Chapter Text
“Is it clear?”
“Yes, Danzo-sama,” the kneeling man replies. He has no past, no name, no future.
A pause.
“Keep one of them alive,” Danzo adds.
Sandaime breathes a name: “Uchiha Itachi”. Exhaustion is laced through and it bleeds into the airless room.
“No,” Danzo counters evenly. He looks back up, straight at the agent. A new order: “Spare his brother.”
i.
The blood on the walls is his father’s. The blood that pools around his feet is his mother’s. The blood that splatters across his face is his brother’s.
A katana slides neatly into his brother’s fallen body again as Itachi dies in wet, staccato breaths. Sasuke’s shrill screams fill the air, joining the chorus of chaos that surrounds the compound.
The world disintegrates around him, and Sasuke falls to his knees as he swipes frantically at his cheeks. Too much red; everything is tinged one half of the colour on the family crest and it’s all damp and cloying: his home, the bodies of his family, the air. The edges of his vision grow darker, and before he can surrender to the void, a fire ignites behind his eyes. The pain shocks him into silence, sobs dying in his throat.
He learns here, at eight years old, that pain is a single colour: red of his family’s blood, red for his bloodborne gift.
“Sasuke-kun.”
The voice echoes, which is unusual because the Hokage is standing right next to his bed.
He looks up and the Hokage gives him a soft smile. “You will leave the hospital today.”
Sasuke sees him, but the figure doesn’t look real. He hears him, but the words don’t stick. They are just shapes and sounds that surround him; it’s a world gutted of meaning, leaving behind nothing but the empty shells of people and words and their meaning. He thinks of the papery exoskeletons of cicadas that Itachi used to place so very carefully on his palm during summertime.
The pain arrives, twisting someplace deep in his chest.
“Come with me,” he says, and a figure in a white animal mask steps forward to help him off of the bed. Sasuke stares for a while at the outstretched hand, and no one hurries him. After a few breaths, he takes the helping hand, staring at the mask just like the one his brother slipped on and off. A is for ANBU.
“Yes, this is ANBU,” the Sandaime says patiently. Sasuke doesn’t even realise the word had slipped past his lips. His throat hurts.
The ANBU holds onto his shoulder as he takes wobbly steps out of the ward, the Hokage walking slowly in front of them. The corridors are deserted and when they reach the hospital entrance, the Hokage stops and nods at the masked man.
He drops down onto one knee, bringing an arm behind Sasuke’s knees and sweeps him easily off his feet and into his arms in one, swift motion.
“Mother. Father. Nii-san,” Sasuke rasps. “Home?”
“He will take you home, Sasuke-kun” the Hokage tells him. A nod to the masked man and he's turning away. The white haori, emblazoned with red, is the last thing Sasuke sees.
The next thing he knows knows, they are airborne and the ANBU agent is leaping from tree to tree, headed in the opposite direction of the Uchiha compound. His surroundings are reduced to blurry smudges while the wind is sweet around his face, the man’s arms sturdy and warm. It tightens the pain around his chest.
When he finally stops, they are outside the Hokage Mansion. Slipping inside, they turn a corner, walking straight through a wall that flickers away, and down a winding staircase. A basement awaits, with a narrow corridor that extends further than his eyes can see. The world here is bright, filled with harsh, white lights that drive the shadows to the corners. A few masked figures await them on the right.
Sasuke is let down onto his feet, where he stands unsteadily, swaying. Everyone towers over him in their muted uniforms and eerie masks.
One of the figures takes a step towards him. The voice that fills the silence is toneless: “Welcome home.” Sasuke doesn’t understand, even though it’s the same words his mother greeted him with after long days out at the training ground, when he slipped back home after the Academy. It's the same words, but they don't mean the same thing.
His new home is one of the many rooms hidden within the ANBU base at the Hokage Mansion.
Sasuke spends the first three days in bed, only wiping away the tears when the door creaks open to reveal a faceless figure who places a metal tray of food by the foot of his bed.
The first few times, he begs to go home. “Please take me back to my real home.”
No one responds.
Here, there are no windows, mirrors, or clocks. Sasuke knows something is wrong because of the way it hurts to breathe and tears he can’t seem to stop and the nightmares that descend on him leave him shuddering in cold sweat. His mind melts away around the truth whenever he tries to remember what has led him here, like rain on glass.
On the third day, the figure that comes to bring him his lunch does not leave. “Stop crying. Before you are a child, you are a shinobi.”
“Enough,” another voice says, and the figure bows his head.
“I apologise for speaking out of place.”
A person steps into his room, and the red markings on his hat is the brightest colour he’s seen in days. Red, the Hokage’s colour. His mind tries to swerve, but Sasuke latches onto the smell of thick copper and the screams of the dying and the colour that paints everything he sees.
Red.
“Sasuke-kun,” Sandaime says.
The tears spill over and Sasuke looks down as he gasps in breath after breath, fingers digging into his thin blanket. Everything hurts, especially the way his eyes burn, sending the pain shooting straight through him.
“Sasuke.”
He looks up, eyes burning from the tears and his whirring Sharingan. The ANBU quickly steps in front of the Hokage, katana drawn, but he waves him down.
“It’s time to go.”
This time, Sasuke doesn’t ask if he can go back home.
A group of masked figures stand, watching him.
“Show us your best jutsu,” Sandaime says. His tone is soft, almost encouraging, and jarring in the controlled silence of the area.
He doesn’t even need to think about which one it is.
The way his hands move into seals are slower than usual, but Sasuke grits his teeth and concentrates on building the chakra into his chest and throat despite the way his heart is steadily beating out of his body. Before the fire, there is always this tension, the sensation of walking on a tightrope with failure far below and complete accomplishment at the end of the endless path. It’s never possible to reach the end of the rope, but Sasuke tries. He tries every single time he has to present it to his father--
As expected, you are my child.
Sasuke’s mind falters over the memory and he almost gasps aloud. Red bleeds into the corners of his vision; red flames over the water, red stains in the house. Balance on the tightrope is lost. He releases the pressure in one swift exhale, and the heat that explodes from him is enough to melt away all the tension. It’s not the best he’s conjured, but still the fireball illuminates the entire place with a blazing glow that lingers, sending flickering shadows over the pale masks that watch him.
His favourite part of the jutsu is the immediate aftermath of its release. His mind is always rendered spotless and smooth because fire burns clean through inadequacy and anxiety and loneliness, and the deliverance feels even better today. Sasuke sucks in the earth-tinged air, tasting soot. In this, success is never sweet: it’s gritty and bitter on the tongue.
He can’t see any expression behind the masks, but he hopes some of them are smiling, even if it’s just a little bit.
The Hokage bends down to look Sasuke in the eyes. “You will do well here. The village is your family now, and this is your home.”
Like with every family, there are rules.
Before I am my father’s son, I am a shinobi.
At the Academy, they practice with kunai and shurikens. First they get used to the weight of the objects in their small hands, before learning how to fight with kunais and wield shurikens. In class, it is expected for someone to cut themselves on the sleek metal - blood is also a lesson on its own. Its rich texture, the smell of it, its inherent value. Draw too much, you win. Lose too much, and you pay its price.
Here, he’s handed a katana by the woman before him. Her fingers brush his, and they are the same temperature of the room: ice cold. They are standing in a cavernous space, somewhere deep underground, surrounded by smooth rock walls.
Her hair is the colour of steamed sweet potatoes, the same ones sold at the corner of the street, just before you reach the Academy - Itachi bought some for him, sometimes. “Do you have experience in kenjutsu?”
Sasuke knows the tears are building from the way his throat closes up, so he shakes his head instead.
Then, softer, “Do you have the Sharingan?”
A nod.
“Turn it on,” she says, voice steadying. “You will learn faster.”
He pauses. She waits for a breath before taking a step towards him. Sasuke stands his ground but concentrates the chakra to his eyes, and it flashes on. The pain that flares is more psychological than physical, and he doesn’t want her to see him cry.
The katana is too heavy in his hands, and even before he can draw it, he sees her leap in the air, blade lifted. Her sword swings in an unbroken arc around her and Sasuke can follow each point of the katana as it traces the air. It’s like watching a ghost - the Sharingan traces its movements one second in the future, along with its actual trajectory. When her sword halts to a stop, she flies down towards him. Sasuke leaps to the side just as the blade slices the space where his arm used to be. He can feel the air part next to his ear, cheek, shoulder.
He stares at her in muted shock, eyes spinning as fast as his thundering heart.
“As expected from an Uchiha,” she says with a kind smile. It evaporates just as quickly as it appears, and Sasuke thinks he could have imagined it, but it’s not possible because his Sharingan is still on. The moment passes when she slips on her mask and transforms into another faceless figure. She nods at his katana. “Grip the handle firmly but relax your wrist to unsheathe it. You are no longer a child at the Academy or your father’s son. You are now a shinobi of Konoha, trained under ANBU.”
No individual or family is more important than the village.
“Some people are born to serve as ordinary shinobi. B-ranked missions, maybe the occasional A-ranked ones. The rare ones are born to serve the village in the shadows, for a greater good.”
“I’m not good enough—” Sasuke starts, before clamping his mouth shut. It’s not a rule, but no one talks about feelings here, let alone the feelings about that day.
His teacher today does not remove his mask. The figure shakes his head and the harsh light bounces off its smooth surface. “There is a reason you survived the attack on your clan. The village is now your family. This is your destiny.”
Sasuke looks down, taking in the whites of his blistered palms and the dark marks of scorched fingers. Kenjutsu training and the fireball jutsu.
“You live to control the Jinchuriki. You live to protect the village.”
His heart trembles. There is a reason everyone else died, except for him. There is a reason for waking up screaming from a nightmare that is an actual memory, a reason for the way he works his body hard enough to forget. He is alive for a reason, not on a whim or by chance: it is for a greater good. Maybe slowly, surely, Sasuke can believe that he was born for this.
My life is secondary; I will keep the village safe by protecting the Jinchuriki with my blood, my life, my soul.
“There are worse things than dying,” the man opposite him starts. No mask, messy grey hair, one visible eye.
They are seated across each other, on cold metal chairs with a table in between them. A dozen or more scrolls fill the entire table. Today’s lesson is a lecture.
“I lost the draw, so it’s my turn to teach today. I’m Kakashi,” he smiles, or at least Sasuke thinks he does, because his only eye crinkles into the arc of a rainbow. “Dead or alive, you cannot fall to enemy hands. Your eyes, your blood, your body, even your soul - all of it can be taken and used against you. Edo Tensei is when your corpse is reanimated and used as a pawn. Shiki Fūjin is when your soul is devoured by the Shinigami, trapping you for all eternity within the death god’s stomach.”
Sasuke nods once.
“If you’re injured, caught, or cornered, the easiest way out is using the Body Elimination Technique. You’ll die and your body will be destroyed, but that’s the worst that would happen.”
“How do I use it?”
“When you’re initiated, you’ll understand.”
Sasuke nods. He is not ANBU yet, but he will be soon. It is his destiny.
“We’ll begin with blood.” Kakashi says as he separates a crimson scroll from the rest and unrolls it. Inside, it is marked with five circular seals, and he places his palm in the middle of the first marking. A knife appears in a burst of white smoke. His teacher picks up the knife, its blade thinner than a normal kunai and from the way it glints, with an edge that is much sharper too. He holds it up to an expanse of soft flesh on the inside of Sasuke’s pale arm. “Torture is the most common way for an enemy to get what they want out of you. No matter how much you bleed, you must learn to only say what is necessary.”
The knife whispers as it slides into his skin, and Sasuke sucks in a breath.
“What do you live for?”
“I—“
The knife inches deeper. It catches against something, muscle maybe, and Sasuke bites down hard on his tongue. The pain releases slightly. Breathe, he thinks to himself.
“To protect my village.”
Kakashi retracts the knife. He drops the bloody blade onto the table, where it lands with an echo that rings out in the silence. “A bit too slow, Sasuke,” he says as he passes Sasuke a clean strip of bandage and a circular container of ointment. “Use this and you’ll be as good as new tomorrow. Don’t forget, you also live to protect the Jinchuriki. As the only other person with the Sharingan, you are the only one who has the full power of the Sharingan that can be used to control the Kyuubi’s chakra.”
The only other person with the Sharingan, Sasuke thinks. Can he already be lightheaded from this? “You...have the Sharingan, too?”
Kakashi raises his headband to reveal a blood-red iris with the same three tomoe that he has. “It’s a long story that is neither here nor there. What you need to remember is no matter what situation you find yourself in, you need to be ready to sacrifice blood, body, or spirit for the Jinchuriki’s safety or to keep it under control. The only thing that comes above him is Konoha’s own safety.”
The tender area around his wound is already starting to bruise. “I understand.”
“Now, shall we move on to other weapons? I’ll tell you more about the Kyuubi as we practice.”
This is no ordinary lecture.
This is the Will of Fire.
Every initiation takes place in front of all existing ANBU personnel present in the village. Today is different, because the Hokage is here too. He stands in the front, a pipe in his mouth, the weight of his gaze on Sasuke.
Four years of a life in the shadows, four years of baptism by fire. Sasuke is twelve.
A female ANBU member brings a brush to the top of his left arm, tracing fine lines and swirls onto skin as a seal slowly, slowly takes its shape. Questions start to rise murkily in his head, thick as incense, but Sasuke exhales quietly to dispel them.
Moments later, she finishes and hands the brush over to another ANBU figure by the side. She brings her right palm on top of the circular seal, and, with one deep inhale, taps down hard against the unmarked area of skin.
His body bursts into flames from the inside out.
The fire courses through him, singeing nerves, boiling blood. It’s a miracle he does not cry out; all he does is blink, once, faster than before. It spreads from his left arm to the tips of his ears, all the way to the back of his heels. The unyielding heat that tears skin from bone lures him to give in, to open up his mouth and scream just so he can fail the initiation and bring this ritual to an end.
Sasuke can taste ash at the back of his throat, and feel the pinpricks of sweat gathering at the edge of his forehead.
When he thinks he will fall to his knees because he cannot bear it any longer, the flame recedes quickly and curls into an area on top of his left arm. Pain settles into a mild ache; the same feeling one gets when you push the body too hard.
He turns to look at the mark, and there it is, the signature spiral tattoo of the ANBU. It’s less a tattoo and more a sacred fire branded into its members.
“The Will of Fire is sealed into every ANBU member as a reminder of their duty to the Hokage and the village. Welcome home, Uchiha Sasuke.”
The night before his only mission begins, the Hokage summons him. This is the first time he armours himself in his full uniform and silence cloaks the both of them as Kakashi escorts him over to the office. He disappears in a puff of white smoke the moment another ANBU figure beckons him to enter. When Sasuke steps into the chamber, he finds that they are not alone. There is another man who stands next to the Hokage, bandages wrapped thickly over his head and eye and standing stiffly in starched white robes.
Sasuke doesn’t ask.
“Take off your mask, Sasuke-kun.”
Sasuke does.
The Hokage asks, even though he already knows the answer. “Are you ready?”
It’s automatic, how his body responds. He drops to his knee. The words that follow come just as easily, like a prayer. “Before I am my father’s son, I am a shinobi. No individual or family is more important than the village. My life is secondary; I will keep the village safe by protecting the Jinchuriki with my blood, my life, my soul.”
The Hokage turns his head slightly to the left. Next to him, the man’s face remains impassive, but Sasuke has been taught to notice the most subtle differences. The man’s eyes gleam brighter; he is impressed.
“What does it all mean to you?” the stranger asks him.
This answer is also intuitive. “This is the Will of Fire.”
The Hokage turns back. With an exhale, all he says is, “Good.”
Sasuke bows his head.