(credits for the grid memes we used!: https://www.tumblr.com/a-moop/182795888345/valentines-day-kiss-drawing-prompt-free-for?source=share & https://www.deviantart.com/kaisuki/art/Kissing-Meme-Template-361658733)
“Zetsu,” Sakura greeted, unable to help her grin as the man stumbled through the front door. It had been a while since an appointment actually came to fruition. “How may I help you today?”
He glanced up at her and she saw now that he was muttering to himself, expression stormy. Sakura’s smile fell as he approached. She hoped that he hadn’t turned on her, not like the others.
“Zetsu?” she said, keeping her voice soft as she braced for the rejection that was about to come.
His eyes cleared and he shook his head, meeting her gaze for the first time since his arrival. “Sakura,” he said, before dropping his eyes away from her. “It is good to see you well.”
Sakura contained a snort, knowing she looked nothing of the sort. She wasn’t sleeping well these days and no amount of dreamcatchers would help her. No, what kept her awake these nights was nowhere near supernatural in nature. Just ordinary fears and doubts. Not that Zetsu would know, considering the way he kept his gaze averted.
“So what can I do for you today?” Sakura asked. “You didn’t really specify when booking the appointment.”
Zetsu looked around the room, body tense. “Is this a safe place to speak?”
“We can go back to one of the treatment rooms,” Sakura said, standing from her desk. “It is more private than at the front desk.” It was highly unlikely anyone would walk in, especially considering the frosty treatment she was receiving from Pompeii’s citizens, but she wanted Zetsu to feel comfortable.
Zetsu grabbed her wrist, halting her. “No,” he hissed. “Is it safe from prying magic? Is there anyone listening in?”
“I...I don’t know,” Sakura said haltingly, her own gaze roving the clinic. It’d taken a while to clean considering the trashing that it received and she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary at that time. “Is that likely?”
Zetsu’s jaw tightened as he nodded. Sakura’s face fell. Of course, why hadn’t she thought of this herself? She was considered a threat by most of Pompeii, questionable at best. She was being naive.
“I apologize,” Zetsu murmured as he stepped closer to her, encircling her in a loose embrace. A few of the fronds of his venus flytrap brushed against her as he did so.
“Zetsu?” Sakura said, hands splaying on his chest, ready to shove him away.
“A moment please.”
Before Sakura had a chance to inquire further, they began sinking into the floor. It was a unique experience, unlike even traveling to the Goblin Market. She felt non-solid, almost liquid in nature. She couldn’t see anything aside from Zetsu’s chest and something about the strange slurping noise around her told her that was for the best.
Finally, it stopped and Sakura stumbled back, catching herself against a tree.
“What was that?” she demanded, chest heaving. She ran her hands over the goosebumps that lined her arms, surprised and relieved to feel the solidity of her being.
“A precaution,” Zetsu replied, striding around their environment with purpose. Gold sigils lit his arms as he muttered ancient phrases beneath his breath, before sigils streamed from his body to the walls of the cave.
Sakura blinked, taking in their surroundings for the first time. From the ceiling of rock above them, Sakura knew they were beneath the ground, though the environment itself didn’t suggest as such. The ground was alive with waist high grasses and fruitful plants, the likes of which Sakura had never seen. There were mushrooms larger than her head growing out of the rock walls and Sakura even noticed various crystal formations lining the garden. Almost everything glowed with an eerie, captivating bioluminescence.
“Where are we?” Sakura asked.
“This is my home,” Zetsu said, turning back toward her. In the lighting provided by the plants and crystals, his eyes shone gold.
“There’s no exit,” Sakura said flatly, looking around. She did her best not to show the way her anxiety was spiking, though she wasn’t sure of her success. “How in the world are we breathing?”
“The stone is porous,” Zetsu said, “and I’ve amplified the production of oxygen from these plants. I may be shackled but I am not incompetent.”
“And why have you brought me here?” Sakura asked, ignoring his shackles comment for the moment. There were more pressing concerns.
“We need to speak, away from the prying eyes and ears of Pompeii’s citizens,” Zetsu said. “I’ve seen the way they poke and prod at your life, examining you like an interesting specimen of study. You’re the new commodity in town and they think they’ve a right to you for it.”
Sakura frowned, crossing her arms. “But what is it you need to tell me?” Zetsu twitched and Sakura read the hesitation in his posture. She softened her defensive stance, stepping forward and brushing a hand along his arm. “Whatever it is, I will hear you out.” She smiled bitterly. “It’s the least I can do for a friend.”
“I cannot defy-silence! No! She is kind to us. We will be punished-I don’t care-not merciful!” Zetsu’s face screwed up as he warred with himself. “Who took care of the pruning?” he demanded, his voice almost a roar. And then there was silence.
“Zetsu,” Sakura said softly, looking up at him, a question in her eyes.
He turned and, beneath her scrutiny, relaxed. “I trust you,” he said in earnest, grasping one of her hands. “I know you are not at fault for what is currently happening; it has happened before, long before your arrival.”
Sakura startled. “Really? Then why hasn’t anyone realized?”
“It was before Pompeii, before any of them came here.”
“Well how do I show them? What can I do?” she asked, desperate for answers. Finally, finally, someone was willing to give them to her. It did not escape her notice that the one giving the answers was on the very fringes of Pompeii’s society. “Who do I talk to?”
His face screwed up again and Sakura knew he was fighting himself. “The knights,” he said, voice quiet. “The flower knights.”
Sakura nodded, choosing not to ask how Zetsu knew of them. It was hard enough getting answers to these critical questions. She couldn’t waste her time on the superfluous.
“Thank you Zetsu,” Sakura said, heart warmed. She pressed up onto her toes and brushed a kiss across his cheek. The fronds of the flytrap fluttered as she did so. “It’s reassuring to know that I still have friends.”
As they began to sink into the ground again, Zetsu leaned in close, expression urgent. “Don’t trust the trees, Sakura. They whisper and lie. They drive people to commit madness...to be mad. No place is safe except here and the shrine. Be careful.”
With this parting warning, Zetsu deposited her safely within the clinic, before disappearing once more into her tiled floor.
Sakura scrubbed her hands down her arms, wishing things weren’t so complicated.
“Hello,” Sakura greeted, weaving among the trees into the clearing that marked the home of the knights.
Since Zetsu mentioned that this place was safe, Sakura could now feel some of her anxiety and doubts abate, shed from her skin as easily as water. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was because this location was sacred or because she just felt safer here, but she felt a bit better.
Marigold’s faceplate turned in her direction as it stood from the weathered shrine. It cocked its head to the side slightly, crossing its arms.
“I know, I know,” Sakura said, raising her hands in surrender. “It’s been a while. Things have been...heated in town.”
Daffodil’s hand came down on her shoulder, nearly spooking Sakura out of her skin. She leapt away from it, as if its touch scalded. It immediately stepped away from her, ducking its head as Marigold smacked it.
“No,” Sakura said, laying a hand on each of them. “I’ve just been a bit on edge recently. Please don’t start fighting.”
The sets of armor parted from each other, turning their full attention to Sakura. She wilted slightly beneath their gaze, before bolstering herself. She was here for answers; she had to ask questions to get them.
“Someone told me that the forest has acted up before,” Sakura said as she took a seat by the pond and placed her feet in the water. The pond, Sakura had discovered on an earlier visit, ran warm, more like bath water than anything else. “Is that true?”
The knights looked to each other for a moment before tapping twice, remembering the game they played the last time Sakura plied them for answers.
“Okay,” Sakura said, inhaling deeply. “Was it before Pompeii was founded?”
Two taps.
“Were you present for it?”
Again, another two taps from the daffodil knight.
Sakura bit her lip, thinking back on their previous game of question and answer.
“Are you aware of when it started this time?”
The knights hesitated and Sakura saw that Daffodil was looking at Marigold. They were expressionless, so she couldn’t get an exact read on their hesitation. Finally, two taps came from Marigold, who hadn’t participated up until this point. It kept its flower-filled gaze set in her direction, seemingly trying to prove a point to Daffodil.
“Was it…” Sakura swallowed, warring with herself for a moment. She wasn’t sure she wanted an answer to this one, but she had to ask. “Was it around the time you remember waking up?”
Two taps from Marigold as Daffodil averted its helm.
Sakura breathed deep, as her stomach swooped. She feared she might be sick. This-the knights, the trees, everything-it all catalyzed with her. Her arrival woke the slumbering beasts, ones that hadn’t been seen since before Pompeii. And now, whatever the reason for it, innocent people were suffering. Perhaps, perhaps, it was just a case of coincidence, of simple correlation. However, in Sakura’s experience that was rarely, if ever, the case. Somewhere in her gut, Sakura knew the truth.
She was the cause of all of this.
“How did it end last time?” Sakura asked, scrambling to her feet and placing a hand on Marigold in entreaty. “How was the forest stopped?”
Silence met her. The knights looked to each other again for a long moment as Marigold stared Daffodil down. Daffodil threw its hands up and they both returned their gaze her way. As one, they pointed to something beyond Sakura.
Sakura turned, paling as she caught sight of what they were indicating.
The knights pointed to the headstone of the shrine.
The Maiden.
Sakura began her trek back to Pompeii in a daze, unsure how to handle the information she just received. The knights tried comforting her, but there was little that they could do. There was little she could do.
The Maiden sacrificed herself for the sake of Pompeii and its founding; most likely in a fight against this damn forest. And now...well, what was Sakura supposed to do? Was she to throw herself upon the pyre, perishing for the safety of the town? It was a pretty image, neat, heroic martyrdom.
Sakura didn’t think she could do it.
She wasn’t the Maiden, she wasn’t a person that people spoke of with awe and respect in their voices. She wasn’t the person that festivals were held for. She wasn’t the person that people remembered. She wasn’t the person who saved people; hell, Sakura couldn’t even save herself.
Sakura pressed the palms of her hands hard against her eyelids, fighting off the urge to cry. It wasn’t the time and it wasn’t the place for it. She took a few deep, calming breaths, focusing on the movement of air in and out of her lungs until she was centered once more. Shaking her head to free herself of the residual onslaught of tears, Sakura looked up.
She frowned at what she saw.
Ahead of her, among the thick copse of trees that surrounded her on all sides, was a peach tree. It hung heavy and low with the fruit of its labor; despite the fact that it was out of season for peaches. The peaches were dappled pinks and oranges, tantalizing even at this distance. In fact, Sakura could nearly swear that she smelled them…
Something about the scent snapped her out of her daze and she blinked hard, scrubbing her eyes. Without notice, she’d stumbled closer to the peach tree. Fear pricked the back of her neck as Sakura turned in the opposite direction, heading back toward the clinic.
She continued on for a few moments before, unable to resist temptation, she looked back.
The tree was gone, vanished as if it never existed.
Still, the scent lingered in her nostrils, heady with unfulfilled promises.
Sakura picked up her pace, gladly leaving the forest behind.
Here are the results from our very first 3 Artists, 1 Writer challenge!
Writers spun a wheel for a random ship and a random prompt, then a wheel-assigned artist sketched up fanart of the finished fic, which then got a random lineartist and color artist to complete the art!
Writers: @belledaynight915-blog, @caipher, @candy-floss-consumer, @konekotaichou, @olivychuu, @princessxgarbage, @tifarhapsodos, and @frostmarris
Artists: @ionahazuki, @eggqty, @hallous, @artofmintea, @mayskalih, @arichii98, and @frostmarris
Hello and welcome to the first cross-media AkaSaku event hosted by the AkaSaku Revival Fan Club discord server, open to all to participate!
🎃 The 12 Days of AkaSaku Halloween 🎃
Starting October 19th and on through October 30th, we'll have a ship and corresponding prompt each day! We're sharing the itinerary a month early in case anyone wants to prepare in advance, but this is also an optional Flash Event!
Prompts and Ships
On the [ ] day of Halloween, Leader-sama gave to me...
1st) ItaSaku under the cherry tree
2nd) SasoSaku in surgical gloves
3rd) PeinSaku and a summoning ritual
4th) TobiSaku (ObiSaku) at a masquerade
5th) DeiSaku committing arson
6th) ZetsuSaku lost in the woods
7th) KakuSaku grave robbing
8th) KisaSaku under a full moon
9th) KonaSaku with a deadly bouquet
10th) HidaSaku and bloody lips
11th) Honorary AkaSaku in a haunted house
12th) AkaSaku carving pumpkins
All media, genre, and rating types are welcome, but we do have a few rules that participants will need to follow.
Rules
Begins Oct. 19th, ends Oct. 30th.
Use #12DaysofAkaSaku tag when posting art/fic to tumblr, A03, etc.
Prompts don't need to be the focus, but should be incorporated in some way.
NSFW/dark content must be tagged, include appropriate content warnings, and (if posted to tumblr), placed under a read more.
Participants don't need to create something for every ship! Create for whichever days you like.
Late submissions will be accepted for a week after.
Only submit your own work.
Optional Flash Event
• Recommended (but not enforced) max word count of 500. This is to help those who wish to create for multiple days, but are working with limited time!
If you have any questions, feel free to message @akasakurevival or the admin @frostmarris! This event is open to everyone, but there will also be an invite to the discord server in a reblog. Come join is if you'd like to see more AkaSaku content, member wips, or sprint along for the Flash Event!
We're looking forward to seeing what everyone's makes!
Okay but Halloween needs zombies, right?? So maybe Sakura and pretty much anyone (because all Naruto characters have potential to be terrifying honestly) for "I'm pretty sure you're a murderer but I'm not going outside alone to get eaten so I guess we're stuck together now".
halloween prompts are a go! feel free to send more in.
Sakura creeps along the aisle, keeping an eye out for non-perishables. Most have been picked over completely, though she isn’t truly all that surprised. Groceries were among the first to be ransacked in the face of the outbreak. Still, she’s made a few valuable discoveries in the medical supplies that were ignored.
A rustling makes her pause, gripping her knife tight.
She kneels, peeking through the aisle shelves. A man stands, back toward her as he faces down three assailants with guns. Sakura adjusts her grip on the knife, keeping still as she waits to see the scene play out. The single man seems unarmed but surprisingly doesn’t appear worried, shoulders relaxed and easy.
“You should run. I’m quite hungry,” the man says, voice shifting tones.
“Whatever, you freak,” one of the men says.
Sakura frowns at the fear in his voice. Something is off here.
“I warned you. There will be no mercy.”
Sakura’s breath catches as the man darts forward, striking out at the men. She ducks down as one of the guns goes off and when she resurfaces, all of them are on the ground, dead. The man straddles one of the bodies, leaning over the dead man’s face. He pauses, scenting the air and golden eyes are suddenly turned her way.
“Hi,” Sakura greets, awkward as she stumbles to her feet, hands up in supplication. “I don’t mean to intrude…”
His eyes narrow and he stands, turning to face her. Sakura blinks as she takes in the full effect of his looks. His posture is gaunt, flesh stripped away from portions of his jaw and exposing monstrously sharp teeth. Half of his body is pale with death, the other dark. He is undoubtedly inhuman, but his eyes glint with an intelligence that is human in nature.
“You did not intervene,” he says, assessing her. He looks at her supplies. “You are practiced in medicine?”
She nods, refusing to back away as he approaches. She’s afraid, terrified really, but she will not be cowed.
“Can you treat this?” he asks, turning slightly and exposing his flank where a thick cut marks him. The blood there is black and oozes slowly. “I promise I won’t eat you.”
“Great,” Sakura says. “I wasn’t even worried about that until you mentioned it.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “So?”
“I suppose I don’t have much a choice,” Sakura says, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “I’m Sakura.”
His eyes flare with interest. “Zetsu. It’s a pleasure.”
@vesperlionheart who knew books had such good taste in shows?
The papers on her desk scattered then settled as the door to the clinic flew open. Sakura looked up, worried for but a moment before a smile lit up her face. “Zetsu!” she exclaimed. “It’s been too long!”
He looked down at her, abashed as he saw what she was doing. “Sorry. I’ll go.”
Sakura scrambled up from her desk, waving her hands hurriedly. “No, no, it’s fine! I’m glad you stopped by!”
It was true. Shizune was out today and it’d been a slow, somewhat monotonous day. The book was still miffed at her over the comment she’d made earlier, something about rebinding that smart mouth of its. It left Sakura to her thoughts, loud and crowding her head, demanding to be heard. Introspection had never suited her well.
“How may I be of assistance?” she inquired, locking all the confidential files away and putting on a winsome smile.
Zetsu looked momentarily dumbstruck before he shook himself free of his thoughts. “I...it’s moronic-usually I do it myself but I don’t have the fucking reach-!” He cut himself off, flushing. Clinically, Sakura found it quite fascinating, the way his blush played out across both sides of his face, adding a liveliness to him that she’d yet to see.
“Whatever it is, I know it isn’t foolish,” Sakura said, voice gentled by years of practice. She stood and placed her hand gently over one of his, grip loose so he could easily tug away. He didn’t. “Why don’t we go to the back and discuss it there? Have you been by the clinic before? I haven’t found a file…”
“...We burned it,” was his short response as Sakura guided him to one of the side rooms in the clinic.
Sakura took it in stride, fetching a pre-prepared clipboard and readying a pen. “What seems to be the problem?”
His flush creeped up his face to his ears and down his chest beneath his shirt. Zetsu sighed angrily and yanked his shirt over his head. Sakura was impressed with his fit of dexterity as he maneuvered it skillfully over his Venus flytrap. She blinked as she was suddenly confronted by his expansive chest. Her eyes darted over his toned features, marvelling at the way the Venus flytrap faded into skin just below his chest.
Thankfully, she was quickly distracted by green offshoots that were scattered wildly across the flytrap and his skin. Sakura leaned in close, surprised to find small bulbs at the end of the stringy offshoots, some in mid-bloom. They were pretty little white flowers that certainly did not fit with the off putting mein Zetsu wore as armor.
“What are they?” Sakura asked, looking up into Zetsu’s face.
“They’re the problem,” he said, scratching at one irritably. “They’re called scapes; I always get them this time of year.”
“Do they hurt?” Sakura said, watching the skin redden where he scratched.
“Not really,” he replied. “Itchy as hell though. They tend to tire us out; it expends energy that could be used by the flytrap.”
“How do you usually treat it?” Sakura asked.
“Trimming,” Zetsu replied, face grim and resolute. “I normally would do so myself but this year’s batch is much more plentiful than years past. It is also a bit difficult to do such precise work on myself with the flytrap obscuring my view.”
Sakura hummed empathetically, seeing the way the scapes trailed up and over his back. “This happens every year?”
“For millennia,” he sighed, slouching back on his hands. “Will you be able to help?”
“Of course,” Sakura said, pulling on her gloves. “How painful has this process been for you in the past?”
“Excruciating.” He paused and examined the stalks, most of which were three to four inches in length. Zetsu slumped. “Normally I would have taken care of this earlier-if you hadn’t been such a wuss about coming-but circumstances prevented it. Mito has agreed to cover the costs.”
Sakura nodded, straightening her shoulders. She could do this. “How do you usually go about this? Shears? Knife?”
“Usually we just rip it out,” Zetsu said with a shrug.
“No wonder it hurts!” Sakura exclaimed, clutching his arm and looking over his skin. Sure enough, there were areas of faint pockmarks, countless indents of careless self-flagellation. She looked up at him, queasy. “I won’t be using that same method. I can’t.”
Zetsu shrugged, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Sakura quickly released him, worried that she was invading his space. “That’s fine,” Zetsu replied, frowning slightly, bereft. “You’ll have to dig slightly to get them out. They’re rooted in.”
Sakura nodded, rummaged through her kit, and pulled out a package containing a thin scalpel. She removed the scalpel from the wrapping, catching the way Zetsu’s gold eyes alighted nervously upon the instrument. She placed it down within his line of sight. “Would you like a regional anesthetic? It may numb the pain.”
“There’s such a thing? What witchery is this?”
“Well, it’s medicine,” Sakura said. “Some of what Chiyo makes down at the pharmacy is magically based, but this is all science, human-made. Any known allergies?” He shook his head, still looking surprised. “I can administer the anesthetic, but I must let you know that it causes drowsiness. You’ll be sedated and probably in a state near sleep. Are you still alright with taking the anesthetic?”
“...I, we, trust you,” he replied, refusing to look at her.
Sakura felt something warm lodge high in her chest and she had to fight to control her emotions as she went about prepping everything. It was good to know that she was trusted as a professional, especially by someone like Zetsu, who didn’t seem to trust often. She was a doctor and it was vindicating to be accepted as such.
She returned to the room and found that Zetsu was settled into the chair, head tilted at an awkward position to accommodate the flytrap. He smiled nervously as she came in and said, “Let’s do this then, shall we?”
“Let me know at any point if you feel uncomfortable and want me to stop,” Sakura said. “Hold out your non-dominant arm please.” He bared his left arm to her, watching as she began to swab the skin. “This will sting a little and you’ll begin to feel drowsy in just a few moments.” She looked up at him and caught his gaze. “Are you ready?”
He swallowed, remembering the aching numbness and blistering darkness when he last trusted someone millennia ago. “I am.”
Sakura waited until his eyes fell below half mast before beginning. It was gruesome work; even through the plastic gloves Sakura could feel the texture of the little plants as she tirelessly worked her scalpel beneath them and pulled them away, trying to cause as little damage as possible. Zetsu didn’t seem to notice, smiling dazedly instead, but Sakura saw the trickles of what appeared to be chlorophyll leaking from the areas that once housed the scapes.
“How are you feeling?” Sakura asked as she pressed a ball of cotton to a wound on his shoulder.
His smile grew dreamy and Sakura tensed as he swiped clumsily at her hair. “I’m great. You’re great. You look like a flower. Delicious. Warm. Wonderful.”
Sakura suppressed a snort as she continued on. If only Naruto could see him like this, he’d know that Zetsu wasn’t the big threat he was made out to be. Certainly, he was intimidating, but seeing him like this, the hairs on his Venus flytrap fluttering as it fell open and snapped shut at seemingly random intervals as he continued to heap rambling praise upon her, well, it took the wind right out of any sense of fear. He just wasn’t scary.
Truthfully, he was rather adorable.
Sakura made quick time, plucking out more than forty of the scapes before all was said and done. She left them in a pile on her cart as she placed down the scalpel and scrutinized Zetsu. He was still reeling beneath the effects of the anesthetic and, aside from the small blood (chlorophyll?) loss, he seemed fine.
Sakura puttered around the room, tidying up as she waited for the anesthesia to wear off. She watched Zetsu and saw that he was teetering on the verge of sleep. She couldn’t resist a smile as she turned off the overhead light and made for the door. He’d mentioned that the scapes expended his energy, no doubt having them removed had tuckered him out.
Her hand was on the door handle when he called, “Wait!” his voice desperate and loud.
Sakura turned, startled.
Zetsu leaned heavily against the reclined chair, hand out in entreating dismay. “Don’t go,” he said and Sakura saw his eyes were wild and hazy from the drugs still in his system. Then she noticed the way his abrupt movements disrupted his wounds, green liquid streaking his pants and splattering across the tiles. “Not again.”
Sakura rushed to his side, bracing him as she assisted him in taking his seat. “I’m not leaving,” she said as she fussed over the wounds, staunching their flow. “Lay back down Zetsu, all is well.”
Still he watched her and, in the dark room, his eyes glowed. “Don’t leave,” he said, breath hitching. “I can’t-” Zetsu cut himself off, screwing his eyes shut.
Sakura began to hum a lullaby half-remembered from her childhood. Memories of being safely ensconced between her parents filled her head and her breath caught. Thankfully, Zetsu was asleep, hand relaxing its grip on her own.
Zetsu woke to the scritch of pen on paper. A glance outside told him it was late in the day and he found himself awake and aware in a way he hadn’t been in quite some time. He rubbed at his chest, frowning thoughtfully at the lightly wrapped bandages there. Then it all came back to him.
He turned and found Sakura seated at the desk facing away from him. Something warm lodged in his chest.
She hadn’t left him.
As he stood, far more clumsily than he cared for, she turned, smiling. “You’re awake! I ordered a salve from Chiyo while you were asleep,” she said. “It is laced lightly with the restorative properties of unicorn breath so it should heal your wounds. I used a bit on the bandages you’re currently wearing.”
Zetsu nodded; it explained the strange absence of pain. “Thank you,” he said, imbuing the words with as much reverence as he could. “I...Spring is never easy for me. This is the best Spring I’ve had in centuries, perhaps even in my lifetime.”
He caught the way that put color in her cheeks. “I’m happy to be of assistance,” she said shyly. Her voice took on more power as she said, “Make sure to apply the salve twice daily; once when you wake up and once before you go to sleep. Change the bandages just as often. This should be enough for two days but if the wounds persist or get infected please come see me.”
“I will,” he said, hesitating before bowing low to her. He could hardly remember the last time he’d shown anyone such deference, but countless empires had risen and crumbled in the time since. Zetsu respected so very few. She was the last yet living. Zetsu sighed and stood once more, accepting the jar of purple paste from her. “I cannot begin to thank you.”
Sakura patted his hand and regarded him solemnly. “Truly, Zetsu, it is my pleasure. Let me walk you out.”
“Are we on speaking terms again?” Sakura called as she shut her front door. “Please don’t deprive me of your stellar wit!”
She glanced around, smiling as the book flopped open on her coffee table, pages ruffling. Sakura walked over to it and read in gilded letters: Don’t patronize me.
Sakura snorted and ran a hand along the binding. “I’m not,” she said. “Truly, I enjoy your company.” She paused, biting her lip for a moment. “And I also need your help with a recipe.”
...what did you have in mind?
“Well, remember when we binge-watched Chopped?” Sakura asked. She still wasn’t sure how exactly a book managed to watch television but it was quite fond of the Food Network.
The book thumped its cover shut twice affirmatively. Though truly, I enjoy Cutthroat Kitchen far more.
“So…” Sakura said as she picked it up and carried it into the kitchen with her. “I have milk, eggs, and some strawberries that are about to go out of date.”
The book flipped to a different page, embellished in fancy script in…
“French? I can’t speak French,” Sakura said. The words on the page shifted, blended together, and then… “Crepes? You’re so fancy, my friend.”
Of course.
Sakura settled into making crepes. As always, the art of cooking soothed her after a long day. There was something nice about measuring out the ingredients and combining them together in such a way that something delicious emerged. It took her mind off her worries for at least a moment, her thoughts centered around flipping the crepe rather than Orochimaru and curses and strange things among the trees.
Smells a little crisp.
“Hush,” Sakura said. “I’m the one who’ll be eating these, unless…”
I don’t eat.
Sakura hummed, putting everything together on a plate and, in a display of dexterity, balancing both the book and plate as she went back into the living room and pulled up her Netflix queue.
Put on Cutthroat!
“Okay, okay,” Sakura said, biting into the crepe. Her nose wrinkled slightly. The book was right. It was too crisp.
They settled in for the night, watching as Alton Brown tortured the contestants. Sakura brushed the sugar from her fingers and began to rifle through the book. It was a nice pastime and usually it gave her a few memes for her troubles.
This time, however, there were words scrawled across multiple pages. Sakura paused and perused it more closely. It was written with a precise, concise hand.
CE 474, Week 42
It isn’t working.
Why isn’t it working?
We were so close this time. This war has taken its toll. Countless dead on both sides and for what? A fear of the unknown? A choice to misunderstand, to malign, to murder?
The handwriting shook and trailed off, water stains on the page, before picking up a few lines down.
It was a child this time. Lucille. A witch raised among humans only to be tested, tried, and tortured when she started a small fire.
She was four.
Four.
They’re trying, gods above and below, they’re trying but I can see it wearing on them. We keep trying these experiments and for what? A vampire who can eat garlic but still cannot go out in sunlight. Werewolves immune to the silver, but brains forever trapped in their most primal state.
I fear we will be exterminated long before we find a cure, a way to walk among the mortals.
At least...I will be gone.
She hides it but this is killing her too. The both of us will fade before long and where does that leave him? Alone in the world, roaming in the throes of immortality?
I fear he will end his life if it comes to that.
There are potential solutions, of course. I have heard the whispers. Those magics though, they bear heavy consequences. However, soon enough my hand shall be forced.
Could I do it? Could I-
The rest of the page was blank. “What the hell!” Sakura exclaimed, glaring down at the book.
It snapped shut and Sakura could feel its disdain. Show’s over.
“How could I even read that writing? Was it really from the 5th century?”
Of course. It is quite simple for me to translate the words and paraphrase it into a lingo for you to actually understand.
“So that was?”
...a cautionary tale. Or the beginning of one at least. Blind ambition is the cesspool that courts folly. Desperate ambition? Far worse.
“But-”
Go to sleep Sakura. Some tales aren’t made for the telling. Not in full at least.
Sakura, sensing the book’s odd pensive mood, set him on her nightstand and began her nightly ablutions.
She crawled into bed, unsatisfied and apprehensive.
Sakura didn’t get much sleep that night.
“Are you sure this is appropriate attire?” Sakura asked, smoothing down her black dress. She hadn’t worn it in years. “This feels much more suited to a funeral than to a festival celebrating spring.”
“We call it the Spring Celebration sure,” Ino said as she rummaged through her closet. “It honestly does give off a funeral vibe though.” She crowed triumphantly, drawing out a dark dress with intricate beading. She caught Sakura’s puzzled expression. “Look, it’s tradition. Spring is the season of birth and renewal, certainly, of both the good and the bad. Everything comes back to life. There’s a balance, blah, blah, blah.” Ino pulled a face, the one she did whenever the elder town denizens carried on about tradition, which, unfortunately, was often. “Basically we all show up, the puppet presents us with a sculpture of some sort that we then set on fire.”
“You set Sasori’s work on fire?” Sakura asked, horrified. “It’s all so beautiful though!”
“He doesn’t care,” Ino said as she started to change. “The fat check town hall writes him undoubtedly cushions the blow. Sakura, really, we do this every year. It isn’t as barbaric as it all seems to you. Didn’t you do something similar around this time of year back in New York?”
Sakura laughed. “We had Spring cleaning, which we often didn’t get around to until June. Oh, and there’s this fun tradition with Peeps.” When met with Ino’s blank stare, she elaborated, “They’re these colorful sugar-coated marshmallows that are shaped like chicks or rabbits. Ami and I’d stick toothpicks in them and put `em in the microwave. They’d blow up and have a swordfight. Zaku was always so pissed at us about it!”
“And you think this tradition is brutal,” Ino said with an exasperated shake of her head. “We’ve done this for centuries. If we stopped, I’m pretty sure Danzo would have a stroke on the spot.”
“Good thing I’ll be there, then,” Sakura said, nose in the air. “You ready?”
“How do I look?”
Sakura looked her friend over, taking in the elegant twist to her hair and the dress that looked as if it’d been draped for her. “Gorgeous,” Sakura said, ducking her head.
Ino grinned and ensconced Sakura’s hand into her own. “My favorite part of the Spring Celebration is what comes after the so-called celebration.”
“And what is that?” Sakura asked.
“Getting shitfaced with friends at the lesser Hyuga compound,” Ino said.
“Lesser-”
“Looking hot, ladies,” Tayuya said, sidling up alongside them and fitting herself against Sakura’s free side. She wore a dark suit and vest, hair pulled away from her striking face. “Ready to get drunk off your asses?”
“I really think you are missing the spirit of this thing,” Sakura said, before getting distracted.
They were on Main Street, near the doorway tree, but everything looked different, somehow muted. Candles hung, suspended in the air and cast meager light across the sea of faces swathed in black. It was dusk and the sunlight was fading fast.
Hashirama and Tobirama stood on a raised platform that seemed to be made of a living tree as it shifted ever so slightly beneath them at odd intervals. They seemed restless, as did the rest of the crowd.
“Sasori’s late,” Ino replied. “I mean, we are late, through no fault of my own may I add, but Sasori’s late. He’s always on time. Deidara complains about it constantly. Calls him a slave driver.”
Sakura frowned, something clenching in her gut.
Something was wrong.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Sakura said, slipping away from them.
She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she knew she had to do something. She waded through the crowd, listening to the worried murmurs that rose like waves before a hurricane. She didn’t know much about this ceremony, just that it was rooted in old traditions, but there was something important about these rites.
A hand clamped down on her arm. It was familiar, wooden and solid.
Sakura turned, eyes bright with expectation. “S-Yamato,” she said, the expectation dimming somewhat into concern. He seemed pale. “Are you well, Yamato?”
His eyes wouldn’t meet hers, focused instead on the stage. He licked his lips. “This year’s different. Look at them; they’re worried.”
There was a burst of chatter as, in a puff of smoke, Sasori appeared next to the stage with a flourish. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit before grasping at the cloth that covered the thing beside him.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” he said, voice amplified by magic. He seemed harried, flushed even. “We were delayed in the transport.”
“No matter,” Tobirama said, jaw ticking in a way that said that it did, in fact, very much matter. “You’re here now. May we begin, puppeteer?”
“Of course,” he replied. “I present you with this year’s Genesis!”
He pulled the cover away and revealed a chair. Sakura’s brow furrowed as she eyed it. He’d spared no detail, creating a high-backed, winged chair carved intricately with chains of delicate flowers and insects. It was all curved lines and majesty and Sakura suddenly realized this wasn’t a chair.
It was a throne.
“Wrong,” Yamato muttered, voice such a low grumble Sakura doubted he meant for her to hear him. “Wrong, wrong, wrong.”
“You’ve outdone yourself this time, Sasori!” Hashirama said, thumping the man on the back.
“We’ll take it from here,” Tobirama said.
Sasori inclined his head and stepped away with nary a protest. He watched them intently, perhaps even nervously as the brothers lifted the chair up onto the dais. Sakura’s eyes narrowed.
Sasori was expecting something.
“We gather here on the cusp of Spring and new life,” Hashirama said and suddenly his voice seemed to echo and boom like the crack of a falling tree.
“We have weathered the blight of winter,” Tobirama continued and the words thrummed within Sakura’s ribcage, making a home there. This was a pledge of some sort, ancient in a way Sakura doubted she’d ever comprehend. Since the world began to spin, this creed, unspoken until this point, existed.
“Now we are here for the birth of a new year, for an end to the endless night.” Hashirama bowed his head and Sakura was surprised to see his antlers emerging from the crown of his head. She almost missed the way he grew little branches up and around the throne, branches that were cracked and brittle.
“Tonight we shed our former skins, our former selves. As we know, such a rebirth is painful.” Tobirama’s eyes were liquid gold and his antlers rose high above his head.
Sakura’s hair stood on end as around her, power was released and true forms were realized. She could feel their magic, their essence, their very souls battering up against her, jubilant in their release. Many people remained the same, but something in their eyes changed.
There was a fire there, burning brighter than the stars.
“Tonight we bind the evils that linger back to the earth where they belong.” Hashirama lit a match and the flame was green.
“With the sacrifice of the Genesis tree, we remain free,” Tobirama said.
“Join us in tree’s heartsong,” they said as Hashirama touched the flame to a branch curling around the armrest.
In the following days, Sakura still wouldn’t be able to suss out the exact details of what happened. The throne caught alight quickly as, around her, people began to sing. There were no words to the song, at least, not ones that she could name. In fact, everyone seemed to sing a different song, harmonious in their discord. Sakura’s voice rose to join them, setting herself adrift among the sea of others. It was beautiful and Sakura knew that it couldn’t be replicated, even when they came together in the following year. This was fleeting, special.
Sakura only felt the tacky slick of tears on her face when Yamato brushed his fingers below her eyes. She glanced up.
He wasn’t looking at her. Instead he traded his gaze between Hashirama and the throne, brow furrowed in contemplation. Sakura read something in his eyes, something that worried her.
Sakura jolted when she caught Hashirama looking directly at them.
Rather, looking at Yamato.
From this distance, she couldn’t be sure, but she was nearly certain that, awash with the flames of the Genesis tree, Hashirama’s eyes reflected exactly what was in Yamato’s.
