Sleep didn't come.
Sasuke lay on his bedroll staring at the forest canopy, watching moonlight filter through leaves that moved like restless spirits in the night wind. The scroll sat beside him, unopened but present—a weight that had nothing to do with physical mass and everything to do with the choices it represented.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them: three Sharingan spinning in the darkness, three survivors who shouldn't exist, three voices explaining that everything he'd built his identity around was more complicated than the simple narrative of brother-gone-mad and clan-extinct.
You're not alone.
The words should have brought comfort. Should have been liberation from four years of isolation so complete it had become his defining characteristic. But instead they felt like another burden added to shoulders already carrying too much weight.
Because if he wasn't alone, if other Uchiha had survived and built lives in exile—what did that make him? The brother who remained in Konoha while they fled? The loyal shinobi who'd chosen village over clan? Or just the boy who'd been too young and too weak to have any choice at all?
"Can't sleep either, huh?"
Sasuke's eyes snapped toward the sound—Naruto, sitting up on his own bedroll, his blonde hair catching moonlight in ways that made him impossible to miss even in darkness.
"I'm fine," Sasuke said automatically, the deflection so practiced it required no thought.
"Yeah, and I'm the Hokage," Naruto said with tone that suggested he knew exactly how unconvincing Sasuke's lie had been. "Look, I'm not gonna pretend I understand everything that happened tonight. Village ordering massacres, brothers following orders, survivors hiding for years—it's all way more complicated than anything they taught us at the Academy."
He paused, scratching his head in gesture so characteristically Naruto that it almost made Sasuke smile despite everything.
"But I know this much," Naruto continued. "You're not the last Uchiha. That's gotta be good, right? You've got family you didn't know about. People who understand what you went through. People who—"
"I don't know them," Sasuke interrupted, his voice sharper than intended. "They left me alone for four years. Built lives while I suffered. How is that family?"
The question hung between them, and Sasuke saw Naruto processing it with expression that cycled through confusion, determination, and something that looked uncomfortably like pity.
"They survived," Naruto said finally, his tone carrying unusual thoughtfulness. "That's what you're mad about? That they didn't die? That they chose to live instead of—what, throwing themselves on Itachi's blade to keep you company in being the last Uchiha?"
"That's not—" Sasuke started, then stopped, because maybe that was exactly what some part of him felt. Anger that they'd survived when so many hadn't. Resentment that they'd built something while he'd been trapped in grief. Bitterness that they'd watched from distance while he trained alone, believing himself the sole survivor.
"Family isn't just blood," Naruto continued, leaning forward with intensity that made his blue eyes seem to glow in the moonlight. "It's choosing each other. Supporting each other. Those survivors—they risked exposure to tell you the truth. Risked everything they'd built to make sure you knew you weren't alone. That sounds like family to me."
"They made choices without me," Sasuke countered, his hands clenching around the blanket. "Decided I was better off isolated. Decided truth could wait four years. Decided—"
"Decided to survive long enough to tell you eventually," Naruto interrupted with directness that cut through Sasuke's circular reasoning. "Look, I'm not saying they're perfect. I'm not saying you have to forgive them for waiting. But being angry at people for surviving? That's pointless. That's just punishing them for doing what you've been doing—staying alive despite everything trying to kill them."
The logic was simple, brutally direct, and uncomfortably accurate in ways that made Sasuke want to reject it purely on principle.
"You don't understand," Sasuke said, though even as he spoke he knew it was weak defense.
"You're right, I don't," Naruto agreed, surprising him. "I've never had a clan. Never lost a family I actually knew. But I know what it's like to be alone. To think you're the only one dealing with something. And I know that finding out you're not alone—that there are people who get it, who've been through it—that's not a burden. That's a gift."
He paused, his expression softening in ways that suggested he was thinking of his own loneliness, his own years of isolation before Team 7.
"You can be mad at them," Naruto continued. "Can be angry they waited. Can reject them if that's what you decide. But don't be angry that they survived. Don't hate them for building lives. That's just hating them for doing what you're trying to do—exist despite the world trying to erase them."
Sasuke wanted to argue. Wanted to explain how Naruto's simplistic view missed the complexity of betrayal and choice and isolation so complete it had defined his identity for four years.
But the words wouldn't come.
Because maybe—just maybe—Naruto's simplistic view cut through to truth that Sasuke's complicated reasoning was designed to avoid: he was angry that they'd survived without him. Resentful that they'd found each other while he'd been alone. Bitter that they'd built community while he'd built walls.
And beneath all of that, terrified that visiting them, learning from them, accepting their existence would somehow invalidate the four years he'd spent defining himself through isolation and revenge.
"I need to think," Sasuke said finally, the words inadequate but all he could manage.
"Sure," Naruto agreed with surprising gentleness. "But Sasuke? Whatever you decide about them—you're still part of Team 7. That hasn't changed. You're still my teammate. My rival. My..." He paused, searching for words, "...my brother, I guess. Not by blood. But by choice. And that's something nobody can take away or complicate with politics or secrets or any of that other stuff."
The statement—delivered with Naruto's characteristic lack of subtlety but genuine warmth—made something in Sasuke's chest tighten unexpectedly.
"Get some sleep, idiot," Sasuke said, his tone carrying less bite than the words suggested. "We still have a mission to complete."
"Says the guy who's been staring at the trees for three hours," Naruto shot back, but he was smiling as he lay back down.
Silence settled over the camp again, but it felt different now—less oppressive, somehow. Sasuke's gaze drifted back to the scroll, and for the first time since receiving it, he considered actually opening it.
Knowledge, Kakashi had said, wasn't the same as loyalty. Learning clan techniques didn't obligate him to anything except being more complete as Uchiha.
And maybe—just maybe—understanding what the survivors had preserved would help him understand what he was supposed to be avenging.
Kakashi stood his watch with the practiced stillness of someone who'd perfected the art of being simultaneously alert and invisible. His visible eye tracked the forest's shadows while his mind processed the night's revelations through lens of experience that had taught him the world was more complicated than simple narratives allowed.
He'd known Obito. Had inherited his Sharingan and his philosophy about bonds being what made people strong. Had carried the guilt of his friend's death for years, trying to honor Obito's final wishes through protecting his teammates and teaching the next generation.
And now he'd learned that Obito's clan hadn't died completely. That survivors existed, that they'd built something from ashes, that the massacre he'd accepted as tragic necessity had been more complicated than official reports suggested.
The conversation with the survivors had confirmed things he'd suspected but never fully investigated—that the massacre was ordered from the highest levels, that it was calculated choice rather than Itachi's madness, that Konoha's hands were far from clean in matter they'd framed as internal Uchiha violence.
What would Obito think? Kakashi wondered, not for the first time since the survivors had appeared. Would he be proud that some of his clan survived? Or ashamed that I knew and didn't tell Sasuke immediately?
The questions had no easy answers, which was becoming theme of the night.
Movement drew his attention—Sasuke, sitting up again, his posture suggesting internal debate rather than external threat. Kakashi waited, giving his student space to process, but ready to intervene if the processing became self-destructive.
After several minutes, Sasuke stood and walked toward where Kakashi kept watch, his approach suggesting he wanted conversation rather than simply couldn't sleep.
"Sensei," Sasuke said quietly. "Can we talk?"
"Of course." Kakashi gestured to spot beside him, maintaining his watch position while making room for his student.
They sat in silence for moment, forest sounds providing backdrop that somehow made conversation easier than forced words.
"The scroll they gave me," Sasuke started, his hands moving to the pouch where he'd stored it. "You said it contains clan techniques. Knowledge that would have been taught to me if..." He trailed off, unable or unwilling to complete the sentence.
"If the massacre hadn't happened," Kakashi finished gently. "Yes. From what I understand, it contains Fire Release variations, Sharingan-specific genjutsu, and probably tactical knowledge passed down through generations. Your heritage, in scrollwork form."
"And if I open it?" Sasuke asked, his tone suggesting the question carried more weight than simple curiosity. "If I learn their techniques? Does that mean accepting them? Joining them? Abandoning—"
"It means learning," Kakashi interrupted, his tone firm. "Nothing more, nothing less. Knowledge isn't loyalty, Sasuke. Learning your clan's jutsu doesn't obligate you to join their village or abandon Konoha. It just makes you more complete as Uchiha. Gives you tools that are yours by right of birth and heritage."
Sasuke absorbed this, his Sharingan activating unconsciously as he processed the implications.
"But it feels like choice," Sasuke admitted. "Like opening the scroll means accepting their version of events. Acknowledging that they were right to hide, right to leave me alone, right to—"
"It means acknowledging they survived," Kakashi corrected. "That they made choices in impossible situation, just like Itachi did, just like you do every day. Whether those choices were right or wrong—that's judgment you can make after you have complete information. But you can't make informed judgment while deliberately staying ignorant."
The logic was sound, but Sasuke's expression suggested he was resisting it anyway.
"I need to tell you something," Kakashi continued, his tone shifting to indicate importance. "I'm going to report this encounter to the Hokage. Not to get the survivors hunted—I won't reveal their exact location or capabilities beyond what he already knows through my previous investigation. But he needs to understand they've made contact with you, that the situation has changed."
Sasuke's immediate response was sharp, protective in ways that suggested he'd already started forming connection to survivors without fully realizing it: "You'll get them killed. Danzo will—"
"The Hokage already chose not to interfere with them," Kakashi said, cutting through the panic before it could build. "His policy has been watchful non-interference. Monitoring but not engaging. This just confirms they're not hiding from you out of malice or strategic threat, but out of genuine concern for everyone's safety that's now changed because they chose to give you truth."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"If anything," Kakashi continued, "this makes them less threatening in Konoha's eyes. They sought you out to provide information and heritage, not to recruit you or radicalize you against the village. That's not how enemies behave. That's how family behaves when they finally have opportunity to make contact safely."
The explanation made sense, but Sasuke's hands were still clenched, his body language suggesting he was torn between trusting his sensei's political read and protecting people he'd just met.
"What if you're wrong?" Sasuke asked quietly. "What if reporting this gets them attacked? Gets them killed for the second time?"
"Then I'll bear that responsibility," Kakashi said simply. "But Sasuke—they revealed themselves knowing this might happen. Knowing that contact with Konoha shinobi carried risks. They made that choice anyway because they thought you deserved truth more than they deserved complete safety. The least we can do is ensure that choice is reported accurately rather than discovered through less friendly channels."
The weight of adult decisions settling on thirteen-year-old shoulders was visible, and Kakashi felt familiar guilt at having to burden his student with complexity that Academy training never covered.
"The scroll," Sasuke said eventually, his hand moving to where he'd stored it. "If I open it. If I learn the techniques. Will you help me? Teach me how to use them properly?"
The question surprised Kakashi, though in retrospect it shouldn't have. Of course Sasuke would want guidance. Would need someone who understood both Sharingan mechanics and teaching methodology to help integrate new techniques into his existing skillset.
"Yes," Kakashi said without hesitation. "Whatever you decide about the survivors, whatever path you choose—I'll help you master your clan's techniques. You're my student. That doesn't change regardless of where the knowledge comes from."
Something in Sasuke's posture relaxed slightly, tension releasing now that he had confirmation his sensei wasn't forcing him to choose between learning heritage and maintaining team loyalty.
"Thank you," Sasuke said quietly, the words simple but carrying weight of trust that Kakashi knew better than to take lightly.
They sat together in silence as dawn began to paint the eastern sky in shades of gray and gold, teacher and student processing revelations that would reshape relationships and loyalties in ways neither could fully predict.
[Hidden Uchiha Village]
The council chamber felt smaller than usual with tension filling space between people. Keisuke stood at the head of rough wooden table, his damaged vision making the gathered faces blur into indistinct shapes, but his chakra sense reading their emotional states clearly enough.
Fear. Hope. Anger. Determination. All tangled together in proportions that suggested the community was as divided as he'd expected.
"We did the right thing," Mirai said, her voice carrying conviction that others clearly didn't share. "Sasuke deserved truth. Deserved to know he wasn't alone. Staying hidden indefinitely was impossible once Konoha knew we existed—at least this way we controlled the revelation rather than having it discovered accidentally."
"We've endangered everyone," one of the more cautious survivors countered—an elderly man named Masaru who'd been jonin before retirement. "Made ourselves known to Konoha shinobi. Given them our location through that scroll's chakra signature. Trusted thirteen-year-old boy with secrets that could get us all killed if he reports to his village."
"He's not 'Konoha shinobi,'" Ayame interjected, her tone sharp. "He's Uchiha. Same as us. Same blood, same loss, same claim to heritage we're trying to preserve. If we can't trust another Uchiha with truth about what happened to our clan, who can we trust?"
"We trusted Itachi," someone muttered, and the words landed like kunai in everyone's chest.
Silence descended, oppressive and bitter, because the comparison was accurate even if it was unfair. They'd trusted Itachi too—right up until he'd killed everyone except Sasuke and the twenty-one who'd managed to escape.
"Itachi was forced into impossible choice," Keisuke said quietly, his voice cutting through the silence. "Sasuke hasn't been. He's processing information, deciding what it means, choosing path forward. That's different. That's what we've given him—choice we never had."
"And if he chooses Konoha?" Masaru pressed. "If he decides loyalty to village matters more than blood? If he reports everything to the Hokage and they send ANBU to finish what Itachi started?"
"Then we deal with consequences," Keisuke said, the words carrying more confidence than he felt. "But I don't think he will. Not immediately. Sasuke is many things, but he's not someone who makes impulsive decisions about loyalty. He'll think. He'll weigh options. And then he'll choose path that makes sense to him, even if that path ends up hurting us."
The council debated for another hour, arguments cycling through same points without resolution because there was no resolution to be had. They'd made their choice. Now they waited to see what Sasuke would do with the information and heritage they'd given him.
As the meeting dissolved into smaller conversations, Hana—ancient, wise, somehow still standing despite everything—approached Keisuke with expression that suggested she had thoughts that needed private venue.
They walked to the village's edge together, where the valley opened into view of settlement they'd built from desperation and determination. Stone buildings that would stand for generations. Training grounds where children learned to be dangerous. Fields that produced food through volcanic soil's unexpected fertility.
"We've always been defined by choices others made for us," Hana said, her aged voice carrying decades of watching history repeat. "The Warring States Period, where we fought because that's what clans did. The founding of Konoha, where Madara and Hashirama decided our fate. The marginalization after the Kyuubi attack, where village leadership chose suspicion over trust. The massacre itself, where Itachi and Konoha's leadership chose elimination over negotiation."
She paused, her weathered hand gesturing to the village below.
"This is the first time we've chosen to define ourselves on our own terms," Hana continued. "Made decision about our own future rather than reacting to choices thrust upon us. Whether it was wise or foolish, right or wrong—it was ours. That matters more than outcome."
"Does it?" Keisuke asked, his damaged eyes unable to see the village clearly but his memory filling in details. "If our choice gets everyone killed, does the fact that it was our choice make the deaths more meaningful?"
"Yes," Hana said simply. "Because we died choosing rather than having choice made for us. That's what separates us from our ancestors—we're not just surviving. We're determining who we are and what we become. Even if that determination leads to destruction, at least it's destruction we walked into with eyes open."
The philosophy was harsh but honest in ways that cut through Keisuke's tendency toward pragmatic calculation.
"I'm going blind," Keisuke admitted, the words easier to say to Hana than to the council. "In a few months, maybe a year, I'll see nothing but shadows. My Mangekyo use has damaged my optic nerves irreversibly. Every time I activate it, I'm trading sight for power, and I'm running out of sight to trade."
"I know," Hana said gently. "I've been monitoring your condition. There's nothing I can do to stop it—the Mangekyo's curse is beyond medical techniques I have access to. But Keisuke—you've led us this far nearly blind already. You'll continue leading even when darkness is complete, because leadership isn't about seeing with eyes. It's about seeing with heart and mind."
"That's comforting philosophy," Keisuke said, unable to hide the bitterness. "But it doesn't change tactical reality. Blind leader is vulnerable leader. Liability rather than asset. I need to prepare succession, ensure someone can take over when—"
"When you can't lead anymore," Hana finished. "Yes. But that's not today. Not yet. And until that day comes, you're still our leader. Still the person who got us here. Still the one who made choice to reveal ourselves to Sasuke despite every tactical reason not to."
They stood together in silence, watching the village prepare for evening—cooking fires being lit, children being called inside, defenders taking their posts for night watch.
"Do you regret it?" Hana asked finally. "Telling Sasuke?"
Keisuke was quiet for long moment, his damaged vision reducing the village to blurred shapes and light, his heart weighing consequences he couldn't fully predict.
"I regret that it was necessary," he said eventually. "That thirteen-year-old boy has to process information that complicated. That we've placed burden on him he didn't ask for. But do I regret giving him truth? No. He deserved to know. Whatever he does with that knowledge—whether it helps him or hurts him, whether it saves us or destroys us—at least he'll make choices with complete information rather than lies Itachi told him."
"Even if those choices endanger us?"
"Even then," Keisuke confirmed, his certainty surprising him. "We've survived by hiding. By making pragmatic choices. By sacrificing comfort and connection for safety. But at some point, survival isn't enough. The Uchiha deserve to exist openly. To be known. To have our story told by us rather than by people who tried to erase us. If the price of that existence is risk, then we pay it. Because the alternative is staying hidden forever, slowly fading until we're forgotten completely."
Their conversation was interrupted by alarm—perimeter sensors detecting movement. Not the subtle vibrations that suggested wildlife or weather, but deliberate approach by someone skilled enough to avoid most detection but not quite skilled enough to avoid sensors designed by paranoid survivors who'd spent four years perfecting their defenses.
The village mobilized with practiced efficiency that spoke to how often they'd drilled for exactly this scenario. Non-combatants moved to designated shelters. Combat-capable survivors took defensive positions. Keisuke, Ayame, and Shin moved toward the perimeter with weapons ready but not immediately threatening.
They found him at the valley's edge, standing in fading daylight like decision given form.
Sasuke Uchiha, alone, the scroll they'd given him visible in his pack along with standard mission gear that suggested he'd left his team to seek them out.
"How did you find us?" Ayame asked, her hands on her weapon hilts but not drawing, her tone suggesting curiosity rather than hostility.
"The scroll had chakra signature," Sasuke said, his voice carrying combination of determination and uncertainty. "Faint enough that you'd need Sharingan to detect, but clear enough to track if you knew what to look for. Clever—forces anyone seeking you to make active choice rather than stumbling onto location accidentally."
"It was intentional," Keisuke confirmed, his damaged vision barely able to distinguish Sasuke's features but his chakra sense reading the boy clearly. "If you were determined enough to seek us out, the path would be there. But it required effort. Active decision to follow rather than passive knowledge you might report without thinking."
Sasuke stood at the valley's edge, his three-tomoe Sharingan active and cataloging everything visible—the stone buildings, the training grounds, the fields, the people moving through their routines. The Hidden Uchiha Village, small but undeniably real, existing despite every attempt to extinguish it.
"I have questions," Sasuke said finally, his voice rough with emotions he was clearly struggling to control. "A lot of them. About the massacre. About why you chose to survive instead of fighting back. About what you want from me. About..." He trailed off, but the unspoken words hung in air clearly: about whether you're family or strangers, whether I belong here or in Konoha, whether everything I've built my life around was wrong.
"Then ask," Keisuke said gently, understanding the courage it took for thirteen-year-old to seek answers that might destroy everything he'd built his identity around. "We'll answer what we can. And show you what we've built from ashes. What's possible when Uchiha refuse to accept extinction."
Sasuke took a breath, seeming to steady himself, then nodded once—sharp, decisive movement that spoke to training and determination in equal measure.
"I want to understand," Sasuke said. "Everything. Not just what you told me in the forest, but what it means. How you live. Who you are. What being Uchiha means outside of Konoha's version. I don't know if I'll agree with your choices or join you or any of that. But I need to know before I can decide anything."
"Fair enough," Keisuke agreed. "Come. We'll show you."
They descended into the valley together—three survivors and the brother who remained, walking toward community that existed because people refused to accept that they should die for village politics.
And in the forest behind them, hidden by ROOT techniques designed to avoid even Sharingan detection, an operative watched with emotionless efficiency. He cataloged the valley's location, the settlement's layout, the defensive positions, the number of chakra signatures he could sense.
Then he vanished with the speed of someone trained to observe and report without being detected, his mission complete, his information already being compiled into report that would reach Danzo Shimura within hours.
The survivors had revealed themselves.
Sasuke had chosen to seek them out.
And in Konoha, forces were already moving that would transform their attempt at peaceful existence into something far more complicated and infinitely more dangerous.
The paths were converging.
And when they met, nothing would be the same for anyone involved.