Chapter Text
I was born.
And then I was broken.
Disassembled.
Rebuilt.
Better, stronger, faster.
A weapon.
Or something that would one day become a weapon.
But I never do get to be used for my intended purpose.
There are defections.
Revolts.
A schism.
A revolution.
And then that crumbles.
Crumbles under our own might.
And I’m a child, but not a child.
Because I am a weapon.
Or will be a weapon.
Whatever.
And then I’m alone.
No longer caged.
No longer being forged, sharpened.
I am a child.
And I am alone.
And I leave alone.
And I go across the sea alone.
And I come to a new place alone.
A new continent.
A new country.
And I get a name.
Something I hadn’t had.
A number sure.
But not a name.
I wasn’t number 78 anymore.
No.
I was now Kagame.
Kagame Ryo.
And I feel something.
I think it’s being happy.
Maybe.
And I’m in a new place.
A place that is now a home.
And I love it.
I think.
It’s something.
It’s a home.
Or I’m told it’s a home.
So it’s something.
And that’s better than nothing.
And then I’m in the academy.
And it’s different.
I figure out quickly what it’s for.
It’s for making weapons.
But it’s not nearly the same as beast country.
Not at all.
But it’s turning children into weapons and so I at least understand it.
I understand it and I compete.
I train.
I sharpen myself just as the others there are all doing.
But it’s frustrating.
Different.
But I try.
I try and I become sharper, deadlier.
And I succeed.
Not as well as some of the others.
But I’m good enough.
I’m ten and I’m now an adult.
Or they tell me I’m an adult.
I don’t know if it matters.
But I’m an adult and there are others there who are actually younger than me, but they’re as good as me or even better so they are adults as well.
And we all get headbands.
Headbands with shiny metal plates with a leaf carved on them.
Or at least they tell me it’s a leaf.
It looks more like a stylized birdhead.
But I don’t say anything.
I just tie it around my forehead because that’s where it goes and it’s proof that I am an adult.
A shinobi of Konohagakure.
A weapon.
Finally finished being forged and sharpened.
Ready to be used.
To be tested.
To cut.
And I’m ready.
Ready as I need to be anyway.
I’m sent out of the village as quickly as possible.
Two others with me.
Boys.
Stronger, but not faster.
And I feel something about that.
Maybe pride.
Pride because there is at least something I can do better than them.
And we’re put under a man’s lead.
An actual man.
A real life actual adult.
Fully grown with facial hair and everything.
He’s in charge.
We do what he says.
We fight.
We kill.
We destroy.
Whatever he wants.
Whatever he tells us to do.
We do it.
We are weapons.
And Konoha has decided that he is the one to wield us.
Until they decide he doesn’t need to anymore.
I’m 12, almost 13 and he leaves and it’s just us.
And we’re still fighting.
But now it’s harder.
We’re alone.
Without him as a safety net.
Left to our own devices.
Mostly.
We get an eagle.
It gives us a message.
A mission.
It tells us what to do and we do it.
But it’s not the same.
It tells us what to do, but it doesn’t help, not like a real, actual adult man who can kill can.
And when we don’t have a mission…
When we’re left without guidance…
All that is left is to sharpen ourselves further and try not to be found, try not to be killed.
And I hate it.
It’s hard.
I’m scared.
And all I have is my team.
And we barely speak.
Don’t need to.
We just fight and kill and move on to the next mission and get sharper and sharper and get thrown against stronger and stronger enemies, bigger groups, worse problems and we kill, get sharper, kill.
And the blade in my fingers needs to be maintained.
Cleaned.
All the time.
So often.
And it’s something.
It’s something.
It never lets me down.
It’s reliable.
It’s there.
In my hands.
Wielded by me.
Controlled by me.
And it’s small.
Well…
Compared to what I had thought to be a blade before.
It’s so much smaller than the claymores held by my sisters.
But I can use it and it’s mine and it’s in my hands, here with me.
It’s not gone, not broken, not beyond my reach.
No.
It’s in my hands.
And it cuts.
Slices.
Kills.
It’s my blade.
And I trust it.
And I almost don’t feel scared.
Because I can fight, I can cut, I can survive.