The dawn that crept over the Uchiha compound was the colour of cold ash. Hae slid open the shoji screen of her modest home, the wooden frame groaning softly in protest, and inhaled the scent of wet earth and distant woodsmoke.
It was a familiar scent, yet laced now with an unfamiliar tension, a metallic tang beneath the dampness that hadn't been there before the drums of war began their relentless beat.
Inside, the rhythmic patter of tiny feet echoed. "Mama! Mama! Up!"
Four-year-old Shisui, a whirlwind of dark hair and impossibly bright eyes, bounced on the balls of his feet by the low table, his small face alight with morning energy.
"Shh, little sparrow," Hae murmured, her voice soft but carrying the faint rasp of disuse. She knelt, smoothing his sleep-tousled hair. "Breakfast first. Then up." Her own eyes held shadows that the weak dawn light couldn't dispel.
Once, those eyes had tracked threats in moonlit forests and analyzed enemy formations in the blink of an eye. Now, they scanned for signs of wear on Shisui's clothes, the level of rice in the storage jar, and the subtle shift in the compound's guarded atmosphere.
The compound felt… stranded. Not physically isolated, yet palpably set apart. The high walls, once symbols of proud lineage, now felt like barriers, locking them in as much as keeping others out.
Fewer jonin strode purposefully towards the gates; more women and elders moved with quiet purpose, their faces etched with the same watchful worry Hae saw in her own mirror.
The war had siphoned away the clan's vibrant strength, leaving behind a husk filled with waiting and the high-pitched energy of children too young to understand the silence hanging over their elders.
Breakfast was simple: steamed rice, miso soup thin from rationing, and a single pickled plum shared between them. Shisui chattered, a stream of consciousness about the fat spider he'd seen near the engawa, the sound the wind made whistling through the bamboo grove, the shape of a particularly fluffy cloud he'd spotted yesterday.
"And then fwwoosh!" he exclaimed, waving his wooden shuriken, nearly upending his soup bowl. "Papa does fwwoosh with real fire, right, Mama? Big fire!"
Hae caught the bowl deftly, her former kunoichi reflexes still sharp beneath the domestic veneer. "Papa is very strong," she agreed, forcing a lightness into her tone that felt brittle.
"He uses his fire jutsu to protect people. Like he protects us."
Shisui's bright eyes fixed on her, suddenly solemn. "When Papa come home, Mama?"
The question, asked countless times, still landed like a small stone in her chest.
"Soon, my heart. When the big fight is over. He's helping keep everyone safe, far away. He'll come home soon." She infused the words with a certainty she didn't entirely feel, a mother's incantation against the gnawing fear. Inwardly, the prayer was constant, desperate:
'Kagami. Come home. Whole. Come home to us.'
After clearing the dishes and bundling Shisui into a warm, patched jacket – good wool was scarce – Hae shouldered a woven market basket. Stepping out into the compound proper was like crossing an invisible threshold.
The air, still misty, now carried the faint, acrid scent of forge smoke from the clan's smithy, working overtime to repair gear. Two elderly clansmen, their backs bent but eyes still sharp, patrolled the perimeter wall, their movements slow but deliberate. They nodded curtly at Hae, their gazes lingering for a fraction longer than usual on Shisui, a silent acknowledgement of shared vulnerability.
"Market day, Shisui!" Hae announced, injecting false cheer. His small hand slipped trustingly into hers, warm and vital.
"Fish?" Shisui asked hopefully, bouncing again. "Big fish?"
"We'll see what's there, little sparrow," Hae replied, squeezing his hand. "Remember, be good and stay close."
Passing through the compound's heavy, reinforced gates felt like entering another world. Konoha, the Village Hidden in the Leaves, was still Konoha – the towering Hokage monument faces gazing serenely over the rooftops, the familiar maze of streets, the vibrant green of well-tended trees – but it wore the war like a heavy, ill-fitting cloak.
The usual morning bustle was subdued, hushed. People moved with purposeful speed, not leisurely strolls. Smiles were rare and fleeting, replaced by tight-lipped determination or vacant stares.
"Mama, look!" Shisui tugged her towards a stall selling simple toys – carved wooden animals, brightly painted tops. His eyes fixed on a small, red-painted horse.
"Horsie! Like Papa's story!"
The vendor, a weary-looking woman with kind eyes, offered a thin smile. "Fine steed for a brave young shinobi, eh?"
Hae hesitated. Luxuries were hard to justify. But the longing in Shisui's eyes, the innocent connection to his absent father… She counted out a few extra coins.
"For being such a good helper today," she said, handing him the small horse. His delighted grin was a momentary sun break in the grey tension. He clutched it tightly, making soft clip-clop sounds.
As they moved on, Shisui's newfound joy inevitably circled back. "Papa in big fight?"
"Papa fights to protect the village, Shisui," Hae explained patiently, adjusting the heavy basket on her hip. "So we can have safe markets and home."
"When Papa come home?" The question, persistent as the tide.
"Soon, little sparrow. He promised."
'He did,' Hae thought fiercely, remembering Kagami's last embrace, the intensity in his dark Uchiha eyes, the feel of his flak jacket rough against her cheek.
'He promised. He has to keep it.'
The alternative was a yawning chasm she refused to look into.
Their path took them past the central training grounds. Instead of the usual cacophony of clashing practice weapons and shouted instructions, it was eerily quiet.
Only a handful of very young academy students drilled under the watchful eye of a single, elderly chunin instructor. Their movements were hesitant, their small faces serious. The older genin and chunin, the ones who would usually be honing their skills, were gone – deployed, wounded, or worse. The silence of the training ground was louder than any battle cry, a stark reminder of the village's drained vitality.
Near the Hokage Tower, they passed the Memorial Stone. Even from a distance, Hae could see the fresh etchings catching the weak sunlight – new names added to the long, grim list of the fallen. A few people stood before it, heads bowed, shoulders shaking silently.
Hae quickened her pace, pulling Shisui along, shielding his young eyes from the raw grief. Her own throat tightened.
'Not Kagami's name. Never Kagami's name.'
The walk back to the Uchiha compound felt longer, the basket heavier. Shisui, tired now, leaned against her leg, his tiny fist still clutching the red horse, his other hand holding hers.
His questions had subsided, replaced by a sleepy silence. The compound gates loomed ahead, their heavy wood and reinforced metal feeling less like a barrier now and more like a fragile sanctuary.
An elderly Uchiha woman, sweeping the already pristine steps of the main clan house, paused as they approached. Her sharp eyes, faded but still perceptive, took in Hae's face, the weight of the basket, the sleepy child.
"Market thin today, Hae?" she asked, her voice a dry whisper.
"Thinner than last week, Obā-san," Hae replied, managing a respectful nod.
"Fewer fish. Prices up again."
The old woman clicked her tongue, a sound like dry twigs snapping. "War grinds everything down to dust, even the fish." Her gaze drifted past Hae, towards the village beyond the walls.
"No word?"
Hae shook her head, a minute movement. "No word."
The old woman sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of decades and countless wars. "He's strong, your Kagami. Clever. He'll find his way back." It was the clan's refrain, offered with a conviction Hae wished she could fully embrace. She simply nodded again, the lump in her throat making speech difficult.
Back inside their small home, Hae set the basket down with a soft thud. She unpacked the meagre supplies, the rustle of paper and the clink of the salt lump loud in the quiet.
Shisui, revived by the familiar surroundings, was back on the floor, making his wooden horse gallop (clip-clop, clip-clop) across the tatami mats towards an imagined enemy, his small voice narrating a battle only he could see.
Hae watched him, her heart a tangle of fierce love and profound sorrow. This was their mundane war: the careful budgeting, the scanning of faces for news, the constant internal battle against fear, the relentless performance of normalcy for a child who missed his father. The high-stakes missions, the clashing of legendary ninja, the fate of nations – it all felt distant, abstract, compared to the immediate reality of Shisui's needs and the echoing silence where Kagami should be.
She lit the small hearth, the snick of catching flame a comforting ritual. As she prepared a simple lunch – reheated soup, rice – Shisui abandoned his horse and crawled into her lap, his small body warm and trusting.
"Mama?" he whispered.
"Yes, little sparrow?"
"Papa come home after nap?"
Hae closed her eyes for a second, holding him close, breathing in the scent of his hair – clean cotton and childish innocence. She pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"Not today, my heart. But soon. Very soon. He's fighting hard to finish the big fight so he can come home. He misses you terribly."
Shisui snuggled closer, appeased for now by the familiar promise. "I show Papa my horsie," he murmured, already half-asleep against her.
Hae held him, rocking gently, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. Outside, the ash-grey sky deepened towards another anxious twilight. The weight of the waiting stones pressed down, but here, with Shisui's warm weight in her arms and the fragile flame of hope stubbornly flickering in her heart, Uchiha Hae anchored herself.