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However unwise it was, he returned. There was no valid reason, not truly, he could claimed anything he wanted, could try to justify his cause- and he already had, in his thoughts.
It was because of all the years that had passed, combined with his physical wounds and deteriorating mental state that he forgot. Forgot the roads and routes, so he simply had to review the building structure and check up on the security systems and the guards’ abilities. He raged and screamed at the gaps in his memory, only to find there were none.
He swore and rationalized and convinced himself of his reasoning, but truth was, he could hear his own lies.
Even without the Sharingan, he was still an Uchiha, a child beloved by the clan, youngest brother of the head. His childhood was lived in those same pathways, between the walls of the Police Station and the Interrogation Unit. Even if he wasn’t alive to see his teacher become a Kage, he still knew his ways around that office, a memento of a once life- long dream.
‘No reason other than sentimentality. That and stupidity, really.’ He thought.
And yet, he still ran, passing through whole countries in days’ amount of time, instead of weeks’, exchanging one climate for another as leisurely as one changes his clothes.
And all the while, he had no thoughts, for they only betrayed him, and he had no companions, for none worth it was alive anymore. Maybe that’s why he left, abandoned his carefully crafted plan, even if only for a moment, and went there, back to the village that had killed his everything.
Maybe that’s why, nights and days before that precious moment, he stood at the entrance of the Forbidden Forest; one last chance to himself.
He stayed silent, only for a second; pausing as if in respect, as if in mourning.
And with the first step into one of the oldest and most sacred and revered lands of all the Elemental Nations, the world –his world- transformed in an explosion of colours and sounds and smells and he stood still once more; as if in awe, as if in fear for all that he could now feel.
The leaves moved in a different way: not in accordance to the wind, nor against it, but, somehow, in spite of it. The colours were different than the ones he could see before, had more of a presence, and the noise, from the plants and animals and even the ground and sky, could no longer be described as simple noise: it was more, it had… life hidden within it, as strange as it sounds.
A human will never realize their own ignorance and its vastness until they are enlightened.
(For the first time in all his lives –both of them- Obito could finally understand what it meant to see underneath the underneath and how much of a burden that achievement was, how much of a duty it pertained.)
The colours were angry vivid and bright and desperate, the trees enraged, the flowers ashamed, the green vines crawling menacingly against him. There was no other sound, other than that soft, inviting almost, rustling, no animals in that forest, no wolves, no birds, no snakes could be heard. There was only red and yellow and orange and the marching of the underdogs.
And he was an outsider, sneaking against their leader.
Obito will never in his life feel more alone.
So he fled. There is no shame in a retreat, he was taught again and again.
To run is to live, to live is to plan and fight once more when chances are on your side, when info is plentiful, and in his profession info means life- but there used to be more, didn’t there? Once upon a time, he only accepted a retreat when a comrade, a friend was involved, somehow. And there were no friends anymore, no team, no one to talk to, no one to argue with, not for a while now.
It would be some nights until he wills himself to sleep again.
There’s a beauty he had never witnessed before, during the dark. While everything and everyone slept, he could see the souls floating, could hear their dreams narrated by nightingales, could see their nightmares; reflection upon the clouds.
Those same clouds that would sing as they prepared for rain, upbeat and steady and the forests and the seas and the earth would beg for more; more water, more rain, more oxygen, more hydrogen, more atoms, more souls, more dreams, more life- the dead would never outgrow, would never outnumber the living, for the earth was home to more than just humans. As long as it rained.
And Uchiha Obito would never feel as insignificant as he did during those first nights.
He didn’t sleep yet, wouldn’t until he knew what had happened; there was more to this new body of his than anyone would have thought, more secrets to the Senju thanimagined (even if that’s to be expected.
Because, no matter how charming and honest and good a person could be, one wouldn’t be named the God of Shinobi without a few secrets. Some people are simply more careful when creating personas than others.)
But during the days he hid. He found he could not face the sun, not while he longed so for the moon. Therefore, once again in his life, he hid. Away from Madara and Tetsu, from those that saved him and those that condemned him.
Away from the Forest and it’s life, away from Konoha. And during those three days, he changed his mind, then changed it again, creating plans, finding solutions then building roadblocks. All while at night he listened to the voices of the world, a different one as each minute passed by, and cried out to the skies, throat sore and limbs aching, for some guidance.
He still believed in his dream, saw a possibility in Madara’s ambition, and thought: about the whys and hows, fought to find the best solution, connect the place and time and an old man’s secrets.
For now, though, he kept awake while others slept and enjoyed what life had to offer, had other unknowingly ignored.
He wouldn’t decide, he thought, not without more information, and wouldn’t talk, if only to protect that which had been entrusted to him.
All he would do was go back to the Forbidden Forest and Konoha. But not now, later.
The road was empty- no humans, neither at the entrance nor throughout the forest. He came in slowly, all while trying to hide his intent.
‘’ I am no danger, not for now, not for a while’’, he tried to convey, ‘’ I am no threat’’.
There was a thrusting of some leaves. The ground didn’t shake, it couldn’t have, but Obito felt like it did. In the end, it was no voice, no sound that reached him, only a feeling, a question.
‘’To whom?’’
The youth could not answer; he didn’t know anymore.
‘’He does not speak, maybe he knows not how’’.
‘’Don’t be a fool, he spoke as soon as he came inside.’’
This time the voice came with the wind. It was strict and disciplined, yet it showed a genuine gentleness one could not imitate.
‘’I know how to speak, I just don’t know what to say.’’ Obito responded.
Had he not lived with a dead man and a being of pure plant, he would have already ran, in fear of an unseen attack.
‘’In that case then, silence truly is the best answer. At least, until you find for sure what you want it to be’’.
And that was it. No more shaking, no more crawling, no more hissing; the colours became dimer, more humane and the scents faded.
He started walking.
The day was long gone and perhaps it was for the best; he felt comfort, knowing the moon was looking out for him. His mood brightened when he saw some fireflies passing him by as he pushed some branches to clear a path.
‘’And as the leaves turn brown and grey’’ he softly sang, ‘’ I hope I get to see another day. And though the sun is hot and cruel, oh Kami, I love him all the way to the moon. Dammit, why didn’t I become an artist?’’
It was at that moment that the boy started to realise the reason for all those secrets behind the legend of Senju Hashirama and his Mokuton and his endless laughter. At that moment, when the forest, through the wind and its movement and the howling, shifting and buzzing, and every imaginable way, responded as one:
‘’ Because you suck.’’
Setting up camp roved to be easier than he would’ve imagined. As soon as he was sure all was quiet and he alone, he headed south, walked for about 5 kilometres, towards one of the most dangerous parts of the forest.
Perhaps, to ensure his anonymity, perhaps because it was the only place he was 100 % sure he could easily find, hands tied, eye closed and one leg broken.
But when he got there, there was a path he had never before noticed, cleared as if out of nowhere. Obito stood still; the voices seemed gentle, if a bit menacing (but nowadays, who wasn’t?) and he had nothing to lose.So he followed it, ducking beneath the vines and minding as many ants and other insects as he could.
The ground was uneven at some points, and since his feet were too large to safely walk on it, he’d use branches and vines to keep on going. At others there would be no ground at all, simply him grabbing onto whatever he could find and jumping over ravines, underneath the moon.
Not once did he think to return towards his usual spot, not once did he second guess himself- and after all those year, that sort of serene confidence was a good change. For he could clearly see that path, a marvel growing out of wood and vines, earth and wind, right before his very own eye. For he knew he could follow it ‘till the end of the world.
At first, he didn’t even realize when he reached his destination. Instead he moved round and round, trying to find a way forward. Once he didn’t, he braved a look around him. The boy had no idea where he was; he had no idea there even were lakes inside the Forbidden Forest. And yet, here he was, in that one place in all of the Fire Country that would do anything to kill you, trying to help him.
The lake was large, but in a more controlled way- he could see where it begun and, if he went on a higher ground, he was sure he’d be able to see where it ended as well. There were fireflies roaming above the lake, just so, that, illuminated by the moon, shone like bright little stars.
The bigger animals had left, to give him space, in a sense of solidarity, he didn’t know, he only guessed. Still, it annoyed him; there was no croaking, no buzzing, no ripples on the water, no rustling in the bushes. The fish seemed quiet too, if there were any left.
Right opposite from the lake was a mountain, or at least a side of a mountain. In the beginning it seemed normal, bright and vivid and dark brown, almost black in the shadows. However, as he went closer, hoping to find some sort of a cave or another, there were part on its wall that were grey, listless… almost dead.
The moment he touched it, Obito felt a sensation of sickness spreading all over his body, through his right hand (why had he used that one, again? Where had his avoidance, his hesitance gone?) and the wall caved in, falling over itself. The mountain shone bright, its brown literally overcoming the shadows the night might have brought, before settling in.
A small cave had been created, just big enough for him to lay in, in the case of rain. For some reason, though, he had a feeling it wouldn’t rain.
‘’Did I do that?’’ he whispered, ‘’ is everyone ok?’’.
He heard laughter, not mocking, no… Rather, the kind of laugh an adult gives to child, too pure and young to understand that the world does not revolve around it. That the world is and the child just happens to be in it.
Obito said nothing more. Only shook his head and started setting up his camp, placing seals (the very few Kushina had taught him, before) against shinobi and traps against animals. Just because. Their misplaced absence annoyed him.
He planned and he slept and the next day he went to the Tower.
He does this and that and the world is saved- or in this case: his true abilities are miraculously revealed to be an absolute control over life itself, and consequently death, the girl is saved by coming back to life, the hero is loved and revered by all, the friend best friend brother is redeemed and the world lives on in peace, free of fear.
That’s how it would go in a proper story, in a legend worthy of being preserved through the millennias, inspiring your average man, annoying your average woman and helping your children dream.
Only, it’s not how it goes here.
The hero cries when he learns of his abilities, of what he has become- no longer a normal man (but when was he normal?)-, rages when he’s told he’s no hero, silences when he realises he hasn’t been for a while now, sobs when he thinks of all that is lost. Quietly. Bitterly. Alone.
There were no records in the Tower, there were no records in the Archives, none at the Manor. Nothing official. The Shodaime Hokage, the God of Shinobi, Senju Hashirama himself was not a man of letters and words and records. He saw no need to pass on what he was because he knew- of the world, of the legends, or the truth- and thought he was it.
And he saw no reason to leave any records and chance fate.
No, what Obito found were scrolls sealed by the most intricate of seals, containing theories, some truths, some lies and reports. Experiment reports.
No, Obito did not learn of his –forced- nature from Senju Hashirama, Madara or any of them. No, he was taught by Orochimaru, from his experiments and their reports, from his cloning and that boy. And Senju Tobirama’s obscure theories, believe it or not.
He took them from the Hokage Tower, those scrolls, found them hidden behind a triple locked safe, and he took them from the Interrogation Building, where they lay forgotten after Orochimaru’s betrayal.
He read them at night, finding that so desired comfort in the moon and the stars. Away from the cave, away from the mountain. Away from anything that confirmed their truth.
And when he was finished with reading and done with crying, everything came to life once more.
The darkness of the night became alight with colours, animals started to sprout from underneath the earth, from inside the water, the bushes and the trees. Birds flew down from the sky, snakes crawled down from the trees and wolves came running from afar, packs upon packs. The toads and frogs finally begun to croak and the fish showed off, jumping in and out of the water.
The leaves rustled, branches waved, the ground shook and the wind roar. And the clouds crumbled and clashed and brought rain and oxygen and hydrogen and atoms. And dreams. Everything life is made of. Every life, not just human.
And Obito, sitting on his knees, looking down and up and around, surrounded by the noise and the smells and the sights no man has before seen, found that he wanted to protect, each and every one of those lives.
The journey back was calmer, easier; less lonely, because now, he understood. It didn’t take any less, time-wise, but it felt like it did. Maybe because he was sure of what he had to do, maybe because he believed in himself, maybe because he was no longer alone. It didn’t matter.
As he reached Ame, the rain only solidified his resolve. There’s not much to say, not really. It was only a plug that threatened the world, so he unplugged it.
Madara was a great man once, but for all his vision and power, ambition and want, nothing was about him- but everything could be because of him.
Once upon a time, that’s how all stories begin. Once upon a time, yes, there was a woman that traveled long and hard to an Ancient land, in search of peace. Once upon a time there was a woman in love with an ideal, who’d do anything in her power and beyond to see it realized.
Ideals, however, exist in this life only as goals, never destinations; always the journey, never Ithaca.
And as in every legend, humans are stubborn, ambitious, corruptible- fools.
She fell so far into darkness that she never understood she’d been left all alone: a beloved husband dead (a mourning lover) killed by her own hands, children chased across the lands. A mother imprisoned by her own flesh (for mother, there was no other choice).
Legends, though, are but a footprint of the truth, not the truth itself.
(I always loved you and always will. Always understood you and always will. This is but a smudge of dark ink upon your clear life; you deserve to be stopped, I shall not say, for I do not care about what you deserve anymore. I love you, so I shall do as you would have wanted back when you were still you. Not by myself, I’m not strong enough to stop you. Instead, I shall grant a gift to those lucky enough to receive it; I shall give them my life to stop your death.)
There is a room, a quiet room; the baby, Naruto, is sleeping quietly in a baby basket by his mother’s bedside. Kushina lays still, her soft breaths being the only evidence of her body’s state.
Outside, a guard is pacing through the hall. Outside, two of Konoha’s elites are standing on trees, on each side of the window.
Inside, a Kage stands still, staring at the baby and staring at his wife, as if he can’t believe life itself.
The door opens slowly but no one enters. The man laughs and huffs. He cries; no one is dead, no one important to him will die, at least for a while, and the silence will finally seize.
It’s been a good day.