━━━━ uchiha sasuke.
this is a tale sung by the ancient trees of a hidden little town and an epic told by the whispers of the leaves surrounding the village, wherein a vengeful lost boy of barbaric dreams stumbles upon a sea of blood-red death flower...
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prologue: history maker
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"Papa, I want to be a shinobi!"
Those were the words Manjushage Masaomi prayed to the gods to never hear in his lifetime.
The plate of stir-fry noodles nearly slipped from his hands as he gawked at his unsuspecting little ray of daylight staring at him with those beloved eyes that always made him melt. Why did the gods above give him such an adorable little girl for a child? He didn't have the strength to dim that brilliant gleam enclosed in her irises. The eagerness radiated in streams while she was anticipating his response, bouncing at the balls of her feet with her tiny fists clasped behind her back. When she looked like that, he knew she had another hyper fixation — a new dream for her to constantly remind him of. Last month, it was about gardening (after knowing that the flower on the back of her kimono signified their family). The other day, she wanted to learn about the stars and who placed them in the sky (after falling asleep in the compound's field of red-spider lilies and making him pull his hair out from stress). But this one — becoming a shinobi, that's when he knew he was about to break his baby girl's heart.
"My little daylight," Masaomi started, taking a deep breath. He placed the platter of her favorite food on the wooden table before gathering the courage he was supposed to wear as the head of the family and its extended branches. He wiped his hands on the apron he donned, sitting on his haunches in front of his darling daughter. "Do you know about the stories our elders have been telling you?"
The elders were kindred old souls who beheld wisdom far beyond anyone else. They were the personification of the waters when there was a calm before the storm or when the day was fair and only a tickling breeze lingered. They were the grandfathers and grandmothers of this village, banding together from the head and branch families as a way to weave a tapestry with the differently-colored yarns they were given from the heavens. One of them was the girl's grandmother and once the head of the family at her prime. The woman was always seen with a serene smile on her face, posture never failing even with all the years she carried on her shoulders. She was the teller of tales his daughter loved retelling to him whenever he tucked her into bed. But what he was about to introduce to her wasn't exactly a story fit for the mind of a little four-year-old.
