The Elders (Sequel of 'The Siblings')

Chapter 2

So...I know you probably hate me for waiting five months to update, but I'm such a lazy bum that I started this chapter in January and I only finish it now, when it's almost June...I need to sort my life out.

Anywho...enjoy this fabulous chapter ;)

"Boruto! Give me my headband back!" I whined at my cousin, who ran off with the metal piece, smirking mischievously. "My mother left me that last time she came" I shouted.

The yellow-haired boy disappeared around a corner, leaving me a panting mess in the hallway of the Hokage's home.

"What with all this noise, kids?" Hinata appeared from the kitchen, an apron hanging from her waist.

"Boruto and Shiro are having a little domestic again" Himawari commented as she passed by me.

Right then, Kuro came from around the corner, dragging Boruto by his collar with one hand and carrying the black Sand headband in the other.

"Come on, sis" he said, his tone very stern. "We have to get going; the squad will leave without us"

I nodded and solemnly took the headband from my brother. I couldn't help but notice that my brother had matured very quickly and only over the last few days, after we – and all the other children from the Sand that came of age – became chuunin. He was always more mature than I was, but he looked like he aged five years over the course of only three days.

We were to return home and help in the war, which seemed quite balanced lately. They were getting nowhere against the elves, and the elves were getting nowhere against them. The Sand ninja had found that the elves couldn't withstand a chakra based attack, but they excelled in taijutsu, genjutsu and in non-chakra-based attacks, especially in single combat. Therefore, it had been decided that the new chuunin that mastered powerful chakra attacks would return to the Sand Village and make their contribution in the ongoing war. And that included us, the Kazekage's twins.

Kuro was the one to lead us back to our home village, with the qualities of a great leader. He kept order with an iron fist, yet he led with a cheerful demeanor. He kept an eye on the weaker one, on those who became more Leaf and less Sand in the ten years we spent in a friendly environment, and kept the other eye out for threats. It was straining for him, all this responsibility, and I helped out as much as I could, but only he had inherited our mother's Kuraigan. And I couldn't say I envied him. I loved being a child, I loved acting childishly. Becoming a chuunin didn't affect me in any way, which was less than I could say about my brother. He matured instantly, whereas I didn't feel any different. I was not once told that I was nothing like my mother and father. They said I was just like my uncle, the Hokage, in his younger days, dodging responsibility and only doing mischief.

However, Kuro was supposed to be just like the Kazekage Gaara, a man we haven't seen once in ten years, a man who was supposed to be our father. He was quiet and calculated, somber and responsible.

I honestly didn't remember much of our home life before the war broke out, only the last time mother took us to see Fuji and Sato, the old dragons that raised her, but everything was blurry after that. How we got back to the village, how we left, all at once, everything. All I could remember about father was the mop of fiery red hair on his head, just like mine, just like Kuro's, just like mother's. He was at least an inch taller than mother and his eyes were foamy green, rimmed with thick lines of black. I couldn't remember his voice or his touch when he would tuck us in at night...or even if he did tuck us in at night. He was practically a stranger. Mother wasn't much better either. She only came a few times to see us, to check on our training, but we haven't seen her in five years, when all births ceased in the village and there were no more children to protect. But Kuro...well, Kuro seemed to remember everything perfectly. Everything from age three, almost fourteen years of memories, and I only had half of them. I was often infuriated by him, always blindly trusting the parents we never really knew, always going on about how father wouldn't like me doing this or mother wouldn't like me doing that.