Konoha, Year 56. July.
At dusk, the last smear of orange slipped from the sky, and night settled over the village like a held breath.
A small boy walked through the evening crowd, his steps unhurried, almost careful. Black hair, black eyes, pale skin. A dark, high-collared shirt and shorts marked with the Uchiha crest on his back. A schoolbag rested against his shoulders. He stopped at the edge of the Uchiha district.
It was wrong.
No voices. No lamps burning in windows. The streets lay open and hollow, as if something had been scooped out and never returned. Beneath the stillness lingered a faint metallic scent, thin but unmistakable.
The district yawned before him like a mouth that did not intend to close.
Under a flickering streetlight, the boy's shadow stretched and twisted across the ground. His gaze darkened for a moment. He touched the pouch at his waist, fingers brushing it once, as if confirming its presence. Then, without a word, he stepped inside.
That night was soaked in blood.
Beyond the village, within a forest drowned in darkness, Uchiha Itachi moved between the trees. His expression was calm, almost distant. Only his eyes betrayed the strain beneath.
A presence appeared beside him without sound. Tall. Slender. A spiral-patterned mask hid the man's face.
"I'll share some unpleasant news," the masked man said lightly. "Though I doubt it matters much to you now."
Itachi did not respond. He merely turned his head a fraction.
The masked man continued, unbothered. "Your parents' eyes are gone. I'd wager Danzo arranged that."
Itachi's face did not change. But beneath his sleeve, his hand tightened.
After a pause, the masked man tilted his head. "And your little brother. You didn't hold back. Tsukuyomi, of all things. Aren't you worried his mind might break?"
Sasuke.
Itachi remembered the boy's face. No screaming. No questions. No fury. Only silence. Even when provoked, even when struck, there had been only restraint. Pain surfaced only when the illusion closed around him.
It had unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Perhaps it was shock. Perhaps the child could not accept it yet. That was the explanation Itachi allowed himself.
"Take me to your organization," he said at last.
The masked man laughed softly, disappointed but unsurprised. With a shrug, he turned away. The two figures vanished into the trees.
Deep beneath Konoha, in the Root facility, a kneeling operative reported to the bandaged elder seated in the shadows.
"Danzo-sama. Fugaku and Mikoto's Sharingan are missing."
Danzo frowned. For a moment, suspicion flickered. Then he waved it aside.
If Itachi had taken them, it was understandable. Sentiment, even now.
"I see," he said. "You may go."
Tonight had already yielded enough eyes. Two pairs more or less meant nothing.
By morning, it was over.
One of Konoha's founding clans had been erased. From infants to elders, none remained.
Only a single child survived.
Uchiha Sasuke, age eight.
The village declared Uchiha Itachi the culprit. An S-rank missing-nin. The news shook the shinobi world.
Two days later, in Konoha Hospital, the boy opened his eyes.
For a moment, there was only blankness. Then focus returned, cool and steady.
A nurse noticed and hurried to his bedside, checking his condition before leaving to report his awakening.
Words echoed in his memory. His brother's voice. Sharp. Cruel. Meant to carve something permanent.
Sasuke did not react.
When the room fell quiet again, he surveyed his surroundings with measured calm. The hospital gown. The IV line feeding clear fluid into his arm. On the nearby table lay his clothes, neatly folded. His pouch and schoolbag rested beside them.
His gaze lingered on the pouch a fraction longer than necessary. Then he looked away, his expression settling into something hollow and withdrawn.
The door opened. The Third Hokage entered, staff in hand, his face heavy with concern.
"Sasuke," the old man said gently. "How are you feeling?"
No answer.
The Hokage sighed, mistaking silence for shock. "Rest for now. The village will see to your needs."
He instructed the nurse to watch over the boy and left, shoulders stooped. Sasuke never once looked at him.
The next day, Sasuke walked alone through the village, his own clothes back on, his bag slung over his shoulder. People stared. Some whispered. Some pitied.
He did not slow.
The Uchiha district greeted him with the same emptiness as before. He entered his home, prepared a simple meal, then sat on the tatami in silence.
The house had been cleaned. The smell had faded, but not entirely. Memory clung to the walls.
He sat until night deepened, then rose and went to his room.
From the bedside cabinet, he took his pouch and opened it.
Inside lay a metal bento box, heart-shaped and dented from use. He paused, set it aside, and uncovered several sealing scrolls beneath.
He unrolled one.
A single black hair drifted free and touched the floor.
Sasuke's eyes sharpened. Whatever tension remained in him eased, just slightly. He continued.
The scroll bore rows of seals. He passed over several markings and placed his hand on one near the end. Chakra flowed.
Smoke burst outward.
When it cleared, a single-edged Uchiha sword rested in his grip. He ran his fingers along the blade, then twisted the pommel.
The cap came loose.
The hollow inside revealed a small glass vial. Clear liquid suspended within it two pairs of eyes. One set bore three tomoe. The other formed a more complex, pinwheel pattern.
Sasuke stared at them without blinking.
A thin smile touched his lips. Cold. Controlled.
Behind his fingers, his eyes shifted, scarlet bleeding into black, three tomoe turning slowly within.
The house remained silent.