Zila could remember exactly how she felt the day she finally decided she would in fact become a medic: terrified.
Gaara had another one of his outbursts.
Sunagakure had grown accustomed to the sand flying, but never the blood. Never the loss of life. As if the cuts on the number of Shinobi by the Lord who owned the village was not enough, the Fourth Kazekage had created within his youngest son a monster, which was taking the lives of innocents left and right.
The night Yashamaru was murdered by his own nephew, Zila was ten, helping out Lady Chiyo in the greenhouses where many of the medical nin spent their spare time. There was chatter coming from the door as two apothecaries watched the sand over a distant rooftop dance in contrast with the pale moon. Zila had gotten up from her work to observe it herself, but was only able to see the sand, in the formation of a giant drilling needle in the sky for a split second before it fell to the ground with a thud.
The medics all returned to work, except Zila, the dumb child.
She ran up the street, toward where she had witnessed the spectacle, only to find the body of an ANBU Black Ops agent, one of the ones sent on special missions straight from the Kazekage himself, lying dead in a pool of his own blood. Sand surrounded him, leaving his corpse in what seemed to be a loose crater.
As she knelt down beside him to pay respects to the ninja, she could make out the light footfalls of a child, and much to her dismay, when she glanced over her shoulder, it was him. Temari's little brother, the One Tail Jinchuuriki, Gaara of the Sand, was approaching her. The six-year-old's forehead bled as if it had a purpose; love. That was what he himself had drilled into the skin there above his left eye.
She stood, heart pounding in her chest.
"H-hello," the young student choked out, as the little boy only stared with a twisted curiosity.
"Why do you weep for Yashamaru?"
"I⊠I don't think anyone deserves to die⊠Not like this."
"Is that so? What about me, do I deserve to die?"
"You have lost your way." And Zila truly believed that. You can be born any which way, sick, healthy, poor, wealthy, even harboring a demon, but you still deserved love.
She believed everyone was a product of their surroundings. While she herself was an orphan, she was lucky to have a support system around her⊠this boy had nothing, and she knew it. She had seen it, the few times she and Temari had played in the yard behind the Kazekage's estate.
"No⊠I found it." Those words struck a chord within her, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
"In order to feel alive, others must die. I have no other purpose."
Her mind was reeling at his statement. "That is not true! Your purpose is for you to decide, not the ones who created you."
The boy seemed to ponder for a moment, and Zila took that as an opening to start backing away from him. Should he really decide to continue this murderous rampage, she would not be around to witness it.
She would however, be around to help the healing process. Any who were wounded at the hands of the monster possessing this poor boyâŠ
She would be damned if more ended up like Yashamaru.
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