The sun was low, casting long streaks of red and gold across the sky like smeared paint. Itachi Uchiha stood alone in one of Konoha's training grounds, unmoving. The smell of fallen cherry blossoms still hung in the air, sweet and sharp, clinging to everything. It reminded him of spring. Of simpler days.
Leaves rustled in the wind, scraping across the ground. Every little sound felt louder tonight.
He didn't need to check the shadows. He already knew someone was watching.
A figure stepped out from the treeline, calm and deliberate. The mask he wore was orange, spiraled, and strange. Just one eye visible. The air around him felt... wrong. Like it warped the longer you stared.
"You've made your decision then?" the masked man asked. His voice was low, gravelly. Careless, almost amused. But under that, something sharp was waiting.
Itachi said nothing at first. His Sharingan flickered faintly, studying the man. Madara Uchiha—or someone claiming to be him. Either way, the mask didn't sit right.
If you're proud of who you are, why hide?
Still, that didn't matter now. The decision had already been made.
He reached into his cloak and pulled out the ANBU mask. Cold against his fingertips. He slid it on without a word. The porcelain turned him into something else. Not a brother. Not a son. Just a tool.
"Let's go," he said. His voice didn't betray anything. Not the guilt. Not the ache behind his ribs.
The masked man chuckled softly, the sound empty. Together, they walked toward the Uchiha compound. Their footsteps left no trace. The moon followed overhead, pale and silent.
When they reached the edge of the compound, Itachi stopped. His voice was flat. Detached.
"You handle the civilians. I'll take care of my parents."
The masked man cocked his head, eye glinting. "Telling me what to do now?" he said. "Fine. Just this once. But don't forget who's really pulling the strings here."
Then he vanished into the compound like smoke.
It was quiet. Too quiet. No dogs barking. No children crying. Just silence.
The masked man moved house to house, checking, expecting resistance—but found none. Every room was empty. Every hallway still. Even the air felt abandoned.
He stepped outside again, annoyed now.
"Where the hell is everyone..." he muttered. The leaves swirled at his feet. The wind picked up, tugging at his cloak like it was laughing at him.
And then he felt it.
Not a sound, not a sight—just presence. Watching. Not close, not far. Waiting.
He didn't like that.
The shadows around him stretched longer than they should've. The silence pressed in tighter. And all the while, Konoha's lights flickered in the distance, pretending nothing was wrong.
Itachi stood outside his family's door.
His hand hovered over the wooden frame.
He didn't move.
His mind was quiet, but not empty. This was the moment. The one he'd played out in his head again and again. But now that he was here, it didn't feel heroic. Or noble. Or even right.
It just felt... heavy.
He took a breath. Stepped forward.
Nothing about this night would be remembered the way it truly was.
No songs would be written. No honor in the blood spilled. Just silence. Just loss.
The masked man cursed under his breath in the distance. Itachi didn't react. Their paths had diverged the moment they stepped into the compound.
The Uchiha were already gone. Not physically, not yet. But in spirit. The trust had shattered a long time ago. This was just the final cut.
Above them, the moon hung like a wound in the sky. Unblinking. Cold.
And somewhere far beyond the village, the world kept turning, unaware of what was being sacrificed to protect it.