Age Fourteen (continued)
I attended Nawaki's funeral in Konoha.
It was the first time I had left Uzushio since the war began. The journey took three days by ship, then another day by foot. I traveled alone, wearing my formal robes, my Sharingan hidden behind contact lenses.
Konoha was beautiful—even in grief, I could see that. Towering trees, carved faces on the mountain, streets lined with shops and homes and the laughter of children who didn't know that the world was burning. It was everything Uzushio was not. Safe. Sheltered. Alive.
The funeral was held at the Senju clan cemetery, a quiet grove of trees near the Hokage monument. Tsunade stood at the grave, her face a mask of stone. She didn't cry. That was worse than if she had.
Jiraiya stood beside her, his face uncharacteristically serious. Orochimaru lurked at the edges, his pale eyes watching everything. The Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, spoke words I didn't hear.
I stood at the back, watching. I didn't know if I was welcome. I didn't know if Tsunade wanted me there.
After the ceremony, the mourners dispersed. Tsunade remained, staring at the grave.
I walked to her side.
"You came," she said, not looking at me.
"I said I would."
"I told you not to."
"You needed me."
She turned to look at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but dry. She looked older than fourteen. She looked ancient.
"I saw his thread," I said. "The night before he died. I saw the explosion. I could have rewritten it. I could have saved him."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because the thread showed me that if he lived, you would have died in his place. A different mission. A different explosion. I chose the lesser evil."
She stared at me. Her hands balled into fists.
"You chose," she said. "You chose for me. For him."
"I chose to save your life."
"You let my brother die!"
"He was going to die either way, Tsunade! There was no future where both of you lived. I could only rewrite one thread. I chose yours. And I would choose it again."
She punched me.
I didn't block. I didn't dodge. I took the blow to my chest—felt ribs crack—and stayed standing. Blood dripped from my mouth.
"You should have let me die," she said.
"No."
"He was eleven years old."
"I know."
"He wanted to be Hokage."
"I know."
She collapsed against me, finally sobbing. I held her. The graveyard was silent except for her grief. My Mangekyo was active—I couldn't help it; the pain of her tears triggered it—and I could see the threads around her, darker now, twisted by loss.
This is the moment, I realized. This is where she starts to break. Where she starts to fear attachment.
I held her tighter.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."
She didn't forgive me. Not then. But she didn't pull away either.
---
We sat by the grave until the sun set.
"I'm leaving Konoha," she said finally. "After the war. I'm going to travel. See the world. Heal people who need healing."
"Without me?"
"You have your own village to protect."
"I'll come with you."
"You can't. You're the heir of Uzushio."
"I don't care."
She looked at me. Her brown eyes were raw, vulnerable.
"Ren," she said. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
"I'm not."
She leaned her head on my shoulder. "Then promise me this. Promise me you won't die. Promise me you'll find a way to stop going blind. Promise me you'll be there when I come back."
"I promise."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying."
She closed her eyes. "I'm tired."
"Then sleep."
"I can't. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face."
I put my arm around her. "Then don't close your eyes. Look at the stars."
She looked up. The sky was full of stars, more than I had ever seen in Uzushio.
"They're beautiful," she said.
"Not as beautiful as you."
She snorted. "That was cheesy."
"You're rubbing off on me."
"Someone has to."
We sat in silence, watching the stars, and for a little while, the grief was bearable.