“War is a cowardly escape from the problems of peace” -Thomas Mann
Bloodstained fields; it was an image that the Uchiha heir was not unfamiliar with. The first time he had come to witness it, he had been old enough to just reach for his parents’ hands, his much smaller fingers barely grazing their palms. His father’s were rough, he recalled, worn from the wear and tear of battle, whereas his mother’s were much more gentle, comforting, even if hers had known the bite of steel. He had found comfort in both, but more so from his mother as she had always been the soothing source of warmth in their household.
The instances that followed that stark red memory had been much smaller in scale, but no less tragic. Even if the victor of war had been decided, its flames could not be just as easily diminished, not in the world that they lived in.
For from the laws set in place came the age-old bitterness that had plagued the world of shinobi for centuries. Conflict arose, discontent sparked in those that suffered from the greed of individuals that stood at the top of the hierarchy, grief that had been present struck deeper from the continued loss of life.
The exact scale of the hardship of those that were not from his village had not been made clear to him- not until he started taking on missions outside of Konoha. Itachi had only been seven at the time, and he understood then and there that the ancient poison ran deeper than he had thought.
And at last, when history ought to have served as a lesson for all, it had repeated itself.
A fourth war had broken over just a few weeks ago, and their world was wounded once more. Itachi had borne witness to yet another bloodied field, and this time he had partaken in the carnage. Through the confusion and the cacophony of stricken cries, his blade had pierced through flesh.
Itachi could still smell the acerbic sting from those days, and while the rain had washed away the rusted shade that once soaked the earth, he could summon the recollection just as easily.
It was with a heaving heart that Itachi faithfully continued his duties, working himself to the bone to rebuild what they had lost. He remained silent, barely speaking whilst moving efficiently with each assignment that had been designated to him by their Hokage, Namikaze Minato.
This time, he had been given the task of assisting the village’s orphanage. It had been brought to ruins during the war, and with the increase of children who had lost their parents, needed to be expanded too. It was not... What he had been trained to do, but he would accomplish it to the best of his abilities.
It was what he told himself when he quietly ran gloved fingers through a mess of brown hair, the four year old stricken with grief and hunger. She had been crying for her mother.
A glance over his shoulder.
She was supposed to be his partner for this undertaking.
