A year had passed since our parents died.Six months since I'd taken my first steps.
Not much had changed.The war outside still burned on, distant but ever-present—like thunder beyond the horizon.
Only Shisui was different.He was pure—so pure that it almost hurt to look at him.
Our home stood far from the heart of the Uchiha district, surrounded mostly by civilian families—Uchiha in name only, their blood too diluted to awaken the clan's true power.
I spent my days in silence, learning alone. Books were my only companions.Shisui couldn't even read Japanese yet, but I could. I had known it long before I was reborn.
My mind remained sharp.Perhaps sharper than before.
Sometimes, a young man visited our house.Grandmother said he was "a friend from your father's youth."
Shisui didn't know him.But I did.
Uchiha Fugaku.
Not suspicious—merely inevitable.Our bloodline was ancient, and history loved to repeat itself.
Konoha, Year 40
Subtle shifts were happening within the clan.After our parents' deaths, my own chakra had awakened, faint but steady.
I began meditating each morning with a leaf balanced on my forehead, focusing until it no longer fell.At night, while the others slept, I practiced in secret—taijutsu forms, sword drills, the precise arc of a thrown shuriken.
Shisui trained in the daylight, under open skies.A prodigy—bright, fearless, adored.
I preferred the shadows.
Two major events shook the clan that year.The Uchiha patriarch stepped down, and leadership passed to Fugaku.Not long after, whispers spread—his wife was expecting a child.
I stayed away.Shisui might grow close to this baby someday, but I could already sense it—that connection would bring danger.
Konoha, Year 41 – The Loss of Grandmother
It happened on an ordinary afternoon.I was returning from the market, a small bag of vegetables in my hands, when I heard him.
"Brother!"
Shisui's voice trembled, heavy with something more than fear.
I already knew.
"Grandmother… she's gone."
He tried to stay strong, but the sorrow in his tone betrayed him.
A familiar emptiness spread through me—cold, dull, consuming.And yet… something was different this time.
My chakra stirred.
"I understand," I said quietly. "Let's prepare for the funeral. There's still her affairs to handle."
I turned my head, not wanting him to see.But he did.
Tears.
For the first time in two lives, I cried.And Shisui cried with me.
We clung to each other—two children, bound by loss neither of us could escape.Grief felt strange on my skin, but it was real.
Then I noticed.
His eyes.
They burned faintly red, a single tomoe spinning in each.
He didn't smile. He didn't feel stronger.But I knew.
His Sharingan awakened.
After the funeral, Fugaku's family invited us often for meals.Shisui became close with their infant son—Itachi.They would laugh, play, train together under watchful eyes.
I kept to the edges of their warmth, helping where needed but retreating each night to solitude.
The darkness suited me.It hid the truth—that I, too, was changing.
In silence, I trained.In secrecy, I refined my sight.
My Sharingan—the one born from emptiness—still hungered for purpose.