Madara pulled his kunai from the ribcage of the slumped Senju boy with a grisly crunch. He wiped his blade along one of his unbloodied sleeves, the glint of regret in his bright red eyes quickly hidden in the falls of his dark hair as he turned from the body.
"Get moving," came Tajima's hiss from the trees, and Madara hilted his blade, his Sharingans darkening to black. While he melted into the shadows of the trees, following the rest of the flitting Uchiha silhouettes, Sakura knelt beside the boy's corpse, numb from head to toe.
Her hand shook slightly as she reached out, hanging suspended in the thin moonlight. Slowly, she withdrew her hesitant fingers, finding herself unable to close the distance. Blood dripped through the etched symbol of the Senju across the upper plate of the boy's armour, streaming in slow rivulets down the gray-green metal that was as cold as the boy's paling skin.
In the silence that followed his dying breath, not a sound rose from the surrounding forest; nothing but the soft howls of the wind through the night trees and the quiet drip-drip down his armour.
Sakura sat back in the underbrush, paler than the moon high above her head. Faded behind a fragile wall of clouds, the thin moonlight cast the boy's corpse in a contrast of silver and shadow.
With a wince, she recognised this armour as that of the other Senju shinobi, but smaller. It had been forged almost in the miniature; sized for a child. This boy that had died at the hands of the Uchiha somewhere in the dark behind her could not have been older than ten.
Sakura inclined her head as her heart broke in her chest. Though she only recognised this child's clan through the identifying symbol on his armour and headband, she felt his loss as if he had been someone she knew. His age did not surprise her; she knew that Madara and his brothers had been forced into this war when even younger. The savagery of each clan, however, affected Sakura deeply.
She clenched her teeth hard, fighting back tears. Did mercy not exist? Why did children have to die for the sake of bloodied old wars? What future had been robbed from this one simply because he carried the hated name of a warring clan?
Sakura tilted her head back, taking in a slow, gasping breath before forcing herself to her feet. She couldn't linger here; Tajima was right to retreat for now, as the other Senju would arrive any moment. Before she turned to follow them back through the trees, Sakura reached out, setting her hand upon the tousled short hair of the fallen Senju boy. She closed her eyes, her soul swelling with the ache of an unvoiced, fervent apology.
Turning away, Sakura left his body behind, biting back unshed tears. She must protect her own from such a fate.
Sakura knelt beside Madara, staring with him at a pair of sheet-covered bodies.
Dark hair spilled out from beneath the fabric. The sickly smell of blood tinged the air of the dark, shadowed room. Discarded armour, splattered in red, piled beside the sliding doors to the veranda.
"No," Sakura whispered, seizing up and trembling — she knew who they were, and she couldn't process it, unable to move from where she knelt on the mat between Madara and Izuna. They stared unseeingly forward, their faces a white pallor that matched the sheet draped over their dead brothers.
"They failed against the Senju." Tajima's growl rang through the room. Izuna's wavering expression cracked, and he slumped to the floor, tears flowing down his face. "Kuro," he wept, cheeks shining with tears. He shook with his grief, closing his eyes and bowing his head to the mat, the whole of his body shaking as he failed to hold back his anguish. "Togakushi —"
"No," Tajima hissed, brandishing a warning fist. "Proper shinobi do not show their emotions. Compose yourself, Izuna."
Sakura's hands slid out to either side. She gripped Izuna's arm reassuringly while her other hand slid around Madara's wrist, her thumb stroking along his skin. She inclined her head alongside them, tears rolling down her face and pooling along the floor.
"I expect the two of you not to repeat their same mistakes." Tajima turned towards the window with finality, dark robes and armour clinking around his imposing form; his shadow fell over the sheet-covered bodies. Behind his back, his hands were folded, seizing tightly enough that his knuckles had gone white.
They were only children, Sakura wanted to cry out, but she held on to Madara and Izuna harder instead. She could feel how every muscle was tense beneath their robes; with hatred, with grief. Hair falling around her face in a pale curtain, she closed her eyes, willing herself to steel her emotions as they were trying to do in turn. She squeezed Izuna's arm and glanced over at Madara, seeing through the shadows of his dark hair that he did not cry like his brother; he had masked his expression with the same impassive façade as his father.
Sakura interlaced her fingers with Madara's, not minding how he didn't respond to her; she was able to see his agony through his careful mask. Understanding, lost in her own grief, she bowed her head once more.
Sakura kept watch over them that night, sitting in a shadow where the moonlight could not reach. Silent and poised, her eyes held the darkness. Her restless hands curled into fists over and over, knuckles cracking through the unsettling quiet.
Two empty spaces were unsettling reminders in the corner of her vision, a short distance away from where Izuna and Madara lay in agitated, restless sleep. They turned over, faces bloodless in the sparse light, lines beneath their eyes outlining tears they had refused to shed.
Sleep did not so much as touch the edges of Sakura's vision. She would not rest; not now. Now, she would watch. She would reflect. She would guard.
A persistent feeling nagged at her heartstrings, gnawing past her grief and distracting somewhat from her deadly resolve. She flicked at it like she would a fly from her vision, but it distilled in the form of a question at the bottom of her gut.
What am I forgetting?
Sakura's sharp stare softened upon Izuna as he let out a sound of pain in his sleep, turning over again. He pressed his hands over his face, then reached out, his hands patting along the empty mat before he curled into himself, letting out a withered exhale.
Without hesitation, Sakura gestured; a twin of herself materialised in the cold air. The clone left the room, long hair tracing down her back. Sakura continued to keep her watch over the figures sleeping before her, unmoving, until the clone made her swift return.
As her clone set the black cat she cradled at Izuna's side, Sakura troubled over her lost thought, frowning. What could it be that she was forgetting? What was this feeling?
The cat stretched out with a yawn, observing the clone as she disappeared in a cloud of steam. His head swivelled, his glowing crimson eyes set upon where Sakura sat in shadow. She continued to stare unseeingly at the ground, vigilant and numb.
He blinked at her before plopping back against Izuna, who slid an arm around his cat with a little smile in his sleep. Purring quietly, the cat closed his eyes, setting his head along Izuna's arm.
Sakura sat up taller as Madara stirred where he lay on his back. His brows twitched, his dark stare affixed to the ceiling. He was perfectly still in his expressionless, tense state, and Sakura got to her feet, shuffling over and sitting beside him.
She found no trouble reading the subtleties of his exterior anymore. It was easy for her to find the pain behind his eyes, and she knew he was unable to tear his thoughts from his brothers missing from their places in this room. Perhaps still, he forced himself to hide what he felt, his features hardening as he stared upwards in silence.
Sakura sighed, sliding her hand along his forehead; green light flickered beneath her palm as she gave him a pulse of healing, soothing away whatever headache he might have from his perpetual nightmares. Unfruitful in finding what she had forgotten in her own head, she let her thoughts drift to Madara instead, feeling a little less troubled at his side. She knew, somehow, that he was her anchor here; no matter her silent duties as a guard, no matter his continual unacknowledgement of her, she cared for him and for Izuna. She always would.
Sliding her palm up Madara's forehead into his hair, Sakura frowned, fingering a wild black lock as she remembered it in silver-white. Even while staring down at him now, she could recall him older, paler, with strange ringed eyes. He had looked at her then. He had seen her; he had wanted her.
A blush warmed her cheeks, and Sakura quickly removed her hand from Madara's forehead. He closed his eyes, breathing evenly; she blinked oddly at him, trying to understand her imaginings. She thought him perfectly attractive as he was; why would she conjure such a strange changed image of him? And why did she remember tasting his lips once? When had she been so bold? Surely… she had dreamt such a thing.
A feeling heavier than dread stirred through Sakura's stomach, and she held her abdomen with tightly folded arms, hugging herself in an attempt to comfort herself. Sometimes it felt like she was missing something major, and sometimes she felt like she was doing exactly what she should be; that she was right in her place as the Uchiha's shadow guardian. Her strange, intensive memories of Madara being so different made her feel panicked. Lost in daily routines for months, she hadn't had to face her internal confusion until this vigil. Sakura felt naked in the face of it, disarmed of which knowledge was correct and which was imagined.
She had dreamt many times of Madara's white-haired self. He haunted her subconscious mind, as did the faces of many others, phasing in and out of her nightmares. She found that she no longer knew what was memory, and what were dreams.
Who am I? Sakura thought as she stared down at Madara and Izuna. Why am I here?
She looked over as Madara's face twitched in his sleep. Pain seized his expression that he would never consciously show. Near him, Izuna trembled in his nightmares, unshed tears gathering around his tightly-shut eyes as he hugged the cat in his arms.
Sakura got to her feet, crossing over. She laid back in the space between Madara and Izuna, outstretching her arms. Each of her palms found the sides of their cheeks. She closed her eyes as a soft minty glow flickered through the room.
"I'm here," she murmured.
A deep purr answered her, the cat relaxing further through Izuna's loose grip and gazing warmly at Sakura. She focused harder on soothing her boys' nightmares, her heart swelling in her chest. She ignored her aching wish that they would acknowledge her gentle touch, instead willing their nightmares to cease; for peace to find them both at least in sleep if not in waking daily life.
"Nothing else matters," Sakura whispered into the darkness, uncaring that she went unheard. Her confusions and worries pressed down into the background of her mind as she focused her attention upon these remaining two that she loved. To heal, to protect, was what felt right —- regardless of anything else.
She held their faces, her palms glowing with fervent energy; her heart was full. "I will protect you both."
A warm shadow between Izuna and Madara, Sakura fell away into sleep, her hands falling to rest along their faces as her resolve brought her steadiness once more.
She was a shadow with bladed edges.
Her armour was heavy as a human, but Sakura did not feel its burden as she hefted it over her shoulders, its weight as familiar as her fists. Her gloved fingers were quick in securing the subtle ties beneath the red metal plates, finding each without having to think about it. Grating clinks accompanied Sakura's movements as she shifted, pulling her sword from its sheath; her keen eye narrowed upon the silver of its glimmering edge.
She slashed it against the whetstone nearby, her movements so quick that she was but a blur. Sparks flew, and the next time she brought it before her gaze, she nodded in unsmiling satisfaction. It made a metallic shiver as she sheathed it, regripping her gloves and stepping out into the deep night.
Sakura strode aside two matching figures into the forest, the bloody red trio they made clinking quietly in their rough plated armour. To her left, Izuna: slender and lithe, his cheekbones refined in his pale face. The slight hints of smile lines beside his eyes were hidden behind untamed raven hair. The dark glinted in his gaze as he walked, all the traces of his heart buried in the determined set of his narrowed glare that cut through the trees ahead.
Sakura dismissed her admiring thoughts. She would ponder her respect for Izuna another time, probably at the next clan meeting, when he helped to temper Madara's ire and bring a lighter air to the room. Izuna led the clan with him equally, balancing out Madara's dangerous intensity with his easy smile and lion's heart. The two of them made for strong clan leadership – stronger, even, than Tajima's had been.
Sakura closed her eyes briefly, nodding in silent respect. May his soul have eternal rest.
To her right, Madara lifted his head, his wild mane spilling down his back in a jagged black shadow; his stare, already crimson red, glowed through the darkness. Sakura was barely aware of her heartbeat rising in timbre as she glanced over at him, her pulse tucking into the back of her throat. She could feel the tension radiating from him in waves, a frisson of power and anticipation for battle that shivered between the three of them. Over a head taller than her, he looked older than he really was, and felt every bit like the intimidating Uchiha clan head he had become earlier in the year.
Sakura narrowed her eyes upon Madara's face as his complexly patterned eyes spun once, dilating upon something through the forest. He had been overusing his eyes, and she knew better than the others that he had been losing some clarity in his sight. Such overuse had been necessary; with how many battles they had been forced to fight against the Senju, he'd had to expend more power than ever, damaging his sight in the process.
Sakura sighed, looking forward once more. Thank the fates for Izuna. He kept Madara from completely blinding himself, being almost as strong and just as deadly in battle. He also helped preserve both herself and Madara's sanity during internal clan squabbles; while Madara was quick to harshness, Izuna was a forgiving presence, mediating through kindness and keeping the peace in genial terms. The balance he and Madara struck strengthened the clan through these harrowing years.
Sakura flexed her fists with dark excitement, feeling Madara's anticipation mirror her own. They were rested. They were ready for this inevitable battle, and she followed his lead through the trees, sensing the rest of the Uchiha appearing at their backs. They materialised in the dark around them as if cut from the night itself, falling in line behind Izuna and Madara. The grim tension between the front trio, taut as the string of a drawn bow, shot through the warriors behind them; hands clenched the handles of blades, red eyes blazing through the darkness.
When Madara broke into a run, Izuna and Sakura followed suit, their faces set in deadly expressions. The three of them were mirrored, their currents of movement like that of a river, Sakura a perfect fit in their group that ebbed and flowed in leaps and bounds. Battlescarred, she thought of nothing but the fight ahead, her blood burning with vicious protectiveness.
The trio leapt high above the forest canopy; they came down upon a rocky clifftop with triplicate grace, looking out upon what they already knew would become a bloody battlefield. The rest of the Uchiha landed silently at their backs, bodies poised and weapons readied.
Sakura clenched her teeth, her hand over her blade. Madara glared out with spinning crimson eyes, and Izuna bit into his thumb, pressing his hand to the ground after a quick gesture. Sakura didn't so much as flinch as the sleek black jaguar summons appeared at his side, its piercing red stare matching that of the rest of the Uchiha.
As one, Sakura and her clan glared out at the front lines of Senju that awaited them in the distance. She easily spotted Hashirama and Tobirama, clad in red and blue where they led their own ranks, respective brown and white hair drifting in the night wind. She glowered at them with easy hatred, tensing as Madara and Izuna did — with both opposing clan heads present, the whole of their shinobi forces at their backs, this battle was no skirmish; no small assault. This was war.
Flames erupted through the skies, devouring through the vast Wood-Style branches thick as houses that ripped through the air. Ethereal blades sliced through them, Madara's roar rising against Hashirama's as they battled above the battlefield. Uchiha clashed against Senju below, blades grinding against blades, fists meeting flesh. Elemental jutsus flung and thrown created vivid, colourful madness. Steam danced with smoke, and blood flowed against water into the earth, soaking the fallen.
Sakura sliced through any Senju she could with gritted teeth, throwing herself between ones poised to kill other Uchiha. Her sword cut through oncoming shinobi, cracking through armour, piercing through flesh. She only registered their aggression, their movements, the only consideration she gave her enemy being that of if they were dead or still alive.
Her armoured figure hurtled against the ground in a clashing rush as she crushed an oncoming shinobi beneath her feet. She punted their body out of her path, swerving to snag an Uchiha in her grip, throwing them out of the path of a volley of kunai. She dodged the rippling force of a Water-Style projectile, a plate of her armour ripping away as it grazed her; she twisted, slamming her fist into the face of the ground.
The force of the impact rippled the earth itself in a deep shudder before it cracked open, sending shinobi flying upwards with rocky shrapnel. Sakura's twisted expression glowed in a flash as her fists opened, flattening into the heart of the destruction that thundered outwards. A black rippling pattern flowed out from her blood-spattered skin and exploded around her in an epicenter of power. Complex and growing rapidly, the pattern spiderwebbed across the battlefield in a spiral from where Sakura bent; shinobi continued to clash. Lashing lines of obsidian painted black through blood and debris, curling around fallen Uchiha while leaving broken Senju to bleed. Translating through gaps in the air as if the earth was intact, Sakura's potent spiderweb ensnared fallen clanmates in a rush of healing, hissing across their wounds and spiralling with emphasis up the limbs of those that still fought.
As the Uchiha continued to fight on, their skin steamed, gashes and burns sealing shut. Several fallen opened their eyes, death's grip loosening from their pallors, fists digging through blood-soaked earth with the will to continue to fight. Rippling patterns slid over their skin in dancing, living power; invigorating, healing, inspiring.
A single cutting glance told Sakura that all of her Uchiha were healed. Lifting from her stance, she flipped through the air with a roar, blade drawn and green eyes blazing — it was time to kill.
An errant massive Wood Style branch caught Sakura's ankle, throwing her to the side, and she smashed through its thickness with a hiss. The sheer force of her punch caused the whole of the branch to shatter where it stretched over the battlefield, sending shards spitting through the air where they caught fire in the billowing flames of Uchiha fire jutsu.
Swerving, Sakura dodged the blade of a Senju that was aiming for a nearby clansman. She caught the edge with her gloved hand, twisting her arm and snapping the blade in half. With the sword impaling her palm, she crunched her bladed fist through the Senju's skull, gore splattering her figure and drenching her in red. Her rounding kick broke the armour of three more attackers; the force of one's sword cracked a plate of her armour, and the redoubled impact of her fist shattered theirs. Her flattened palm glowed with brief green light as her sharper than steel chakra cut an attacker's arm cleanly off; her honed blade carved through the other, and she ripped free of the corpse savagely with a feral scream.
She dove backwards without hesitation, her spine sizzling with heat as a plume of flame the size of a forest rolled overhead; Madara's roar rose through the smoke and flames where he fought Hashirama from high above. A tsunami of water crashed through the battlefield in response, sending bodies flying through the clashing shinobi; Sakura dodged a thundering rain of water projectiles with lithe grace. Catching on a snarling jaguar summons, she rode on its sleek back, holding on as it leapt over the carnage in a lethal bound. Its swiping claws knocked several shinobi out of the air, ripping through flesh and armour.
Releasing it to return to the fight, Sakura flipped back through the steam rising like a fog, diving to scoop up an injured Uchiha in time before a broken, flaming hunk of wood came hurtling down from above. Tossing two more downed men over her other shoulder, Sakura danced and dipped through the madness of the crowded battlefield, leaping and rolling through blades and wildfire – she set the injured aside, a flash of glowing green stabilising them in seconds before she turned back to the fray with her fists at the ready.
Sakura was bathed in a bloody, ethereal glow, her hair red with blood, dripping down around her shoulders in an iron-scented cloak. Embers floated down around her like glowing red snow. Shaking the crimson from her eyes, she shot upwards, twisting past a volley of arrows and landing on a flaming Wood-Style branch. From higher up, she could see the carnage across the vast clifftop, the dawn sunlight staining across the colourful insanity and writhing, clashing figures below. Light flashed and burned from thrown jutsus and slicing blades.
Looking up, she beheld the sight of Madara's vast Susano'o, battling against a massive Wood Style dragon. Rogue branches the size of buildings continued to thunder around and through the battlefield, ravaging and remaking the landscape – similarly, destruction from fire jutsus scorched across the horizon, and smoke filled the early dawn skies. Floods from Water Style spilled in hissing waterfalls down through the canyon Sakura's fist had created. Screams and shouts below matched with the roars of the clan heads above, and Sakura leapt back into the insanity, ready to fight to the death for the sake of her clan.
Sun burned high above their heads, the scents of blood rising in the steaming battlefield. Sakura darted across its ruinous expanse in desperate zig-zags between fallen Uchiha. Her teeth clenched, she gave a curse as she found fallen shinobi after fallen shinobi. Running a hand over the wounds slashed across the chest of yet another dead Uchiha, she gave a choked curse, her scarlet-stained hair falling around her face. No. She had healed these people. She had made sure of it, and yet —
Sakura looked around, breathing hard. There were so many from her clan strewn across the broken ground, too many. Still, some fought; Madara, somewhere beyond the clouds of steam, and she could hear Izuna, battling Tobirama. Several more shinobi continued to engage blades, but the once-crowded clifftop had become mostly bloodied, broken bodies.
She turned in time to see Izuna's fist sinking into Tobirama's face. Running a glow of healing through the fallen at her side, Sakura hurried her efforts, eager to return to the fray and assist him. Though she felt a seizing thrill upon seeing him land that hit, her celebration was cut short upon the hiss of a water dragon slashing through the air. Countered by Izuna's quick reaction of a flame jutsu, mist obscured the rocky field between them – Izuna's red eyes flashed, his Sharingan allowing him to avoid the volley of kunai blades Tobirama slung at him.
At the last moment, Izuna inhaled sharply: the kunai blades had been a distraction from Tobirama's true attack, so quick that Izuna's sharp Sharingan eyes had missed it. Tobirama's blade sliced through Izuna's side in a blur, his attack's name flying raijin slice announced in a viciously proud roar, and Izuna stood stunned, blood already oozing from the deep wound.
"Izuna!" Sakura rushed to her feet, but Madara had already caught Izuna from falling, his growl resounding. "I won't let you die." He slung Izuna's arm over his shoulders, supporting him; Izuna coughed up blood, and Sakura hurried to his other side, forcing herself to ignore the vicious urge to rip Tobirama apart and instead running diagnostic chakra through Izuna's wound with searching hands. Her bloodied fingers glowed, sweat running across her brow – she was so low on energy, but she would push herself for this. She wouldn't falter no matter her exhaustion.
Madara glared, holding on more securely to Izuna upon Hashirama's approach. Hashirama brandished his blade with a threatening flourish. "You cannot win against me." He stabbed his sword into the ground, frustration and weariness written across his features. "Why don't we end this?" Offering his hand towards Madara, Hashirama's voice lifted with more hope than before. "Here."
Sakura looked over with Madara at the sight of Hashirama and his extended peace offering. For a long moment, they both stared.
Regardless of their shared hatred, it was tempting. To have peace, even temporary… there were so many dead, so many injured. Endless battles had brought a number of the Uchiha clan to bring up this idea in meetings, which Madara had swiftly silenced. It was not to be considered. The Senju were their hated, eternal enemy, the killers of their loved ones for generations. Peace just wasn't possible.
But here, it was dangled before them, like a mercy. A glimpse into a future without this much killing and destruction; a way out that wasn't death.
Sakura helped support Izuna's weight, pushing her healing through his frame with increased frustration. His wound was bad — fatal, even, but she'd healed injuries like it before with success. She should be able to mend him just fine, and she chose not to worry, keeping her eyes cautiously affixed to Hashirama and his peace offering. With conflict tightening her throat, Sakura's eyes slid to Madara with uncertainty; she recognised that he was considering it. He knew as well as she did how much value true peace would bring. It would mean no more funerals for fallen Uchiha… no more tension and paranoia of when the next battle would take place. No more fears of which loved one would die next. No more resources wasted on war rather than families and growth.
"No, big brother." Izuna drew in a ragged breath, blood dripping from the corner of his lips. He turned his hate-filled glare towards Hashirama, smouldering with mistrust. "Don't let them — deceive you." Breathing a little harder, he gripped his bleeding side, Sakura pushing a new wave of healing through his body in response. Madara tensed as Izuna went on in a low hiss, "They killed everyone."
They did not need to look around to be reminded of the bodies strewn across the battlefield in all directions. With crimson eyes glinting with conflict, Madara gritted his teeth; Sakura tried to refocus, looking away from his pain, entirely fixated upon sealing Izuna's wound. The three of them disappeared in a cloud of steam as they abandoned the battlefield, leaving the two hated Senju brothers staring after them in disbelief.
"No… no!" Sakura's cries rang through the room, dim but for the bright green glow around her hands. She tried again, again, and power rippled through her figure as she forced more of her energy through Izuna's body where he lay. Across from her, Madara knelt at his side, staring numbly down at him, expressionless and pale.
Sweat covered Izuna's forehead as he breathed thinly. Blood continued to seep through the sheets and Sakura's hands; her expression was wrought with absolute focus as she continued to try to mend and heal his wound.
It was child's play. She knew exactly how to fix this wound. Though Tobirama's blade had cut so deep that several organs were lacerated, nearly hitting the bones of Izuna's spine, it should not be difficult; she should be able to mend the cuts, knit muscle back together, and seal up his torn skin. She knew how to slow his heart rate just enough, how to ease the broken blood vessels so his bleeding lessened. She knew how to cauterise the wound in a quick flash of chakra so he wouldn't get infected. She knew, and yet, Izuna's body did not respond to Sakura's normally powerful chakra. The fine needle of her focused, finely-controlled work wasn't effective; her chakra-stitches couldn't hold, where they had always been strong before. Continually, her healing faded, leaving Izuna bleeding out into her hands.
Tears fell from Sakura's face onto his side as she clenched her teeth and tried again. Again, because this was her purpose. Healing was her expertise and her life. She had failed to protect, and so she would succeed to heal.
Izuna's voice broke the quiet, and Sakura jerked with tension, though her hands remained steady in her ceaseless efforts; the glow of her palms flickered through the dim room and caught upon Madara's haggard, aggrieved expression. Hair still matted with blood and singed with flame fell around his face as he turned, meeting Izuna's weary eyes.
"Brother," he croaked, his voice quavering and soft, "don't — listen to their lies."
"I won't," Madara promised, and Izuna squeezed his hand with a ragged cough. Blood streamed from his lips; Sakura was silent, entirely concentrated, lit in a sickly green that glowed ever-brighter with her determination. Izuna's gaze softened upon Madara, a kindliness returning to the corners of his eyes, and he seemed to relax somewhat; he let out a long, slow exhale. "Use my eyes to protect our clan," he whispered.
"Izuna," Madara said with urgency, leaning over him, eyes spinning unconsciously red as Izuna sank deeper into the sheets. Sakura let out a sharp curse, but her healing failed once more. She looked to Izuna with a bloodless expression of horror, and Madara said his name again when Izuna closed his eyes, letting out a final breath.
Feeling his life slip away from her fingers, Sakura bowed her head, the light fading from her palms.
"Izuna!"
Sakura turned her face into Madara's shoulder, her tears streaming into the dark fabric of his robes. They stood over the freshly-turned earth of Izuna's grave, one that accompanied many in a meadow beside their home. Tears of blood dried down Madara's shadowed features.
"I'm sorry," Sakura whispered.
The sun was a warm amber-red as it fell over the two of them, painting them in the same shade. Silence, and with the swell of pain in her heart, Sakura held on more tightly to Madara's arm; she turned her tearstained eyes to the grave at their feet, trembling with shame. "I'm so sorry… I couldn't save him. I…" Her voice choked up. "I don't know why."
Madara was silent, and Sakura wept into his shoulder, having long forgotten that he could not feel her; he could not hear her.
Dark intertwined with quiet in the little house on the hill, stirred only by the winter winds that swirled against its walls.
Vines, brittle and brown, stretched across its frosted windows. In the windswept crests of snow that curved around the foundation, shrivelled dead petals fell against the vast blank whiteness. Icicles lined the veranda like teeth, glittering in the ambient gray-black of the night. High above the house, vast branches scarred the heavily-clouded sky; cocoons hung from their undersides, swaying gently in the wind and the snow.
The blizzard howled on, and the house creaked softly as if in protest, though it held strong around its single occupant.
She lay back against empty sheets in a deathly pallor. Her chest rose and fell rapidly; her breaths made white clouds that rose through darkness and quickly dissipated. Cold from the blizzard crept in waves across the hardwood floors and tatami mats, and Sakura shivered, goosebumps rashing across her limbs beneath her dark robes. Cold sweat glistened along her brow; tears that persisted through her deep unconsciousness streamed down her cheeks, reflecting the cold, red-tainted moonlight that pierced through the snowstorm's swarming clouds.
Sakura's breaths grew more ragged. Her pale hands trembled at her sides, fingers curling against clammy palms. Somewhere outside, a cry rose through the trees, the sound of a lost falcon's searching call.
A shadow appeared in the doorway, unmoving and silent.
As if in respect, the wind stilled, and the house steadied its creaking.
His slow exhale left a wisp of steam that fell forward and disappeared at her feet. A single flick of shadowed fingers, and the bright orange of a flame warmed the room with inconstant light; a gesture with his other hand, and part of the room reformed, a makeshift hearth moulding the once-flat wall. Wood ready to burn stacked itself neatly in its mouth, and with a toss of the flame from his hand, Madara lit the hearth with fire anew.
He stepped forward as the room was consumed in a warm glow, his heavy stare never leaving Sakura. She still shivered, though the temperature around her rose to comfortable levels. Unaware of her surroundings, she shook in her boundless sleep, her face twisted with anguish.
Madara circled her slowly, sharp eyes narrowed upon her shivering figure. Though he had finished his deliberations, and though he had cut his indecision short, he still debated if it was worth coming back here at all. Simultaneously, it seemed he should have returned sooner; she was not doing well.
He had expected her to awaken by now, and his attention zeroed in upon her face as he knelt at her side, noting her pallor. Her previously hale complexion had gone; in its stead, grief lined her expression, her brows twitching, the tears beside her eyes only just beginning to dry.
What was it she saw now?
It did not matter. Madara inclined his head slightly, recalling his resolve. He was not here to lament taking several days to return and see the state of her. He would not waste time regretting past decisions; he'd not debate her intentions nor judge them any longer. No; he would pull her from the genjutsu, since it still plagued her. He would deal with her accordingly afterwards.
As Madara settled beside Sakura, pushing up his dark sleeves, he noticed her face seizing again with pain. Unmistakeable, it spread across her features, and he let out a long sigh, annoyed at the pity he felt.
Pity? Or anger? He was still angry, though he was calm. Regardless of her reasons, Sakura had convinced him into something he would have never normally agreed to, taking advantage of his extremely rare emotional state that she'd had a hand in dealing to him. Seeing for himself that she did indeed suffer did not make him feel better, however, and Madara scowled down at her.
It was frustrating enough that he had been unable to convince himself to kill her there and then once he had regained his lucidity. It was the most logical decision at this point, and he considered his hesitation weak. Should Sakura emerge with full clarity and presence of mind, she would have all his secrets, a full knowledge of him and his life. She would know his weaknesses. She would know him — perhaps better than Hashirama. Better than anyone else, dead or living. She would be nothing but a risk, no longer worth any benefits she'd once had.
It would have been best to set this house afire and leave her to die. Madara had stood with this in mind, staring at its rose-covered face, hands at the ready, and he simply could not do it.
Madara gripped his fists, still frustrated. He felt the same thing now, staring down at Sakura's prone, shivering figure. Their bond.
Bond? He glared at her as if she had put the thought in his head. Their attachment was a lie that Sakura had carefully woven so he would give her this genjutsu. Whatever rapports she'd made, she'd fabricated, at least on her end; Madara was furious that his own had been genuine. The only merit Sakura held was her apparent talent for acting, as still, he half-felt like she had been true in her emotions and words these past months.
A lie, Madara reminded himself, and he tilted Sakura's face back in an unkind grip, his rage burning again in his chest. It had all been a lie that he would make Sakura answer for, once he had pulled her from the genjutsu; a lie he would force her to explain, before he wiped her mind of it all and cast her back into her exile. And he would do just that, he knew, barring any pity for her — for all the suffering she'd endured in the genjutsu, she had wrought upon herself. He would not sully himself with emotion for her any longer unless it was that of anger or apathy.
Upon Madara's fingers wrenching around Sakura's jaw, she shivered bodily before relaxing somewhat. Conflict flickered anew in his stare when she leaned into his touch unconsciously. His hands shifted, his touch gentling just slightly, and she let out a soft sigh, the knot between her brows smoothing out into a brief expression of peace.
Madara clenched his teeth as his chest tightened in response. Damn it all. Damn her, and damn the genjutsu she was under. He would see his resolve through no matter what weakness-borne emotions it wrought: he would rip her from her suffering, not to end it, but to make her answer for it.
With a determined set about his jaw, he leaned over Sakura, fingers sliding up her face and positioning around her eyes. He pulled her eyelids carefully open, his Rinnegan stare connecting with her glazed-over green irises. He wore a grim expression as he fell with ease into her lost mind.