Tsukihiko dreamed of lilies.
White petals, unblemished and endless, stretched beneath a sky the color of bruised flesh. The air smelled of iron and wet earth—a scent his Byakugan had etched into memory: blood, decay, and the hollow ache of chakra turbulence . He stood barefoot in the field, his small hands slick with something he dared not inspect.
Kaito emerged first.
The Iwa genin knelt before him, eyes wide with the kind of terror reserved for children who realize too late they've outlived their purpose. Tsukihiko's palm hovered inches from Kaito's chest, chakra needles already coalescing. The boy didn't flinch.
"You didn't fight back," Tsukihiko whispered, his voice too calm, too adult. "Why?"
Kaito's lips trembled. "I saw my brother's face in yours."
The words cracked like glass. Tsukihiko's strike landed, collapsing Kaito's sternum in a single, surgical motion. The boy fell backward, petals clinging to his lips as he gasped for air that would never come. His eyes remained open, reflecting the moon—a pale, swollen thing, veined with purple 9.
Then came Sora.
He rose from the earth like a wraith, his body draped in chains forged from blue chakra, links glinting with the spectral energy of the Byakugan itself. His eye sockets were hollow voids, twin abysses that pulsed with silent accusation.
"You took Kaito," Sora rasped, voice echoing like wind through a tomb. "Now I take you ."
Tsukihiko tried to move, but the lilies twisted into serpents, coiling around his limbs. Sora's hands flew through seals—Boar, Dog, Bird —and the ground split open. Earth surged upward, swallowing Kaito's corpse whole. The lilies withered, replaced by a sky raining kunai.
"You killed him," Sora hissed, chains clinking. "You knew he'd stop fighting if you killed Kaito. You let him break. You let him die ."
"I—I didn't—"
"Liar." Sora's hollow sockets bored into Tsukihiko's soul. "You're not a child. You're a weapon . And weapons don't ask why."
The chains snapped taut, yanking Tsukihiko backward. He hit the ground hard, the impact reverberating through his tiny frame. The earth beneath him softened, swallowing his legs like quicksand.
Then Takeshi descended.
The branch guard hung upside-down from the purple moon, suspended by those same blue chains. His body was bloated, waterlogged, his robes stained with the dark bloom of internal bleeding. When he spoke, his voice was a wet gurgle.
"You let me die," Takeshi said, neck elongated like a genjutsu snake. "You watched me fall. You knew the Iwa jonin would strike first. Why didn't you warn me?"
"I didn't know! I couldn't—"
"You saw it ," Takeshi hissed, chains tightening. "Your eyes show you everything. Yet you do nothing. You let me die to test your own limits. To see how far you'd go."
"No!" Tsukihiko clawed at his face, blood streaking his fingers. The chains slithered around him, wrapping his throat, his ribs, his Byakugan. "I'm not a weapon!"
"You are," Takeshi growled, body splitting open to spill black moths that swarmed Tsukihiko's face. "And weapons don't resist."
The moths burrowed into his ears, his nostrils, his eyes. Tsukihiko screamed—a raw, childlike sound that echoed across the lily field. The chains tightened, pulling him deeper into the earth.
抗
抗
抗
The kanji burned behind his eyes, but the characters dissolved into ash before he could trace them.
抗
抗
抗
Then came the voices.
"Tsukihiko."
"Wake up."
Hizashi's voice cut through the nightmare, distant but insistent. Tsukihiko gasped awake, sweat-soaked and trembling. The tent flap burst open, admitting the predawn gray. Hizashi stood silhouetted against the light, his shadow long and lean.
"You were screaming," Hizashi said, crouching beside the cot. His hand rested on Tsukihiko's shoulder—a rare gesture of warmth. "Bad dream?"
Tsukihiko didn't answer. His Byakugan pulsed, scanning Hizashi's chakra flow. The man's energy was frayed at the edges, like a kunai dulled by overuse. Grief. Exhaustion. A lifetime of carrying burdens not his own.
Hizashi sighed. "We're leaving in two days. Ceasefire talks in Tanzaku Quarters. Lord Third brokered peace with Iwa and Kumo."
Tsukihiko blinked. "Peace?"
"A fragile one." Hizashi's gaze darkened. "But peace nonetheless. You'll see Konoha again."
The words should have brought relief. Instead, they carved a hollow ache beneath Tsukihiko's ribs. Konoha. Home. A place where corpses are sealed, not mourned. Where children are weapons before they learn to read.
抗
抗
抗
The kanji flickered in his mind, but the letters were faint now, like embers drowning in ash.
---------------
The gates loomed like sentinels, their wooden beams scarred by decades of conflict. Beyond them, Konoha sprawled—a mosaic of red-tiled roofs and curling smoke. The air carried the scent of cherry blossoms, wet earth, and antiseptic—a grotesque fusion of spring and war.
Tsukihiko perched atop Hiashi's shoulders, a vantage point meant for children. From here, he saw everything: villagers lining the road, faces alight with joy; petals tossed like confetti; mothers clutching sons, wives kissing husbands. A woman in a lavender kimono sobbed into the chest of a scarred jounin. "I told you to come back," she wept. "I told you." Nearby, a widow pressed her forehead to a folded flag, shoulders shaking.
Hiashi's voice cut through the din. "Look closely, Tsukihiko. This is why we fight."
The boy's gaze drifted to the Konoha headband on Hiashi's forehead, the engraved leaf symbol glinting in the afternoon sun. This is why we die, Tsukihiko thought.
"Father," he said quietly, "do people live by fate… or by choice?"
Hiashi didn't answer.
Hizashi, walking beside them, glanced up. "What do you mean?"
Tsukihiko stared at a pair of teenagers reuniting—a girl who'd lost her left arm, a boy missing half his face. They laughed anyway, voices bright despite the scars.
"Their stories are already written," Tsukihiko murmured. "Like Naruto's. Like Sasuke's. Like mine."
Hizashi's footsteps slowed. "You think we're just… characters in a tale?"
Before Tsukihiko could reply, the Third Hokage appeared atop the gate's ramparts, pipe in hand. His voice boomed over the crowd:
"Welcome home, warriors of Konoha! Your courage has bought us peace—for now."
Scattered applause. A child's balloon drifted skyward.
Tsukihiko's fingers twitched. He traced 抗 in the air, slow and deliberate.
抗
抗
抗
Hiashi halted. "Enough of this," he said, hand settling on Tsukihiko's thigh. The grip was firm, almost gentle. "Let's go home. Your mother is waiting."
Home.
The word rang false. Konoha was a cage, yes—but it was also the only place where the ghosts of Kaito, Sora, and Takeshi might finally leave him alone.
For now.