𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘀

Hail the Queen

Here's to the Queen of a ruined kingdom who wears a broken crown. Here's to the survivors of a broken nation for their homes have now burned down. Here's to the wanderers who wander far and wide to flee the devastation of their dreams. Complete and utter desolation as far as the eye can see. A red moon rises over blood split lands and shines on the silver of a broken blade. The forgotten and the forsaken lay down their arms and——

The poet's hand stilled as the earth trembled around them, ink spilling onto the table and over their work.

Doom would soon be upon them.

They sighed, staring ruefully at the empty bottle of sake sitting on the far side of the table.

It would be a lonely end.

The poet would've never imagined such an end. They had cheated death many times before. Every escape was the same, they once thought. They always escaped and always would.

There was no place to hide now.

No place to run.

They would die.

Dying in the company of friends seemed like such a naive thought. But the poet couldn't help but think it.

Their mind had always worked too fast for the world to keep up. But now at the end, time seemed to move slowly for them.

There was no time left and yet it felt as though they had all the time in the world to think.

It was always such a rush before.

Now things seemed slow.

Pondering was calming; pondering, not calculating or thinking but pondering.

Wondering.

Wondering.

Wondering had always seemed like a childish thing.

The end of the world was an odd time to start wondering.

But they wondered.

And they remembered.

Only a fool throws away treasure like trash.

Once, so very long ago, when they were younger and more foolish they had abandoned the ones they called friends. Friends were of no value, they had no importance, the impracticalities of having friends outweighed the benefits. Friends were loud, and annoying. There was no regret back when they had thrown them away.

And yet...

The end of the world was too quiet.

Too quiet for such a horrifying thing.

...

Or maybe not. The poet amended.

This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the word ends.
Not with a bang but with a whimper.

Maybe this was how it should be.

Quiet.

Eerie.

Quietly unsettling.

It was supposed to feel wrong, wasn't it?

It was a form of torture.

...

Friends would've been nice to have right about now.

The poet picked up their brush and picked up a scroll, writing as the world ended.

They might wake up.

They might not.

Who could say?

❀

Sakura paused.

The book had an odd name.

A Crimson Sky.

She reached for the book.

Her hands trembled as she read it, pages crinkling between her fingers.

"This book—-" She said, "—w—who wrote this book?"

"Who can say?" The shopkeeper shrugged. "He's an anonymous writer. Not too popular though. His poetry is a too depressing. Some shinobi like it though."

"You are not alone."

Naruto.

Naruto had said—-

"You are not alone."

She wasn't the only one.

Someone else had travelled to the past.

She wasn't—-

I am not alone.

Sakura smiled.

"Thank you," she said, "I'll take a copy."