse herself further?
Sakura looked on thoughtfully as Madara dodged Izuna's kicks and punches with ease, moving fluidly with practised grace. She made several mental notes to correct her own moves as she observed him before returning to her previous paths of thought.
What made Sakura still feel not entirely at home? The answer came to her easily as she frowned at Madara, wishing again that he'd notice her where she stood watching him. It felt strange to her that he would not acknowledge her. It made her feel like one of the numerous servants that scurried about the compound, their eyes on the ground. The Uchiha rarely spoke with them, let alone made eye contact.
Sakura scowled. Though she did not have the duties of a servant, nor the obligations of one, she had grown used to being unseen; she was here to watch, and sometimes to learn, her sharp eyes taking everything in.
Sakura hummed to herself, resigning herself to the idea. She could do that — make herself a cover story. She pondered it, folding her arms. If she gave herself a believable reason to be here, she would feel like she made sense in this setting. If she was going to witness Madara's life, she may as well be comfortable. However, her pride would not allow her to consider herself as a servant; she'd never let herself slip in her promise to both him and to herself. She was no follower. She was no underling.
Sakura looked back over to Madara. His hair was a little longer than when she'd first appeared here, his face just a little more refined, his dark eyes sliding past her as he looked over at the house. She took in his complexion, feeling a fresh flutter of attraction in her chest that she clamped down on. It struck her again how young he was, though it no longer felt so odd that he was the same age as her.
A fierce protectiveness gripped her heart as she watched him. The feeling echoed back nostalgically, circling around the faces of those she loved, whispering promises she'd made through her ears in silvery reminders.
She would be Madara's watchful guardian. Him, and Izuna. Nodding to herself, Sakura let this temporary title settle over her heart. She would gladly let the guise of a fierce protector fall around her shoulders; she already felt attached to each of the brothers, not just Madara. It was the perfect cover for her presence here. Regardless of her remembrance that this was a genjutsu, Sakura already felt a staunch determination to defend them from whatever threats may come.
Her fists gripped unconsciously as she watched Madara dodge another punch, aiming one that Izuna barely slipped past; her fingers flexed tensely when a hit landed, Madara letting out a puff of air before rebounding and landing a kick on Izuna's side. They rolled away from each other, hands readied, and Sakura was already deep in her thoughts once more, her place as their guardian decided as her focus returned to learning from their spars. She gestured out of natural habit, a clone appearing at her side, identical in appearance and in grim expression. It was time to continue honing herself and her skills, as they did; it was time to return to her routine.
Sakura sat up through thin rays of moonlight, eyes wide as she stared unseeingly forward, her hands pressed over her chest. She was breathing hard, her brows knotted, and a bead of sweat dripped down her face; she closed her eyes, willing the terrible fears to fade from her mind.
They stung her mind's eye repeatedly, and she seized the fabric of her dark robes with sweaty fingers, trying to shun the feeling of blood soaking her skin, the sight and scents of death.
Finding that the feeling would not relent, Sakura got to her feet, stepping carefully around Madara's sleeping figure and sidestepping Izuna before making her way into the hall. Though it was dark, she knew where to go without thinking about it, slipping through narrow passages and out into the courtyard where a pool of moonlight spilled across the dirt and grass.
Sakura stepped carefully along the stepping-stones and settled in the middle of the clearing, inclining her head and releasing an unsteady breath. She willed her nightmares to quell once more.
Wincing, she tried to shove the hellish images away, but they continued to chase the edges of her vision – blood and pain, fear and dread. Familiar eyes swam through her vision, and when the frightened, bloodied faces of Izuna and Madara repeated again from her nightmares, Sakura bent deeper into herself. It was just a dream. Just a dream.
A pattering sound nearby had Sakura sitting up straight as a rod, bristling. There shouldn't be anyone up at this hour. Was it a servant sneaking around? Or Izuna and his insomnia, like that one night months ago?
Sakura relaxed as she saw what had caused the sound, walking on four paws along the railing. Dark fur gleamed in the silver light over lean muscles as the cat leapt down into the grass. Sakura relaxed, her back slumping somewhat in relief, and the cat sat near her, staring at her with glinting reddish-amber eyes.
She stared back, smiling slightly. "Hello, cat." She cleared her throat, not used to speaking. "You scared me. I thought you were Izuna."
The cat blinked once, slowly, his tail flicking. Somewhat soothed by his quiet company, Sakura looked away from him, lifting her head.
Her eyes caught the moon that rose high above her head, a sliced curve like a silver sickle among the stars. Seeking reassurance, the thought came to her in a soft, hushed timbre. It's okay. You'll be able to protect them, no matter what.
Sakura clasped her hands together, repeating those words like a prayer, but her troubled feeling remained. Something felt off again, like she was forgetting something crucial. Simultaneously, she felt an urge to forget that worry, to continue in her push through each night and day; watchful, observant.
Beneath her conflict and confusion, a deep undertone of sadness stretched out like a dark horizon. It reminded her that somehow, in a place full of people, she was utterly, completely alone.
When her arm tickled, Sakura glanced to her left to see that the cat had brushed against her, settling into the grass at her side. Her heartstrings sung from the brief contact, and she reached out, her fingers grazing along the soft, thick fur along his back. Blinking at Sakura warmly, the cat let out a deep, rumbling purr.
Closing her eyes, Sakura let the sound smooth over the ripples in her thoughts, bringing her a sense of ease and comfort she hadn't felt in a long time. She stretched out on her back, the moonlight falling across her robes. Forgetting her loneliness, she listened to the warm cycles of the cat's purring, slipping gradually into a dreamless sleep with a heavy passing thought. I won't fail them.