“You can’t go,” Naruto snarled as he hauled Sasuke up to face him. “I never wanted to be my father’s heir,” Indra would sigh.
“I simply wanted my clan to prosper,” Madara would bare his teeth. “We did not want Konoha,” Fugaku would say. A tangle of choices made long before he ever been born, until it’s ballooned to this mess of betrayal, ambition, sacrifice and broken promises. The revelations these past few days took out all feeling off him, but he didn’t speak those things though. He was too exhausted to parse at the dramatics happening in front of him. “What does this have to do with you?” Sasuke replied back, puzzled. “Why?!” Naruto demanded amidst the silence. He found it strange, the almost incandescent rage that burned in the other boy. He was back here at the valley of the end. Brother loved Konoha too much to let us live. He was Sasuke, watching as his whole world collapsed into a sea of lies. He was Indra knowing his father wanted him to die. He was Tajima knowing he was dooming them all. He was Madara seeing all his little brothers’ broken bodies. He was Hikaku bowing for forgiveness as his clan head turned his back at them, knowing he had to try this foolish dream. He was Fugaku seeing his friend die, all too late, all too slow. He could feel the familiar sensation of the Mangekyo forming. It was more than just his Sharingan activating. It was his last vision of his father alive, before Itachi struck the killing blow. He knew what it was without really knowing how. The Mangekyo Sharingan, the words would float in his mind at that sight. Sasuke could only stared stunned as his father’s eyes whirled into a strange pinwheel. It is the way we pass down knowledge from one clan head to another.” A small smile greeted his expression as the not-Fugaku explained, “I am the memories of your father and all the previous clan heads before me. “In a fashion,” Fugaku replied in a voice replete of grief. In front of him was his father, looking right back at him as the tableau of the massacre played behind. “I had always hoped,” Sasuke would remember hearing as his mother’s ghostly arms transformed into steel bands keeping him teetered to life. Surely, he thought, his attempt to kill his brother was enough to give him the peace he desperately sought? He so desperately wanted to leave this world. Sasuke watched it again and again, in the thrall of Itachi‘s hellish illusion. His father, standing still as the blade sliced thru his throat in a spray of crimson. The warm pulse of his mother’s lifeblood as she grasped him close, trying to protect from the horror. All he knew was the scent of coppery blood. Until there was nothing left for him but death. The culmination of all that he had known when Itachi buried him once again in Tsukuyomi and he screamed until he had no voice left. He wanted to etch in his mind the day he will no longer call himself of Konoha. He wanted to remember this place at this time all too clearly. Would whisper that they knew all along that he could not be trusted, that Uchiha Clan was nothing more than untrustworthy vermin. They would name him as a treasonous filth. Konoha would begin to openly spit out his name once he pushes thru. Sasuke knew that he would be following this man’s footsteps once he stepped past the valley.
Madara the betrayed, the Uchiha Clan would whisper softly at the depths of their guilty hearts. Madara the betrayer, as he was called in Konoha. He stood atop the statue of his ancestor, Madara, contemplative. It was a starting point or an ending point, perhaps even both. The point that marked the border of the Land of Fire.
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