"Time doesn't heal anything, it just teaches us how to live with the pain". – Itachi Uchiha
———
Kabuto stood before me, arms hanging loosely at his sides, his body slack but not at peace. His eyes stared forward, unseeing, trapped within the eternal recurrence I had bound him to. Izanami pulsed faintly within my left eye, a forbidden technique born from countless sacrifices, forcing him to relive the same moments again and again—every choice, every lie, every denial—until he could no longer run from himself.
I kept my gaze fixed on him, not because I feared he might escape, but because looking away felt wrong. Izanami was not punishment. It was judgment tempered with mercy. Kabuto Yakushi, who had spent his life wearing borrowed identities, would remain imprisoned in that dream until he accepted the truth of who he was and the mistakes he had made. Only then would the loop end.
The battlefield around us was eerily quiet, as though the world itself was holding its breath. Ash and dust drifted through the air, remnants of clashing jutsu and shattered earth. The war raged elsewhere, but here—within this small pocket of fate—everything felt suspended.
I turned my head slightly and looked at Sasuke.
He was standing a few steps away, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that pierced deeper than any blade. He already knew. He had known the moment I chose this path. I could see it written plainly on his face: regret, sorrow, anger twisted with helplessness. For once, there was no hatred in his eyes—only the pain of a younger brother realizing that this meeting would be our last.
I had seen that expression before.
I was the one who had carved it into him.
My right eye burned as I activated Tsukuyomi, the final illusion I would ever cast. The world seemed to dim at its edges as my chakra flowed into Kabuto, overriding his will. Under my command, his body straightened, fingers twitching as they prepared to move.
"As the caster," I thought calmly, almost distantly, "only you can end it."
My voice was steady when I spoke, betraying none of the weight pressing down on my chest. I compelled Kabuto to form the hand seals, his lips moving as he began to recite them aloud. I listened carefully, committing every sound, every sequence, to memory.
So this is how it ends.
'That's it, huh'…
The irony was not lost on me. A technique meant to defy death, undone by a corpse that had already accepted it.
I began forming the seals myself, mirroring Kabuto's movements. My hands felt lighter than they should have, as though they no longer truly belonged to me.
"Rat," I said quietly.
"Ox."
"Monkey."
"Tiger."
"Dragon."
"Boar."
Each seal felt like a step closer to the inevitable. When the final words left my mouth, they echoed far louder in my heart than on the battlefield.
"Reanimation Jutsu… release!"
The technique unraveled instantly. I felt it first as a subtle loosening, like threads being gently pulled free from my body. Then the sensation deepened. My arms began to glow faintly, particles of light flaking away from my skin and drifting upward like fireflies returning to the night sky.
For the first time since my death, my heart felt unbearably heavy.
Not from fear.
From regret.
I walked toward Sasuke, each step slower than the last. My vision blurred at the edges, not from tears—I had long since exhausted those—but from the fading of this borrowed existence. I raised my hand, and for a brief, fragile moment, it was still solid enough to touch him.
I placed my fingers against his forehead, just as I had when we were children.
"You don't ever have to forgive me," I told him.
My voice did not waver, though something inside me fractured completely. "I will always love you."
Those were my final words to him.
As my body continued to dissolve, memories surged unbidden to the surface. I remembered fighting beside him only moments ago, back to back in the midst of chaos, our movements instinctively synchronized. For an instant, it felt like another reality—one where we had grown together, trained together, fought together against the world instead of against each other.
A reality that could never exist.
Was I kind…?
The question echoed painfully in my mind.
Was I kind to place him on a path of vengeance? To shape his life with hatred, to give him a single purpose fueled by lies? I told myself it was necessary. That it was the only way to make him strong enough to survive in this world.
But knowing that did nothing to ease the ache.
It pained me to realize that the years between our first and last meetings had been filled with nothing but rage and sorrow for him. That every step he took toward me had been guided by pain I myself had inflicted.
And the village…
Was it right to love the village more than my own clan?
I had believed so once, with absolute certainty. I had chosen duty over blood, peace over family, believing that sacrificing myself—and becoming a monster in my brother's eyes—would protect what mattered most.
Even now, as my form scattered into light, I could not say if that choice had been right.
But if there was one truth I clung to as I faded completely, it was this:
Sasuke had lived.
He had grown stronger.
And now, for the first time, his future no longer belonged to my shadow.
That, at least, had to be enough.
————
My body finished dissolving into light as the Reanimation Jutsu unraveled completely. I felt it in layers. First, the warmth leaving my limbs, then the strange lightness, as if gravity itself had loosened its hold on me. The last thing my eyes were allowed to see was Sasuke.
His face was frozen in that rare, fragile moment where he was no longer a weapon sharpened by hatred, but simply my little brother again. Tears welled in his eyes, trembling before they finally spilled over. That sight struck deeper than any blade ever could.
I will love you always, little brother.
I wanted to say it again. I needed to say it again. But the words never reached my lips. My mouth no longer existed. My voice had already been taken by the light.
And then—
Nothing.
Complete, utter darkness swallowed me whole.
There was no sensation of falling, no pain, no release. Just absence. An endless void stretched around me, silent and absolute, as though the universe itself had drawn a final curtain. I could not tell if my eyes were open or closed. There was no up, no down, no sense of direction or time.
Is this… the afterlife? I wondered.
I tried to feel my body.
There was nothing.
No weight. No heartbeat. No breath moving through my lungs. Panic did not come, perhaps I had already exhausted that emotion long ago but confusion lingered quietly, like a dull ache. I tried to move my hands, to will even the slightest twitch, but there was no response. I attempted to speak, to call out a name, Sasuke, perhaps but no sound formed. There was no throat to shape the words, no air to carry them.
I reached inward, searching for my senses.
Sight—nothing but black.
Hearing—no echo, no silence, not even the absence of sound.
Touch—no warmth, no cold, no texture.
Taste. Smell. All gone.
It was as if I had been stripped down to the barest core of my existence. Not flesh. Not chakra. Only consciousness, adrift in an infinite, lightless abyss.
Time lost its meaning.
Moments might have passed. Or centuries. I had no way to tell. Thoughts came and went, slow and unhurried, untethered from any physical anchor. Memories surfaced unbidden: my mother's gentle smile, my father's stern eyes, the quiet nights of the Uchiha compound, Sasuke's laughter before everything shattered. Each memory glowed faintly, then faded back into the dark.
Perhaps this was my punishment.
Or perhaps this was mercy.
Just as the thought settled—
I woke up.
Air rushed into my lungs sharply, painfully, as though I had been drowning. My eyes flew open, vision blurring as light assaulted them. I sucked in another breath, then another, my chest rising and falling too quickly. My heart was pounding—fast, strong, unmistakably alive.
I lay there for a moment, stunned.
I was… lying down.
On a bed.
The realization came slowly, cautiously, as though my mind feared the truth might shatter if grasped too quickly. The mattress beneath me was firm but not uncomfortable, covered in fabric far smoother than the futons I remembered. I pushed myself upright, hands pressing into the sheets—and froze.
I could feel them.
The texture. The resistance. The warmth of my own skin.
The room around me came into focus as my breathing steadied. It was familiar in shape and layout, yet undeniably strange. Wooden beams lined the ceiling, dark and polished, reminiscent of the traditional architecture of a clan compound. The walls were clean and simple, adorned with scrolls bearing minimalist ink designs—not unlike those found in the Uchiha estate.
And yet…
There were lights embedded into the ceiling that glowed softly without flame. A sleek, rectangular device rested on a low table, its surface smooth and reflective, faint symbols flickering across it. The windows were wide, framed in wood, but the glass was clearer than any I had seen before, untouched by age or imperfections.
Old and new coexisted here, seamlessly intertwined.
I swung my legs over the side of the bedz and my feet barely touched the floor.
That was when unease finally took hold.
I stood and moved toward a mirror mounted against the wall. Each step felt… lighter. Shorter. The reflection greeted me before my thoughts could catch up.
A child stared back.
Black hair, straight and slightly tousled, fell just past my ears. My eyes are dark, sharp, unmistakably my own were set in a smaller face, rounder at the edges. My cheeks were fuller, unmarked by hardship or illness. My skin was pale and unscarred, untouched by the years of bloodshed I remembered so vividly.
I raised a hand slowly.
The hand in the mirror mimicked me—small fingers, slender and delicate, lacking the callouses of endless training. I traced my fingers along my face, feeling the smoothness of youthful skin, the soft curve of my jaw. There were hints of my younger self here, echoes of the boy who once carried dreams before duty crushed them.
Yet it was not entirely the same.
My features were subtly different—my eyes slightly wider, my nose just a fraction less sharp. This was not a perfect reflection of the child I once was, but something close. Close enough to be unsettling.
"How…?" I murmured, my voice quiet, softer than I remembered.
It sounded young.
The word barely left my lips before a sudden sound cut through the stillness.
Knock.
The noise echoed clearly through the room.
Someone was outside.
I stiffened instinctively, every sense sharpening despite the unfamiliar body I now inhabited. My gaze flicked toward the door, heart steady but alert.