"Whoever disturbs the grave of Time will be bitten by the awakened serpent."
© Ivan Efremov
There were many people gathered at the monument. Among them were mother's classmates, medics from the Konoha hospital, prominent figures from the village's ruling elite, the Fifth, Sixth, Seventh Hokage, and others whom Sarada was seeing for the first time.
Many had come to bid farewell to mom. Deep down, Sarada felt a swell of pride for her. One of the greatest iryonin of all time, a student of Tsunade Senju. So many people knew her and respected her. But the pain overshadowed that pride. The portrait standing by the monument blurred before her eyes. Her cheeks grew sticky with salt.
It felt like the world had emptied. As long as mom was in it, there was life. But with her gone, nothing remained—only heart-wrenching pain and emptiness.
Boruto, dressed in a black kimono, stood not far away, glancing at her uncertainly. He didn't know what to say, how to comfort someone who'd lost their mother, or even if he should try, so he didn't approach. Their eyes met by chance, and Boruto quickly looked away.
Unexpectedly, Sarada realized she was completely alone. Dad still hadn't returned from his endless mission, not even for his wife's funeral. And there was no one else. All these people who'd come to see mom off on her final journey would go back to their homes, casting pitying glances at the orphaned child. And she'd go home too: to an empty apartment where all that remained of mom were her things and photos.
The pain building in her chest surged to her eyes and suddenly scorched her retinas like flame. The burning didn't stop; tears welled up again, blurring the cemetery. The still world turned crimson, and instead of people in black clothes, bright chakra flares ignited. She so wanted to press something cold to her eyes to soothe the searing pain.
Something touched her shoulder.
Sarada turned and saw the Seventh beside her. Frowning, he stared at the portrait.
Yes, they had been on the same team: mom, dad, and Nanadaime.
His hand became her support. She wasn't alone anymore. Warmth flowed through his hand, filling her empty soul. Nanadaime always said the whole village was his family, but Sarada had thought it was just a figure of speech. Until this moment, when a single touch pulled her from solitude.
The Sharingan deactivated. The world became colorful again.
Warmth, kindness, support, protection... He was everything. The heart of Konoha. Rumors said that somewhere inside the Seventh slumbered the Kyuubi, and Sarada knew better than anyone: his golden chakra could protect everyone in the Hidden Leaf Village. An astonishing union of the strongest shinobi and bijuu.
But it hadn't been able to protect mom...
A new wave of pain and regret flooded her heart, and Nanadaime's fingers tightened on her shoulder. How did he understand?
"Why isn't dad like that?" Sarada thought.
She respected her father deeply. She knew how incredibly strong he was—no less than Nanadaime. But they were different. And the Seventh was here, supporting her, keeping her from sinking to the bottom from which she might never resurface. While dad...
Where are you, dad? Maybe he doesn't know. Or he's busy fighting... Gods, what if he dies too?
Sarada shuddered at the thought.
"Sarada," the Hokage called softly.
She looked up at him.
"Do you want..." He hesitated. "Do you want to come live with us?"
Nanadaime. He was ready to take her into his family like his own, so she wouldn't be lonely. And Sarada realized she wanted that desperately: to feel like the Seventh's daughter, to bask in his warmth and care all the time, fully.
But to live in Boruto's house... Besides, Nanadaime would still spend days at the Residence, leaving her in Hinata's care. Boruto's mother was a very kind woman, but her care could hardly compare to Nanadaime's warmth and support.
Sarada realized she had no place in the Uzumaki home. She'd be an extra there.
"Thank you, Nanadaime. But I'd rather live at home," Sarada forced out dully.
He squeezed her shoulder encouragingly again.
"I understand. Sarada, if you need anything—you can come straight to the Residence. Anytime."
"Thank you."
She glanced at Boruto. He watched them puzzled, but when their eyes met, he looked away and lowered his gaze.
They looked so alike, him and Nanadaime, but they were so different inside.
The mission went smoothly. As always. For Team Seven, a D-rank was too easy.
Home greeted Sarada with dead silence. She'd long grown used to that silence—mom spent days at the hospital, leaving all the housework to her. Sarada cleaned, cooked lunch and dinner alone, and she even liked it. But she always eagerly awaited the sound of footsteps in the entryway and the cheerful voice singing, "I'm home!"
Mom avoided questions about dad, which irritated Sarada to no end. And yet, being with her was always easy—even easier than with Chocho. They talked like friends. And mom cared for her, while the chubby girl was more interested in food.
Loneliness permeated the corridors of the empty home.
After mom accidentally wrecked their own house, they'd had to move to a rental apartment.
"I don't even have a home," Sarada thought.
The metallic Uchiha resolve inside her cracked treacherously. She was falling... Who knew where or how deep. Everything that had defined her world for the last twelve and a half years had shattered and melted away.
Dad on a mission. House destroyed. Mom dead. What did she even have left? Just the Uchiha crest on the back of her dress. The crest of an elite, mysteriously vanished clan.
What happened to the Uchiha? Why are only dad and I left?
Sarada went to the library, but found nothing concrete. Materials on the Uchiha clan and her father were strictly classified. No one to answer her questions.
"I know nothing about dad," Sarada thought.
And yet, dad had an older brother. She'd heard his name once, fleetingly, in Orochimaru's hideout. And dad had tensed strangely when the pale man with snake eyes said it: "Itachi Uchiha."
Sarada missed dad, but deep down, she dreaded seeing him again. His indifference had wounded her soul at their very first meeting, when he hadn't even recognized her face. Sarada feared disappointment again. She anxiously sought any hint of tenderness, care, or even interest in his gaze, then spent ages convincing herself it wasn't her imagination: that dad really did care.
Staying home was unbearable. Barely back from the mission, Sarada put on her shoes and dashed outside.
Her feet carried her aimlessly while her thoughts swirled around her father and their extinct clan. Dad's life was shrouded in mystery. And in Sarada's heart had long settled the conviction: the Hokage and all her parents' classmates knew what happened to the Uchiha clan; knew much about her father's past; knew what was classified in the documents. But no one would tell her—least of all her.
It was monstrously unfair. As the Uchiha clan heiress, she had the right to know.
Heiress of the clan... Everyone goes on about the Uchiha's might, but where are they all if they were so great?
"Power of the Sharingan." "Elite." It all felt like empty words to her.
Sarada didn't notice how her feet took her to the cemetery. She was drawn to her mother. She slowed her pace. As if hoping to meet her living mom there, fearing to enter and see a lifeless grave instead of her dear one.
Sarada made her way to the cemetery slowly through the grove. Not the main avenue, but bypassing via a narrow path paved with stone slabs. She didn't want to see people. Her wandering gaze caught the image of an ancient statue hidden in the bushes. A moss-covered stone hag stared at her with blind eyes, her toothless maw stretched in a wide grin. Folded hands pressed against her fat, egg-shaped belly. Dry leaves filled the open mouth, and something eerie lingered in that smile—a bit sly, a touch... malicious?
She looked very old. But the village had been almost completely rebuilt twenty years ago. How had she survived?
Chills ran down her spine, and Sarada hurried away from the strange statue. The hag followed her with a cunning gaze. It seemed to Sarada that the sightless eyes tracked her slyly.
The grove ended. Ranks of graves stretched out before her, neatly aligned. Something in her chest clenched painfully.
But suddenly...
Who was that?
In the middle of the cemetery stood a man in a black cloak. Sarada moved forward quietly. Black hair. Could it be...
"Dad?"
The man didn't stir. Sarada drew closer. Ignoring her presence, her father stared intently at his wife's fresh grave.
Her heart raced excitedly.
Dad's back!
They stood in silence for a long time. Finally, the cloak shifted, and father turned to her. Hair fell over one eye; the other looked straight at her. Sarada's heart pounded as she searched his gaze for any emotion: confusion, doubt... But no sadness, no sympathy.
Doesn't it hurt him? Is he hiding it that well? Or did he just not love mom... like I do. Like she deserved.
"Let's go home," father said curtly.
Sarada obediently followed the swaying black cloak.
She was part of this man. The same blood flowed in her veins. She had his eyes and hair. The last Uchiha in the world. So why was he so indifferent? Truly, Sarada felt the man striding ahead was a stranger, yet an invisible bond connected them, and they both felt it.
"Are you staying long?" Sarada ventured.
"No."
"No." He'd leave again? How could that be?
"Dad..." Sarada stopped.
Hearing she wasn't following, he stopped too and turned.
"Dad, what about me?"
"You stay in the village."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
A new wave of pain flooded her chest. This was worse than any of the disappointments with which father generously rewarded her at every meeting.
"What's wrong?" Irritation rang faintly in his voice. "You're a genin. It's allowed."
"But, dad!"
She didn't even notice how the Sharingan awakened in her tear-filled eyes.
"I don't want to be alone. Don't you miss mom? The way you looked at her grave," Sarada forced out painfully. "It feels like you don't care. Like... you're just annoyed you have nowhere to put me!"
"Sarada..."
"Didn't you love her at all, dad? Not even a little?"
"Sarada," father repeated firmly.
But the words burst from her chest and off her lips:
"You won't even say anything. Even... Dad, it's like it doesn't hurt you at all. Wasn't she close to you?"
"I've had many close people," metal edged his voice. "And I lost them all."
Sarada fell silent. His icy tone unnerved her. Before her eyes floated the Uchiha family tree, every name crossed out in red.
"...every last one. Father and mother. Brother. I'm a shinobi. Emotions interfere with the mission. I can't work if I indulge in useless regrets about the past."
"But, dad..."
"You're a genin, Sarada," he nodded toward the cemetery. "And this is the world you live in. Your life has been too peaceful. But it won't always be. You children don't know pain. You don't know what it means to be a shinobi. You're not the one to accuse me."
Tears streamed down her cheeks. The activated Sharingan mercilessly drained her chakra, and Sarada felt weakness throughout her body. Instead of comforting her, dad pressed harder on the open wound. So ruthlessly...
"You're an Uchiha. You should have realized by now that our power awakens in hardship. The greater the pain, the stronger your eyes. And you'll never be a worthy shinobi if you don't learn to live with it. Hm... I see you've awakened the third tomoe."
"Dad..." Sarada whispered.
Weakness and the ringing tone of father's voice in her ears.
"If you were younger," he said a bit softer, "I wouldn't say this. But you're the future of the Leaf. The future of the Uchiha. You can't afford weakness, Sarada!"
"The future of the Uchiha." Her throat choked with sobs. "I don't even know anything about our clan, my family, my uncle!"
Father tensed imperceptibly.
"You stay home. Naruto will look after you."
"He doesn't even watch Boruto. He's the Hokage."
Anger boiled in her soul against her father again.
"Why are you like this, dad? Why is Nanadaime kind even to strangers' kids, but you're so cruel when I'm your daughter?"
"I'm not Naruto," father said evenly. "That's why I'm leaving you here. I can't take you with me, Sarada."
Did annoyance flicker in his voice?
"And I can't stay in the village either. My place is there. Yours is here."
The Sharingan sucked her last strength.
"And deactivate the Sharingan already."
Her weakened fist clenched suddenly. Sarada squeezed her eyes shut, tears spraying out.
"Why am I an Uchiha?!"
She ran off, leaving father on the path. Sarada desperately wished she'd been born into the Uzumaki family, living beside the bright and kind Hokage, without the burden of a mighty clan about which she knew nothing.
Sakura's death was a complete shock to him. Over the years, he'd grown used to his family being safe. He hadn't lost anyone close in a very long time. Over fifteen years. And then Sakura.
A long-buried feeling stirred in Sasuke's soul, one he'd forgotten— the pain of loss.
From now on, the story of the Leaf's second-generation sannin could end with a fat period. Without Sakura, he and Naruto were no longer a trio.
At first, in childhood, the clingy girl had irritated him to madness, but over time, Sasuke had come to respect her involuntarily. Sakura was strong, confident, and devoted to him for some reason, no matter what. Even after his attempted murder. She was a woman worthy of being the last Uchiha's wife, and sometimes, remembering her, Sasuke felt a secret pride.
But peaceful village life with a family wasn't for him. He was capable of more. Sitting in a cozy nest, wasting his strength and talent on trifles would be a gross miscalculation. Naruto protected the Leaf from within; he—from without. Year by year, Sasuke found more parallels between his fate and his brother's. He deliberately pushed his daughter away, as Itachi had distanced himself from him. He didn't want to drag her into all that filth and danger. Didn't want to stain her pure soul with the clan's burden and pain. So Sakura handled Sarada.
But Sasuke had never considered that one day Sakura might be gone, and caring for their daughter would fall entirely on his shoulders.
Uchiha Sarada. Clan heiress. Sasuke looked at the skinny girl gazing at him with such hope and realized he had no idea what to do with her. Native and alien at once. If he just reached out, they'd find common ground quickly. But one thought gnawed at Sasuke.
The man calling himself Uchiha Shin was right: shinobi are forged in battle. He and Naruto had endured much and lost many; their power equaled their suffering. But Naruto achieved everything through training and unyielding faith in himself. While Uchiha... Uchiha gained power by ascending new levels of hell. And the deeper, the thicker the darkness—not everyone could overcome it. Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Kagami—those few who conquered the darkness in their hearts without falling into hatred and madness. And he himself—had failed.
Sasuke unwillingly admitted he always fell short of his brother. Not just in skill, but spiritually. He'd drowned in hatred up to his neck, and without Naruto, he'd have stayed there. The restless Uzumaki had a rare gift for turning people to the light. That's why Sasuke wanted to leave Sarada with Naruto. He felt he couldn't raise an Uchiha who could gain great power without descending into darkness.
Yes, the Uchiha clan was famed for its might, but good genetics weren't enough. Not every Uchiha could awaken the Sharingan. Sarada was a genius. Like him. Like his brother. But life had struck him and Itachi too early; they'd unlocked their Uchiha potential at an age when Sarada was still a child. Sasuke would be happy if his blood daughter could live in peace without facing what he had, but the current world was upheld only by their might: his and Naruto's.
Sakura's death reminded him: he and Naruto weren't eternal either. When they were gone—who would they leave the world to? Boruto, Sarada. The new generation of Leaf shinobi. Meaning these children needed to grow up and grow stronger.
Sarada ran off, and Sasuke didn't call after her. Now he doubted. Had he been too harsh? After all, he made a lousy father.
Sighing, he headed home.
She ran blindly. Away from the main avenue, back into the cemetery. Crashing through bushes, scratching her arms, feeling branches whip her cheeks. Her legs buckled treacherously from weakness. Sarada fell to her knees but got up and ran again. She burst onto the narrow path she'd walked so recently. Her lungs burned from sobs and running. The world swayed. The Sharingan had drained her dry, and she couldn't control it. She couldn't just deactivate the dojutsu as father advised. Her eyes had a life of their own.
Not reaching the cemetery, Sarada felt her strength fail completely. She stopped and, in the world shrouded in crimson haze, spotted that stone hag. The statue eyed her just as slyly.
Dragging her stumbling feet with effort, Sarada approached the statue and leaned on it to keep from falling. The hag was short, waist-high. Her palms felt cold, rough stone, but the activated Sharingan detected a sudden chakra surge inside. The stone hag was coming alive within, unchanged outside. Without the Sharingan, Sarada wouldn't have noticed. She recoiled in fright, but her exhausted body no longer obeyed.
Damn Sharingan.
The trees before her eyes swayed. Sarada plunged into blackness.
***
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