"Our lives and our decisions, like the paths of quanta, are realized every moment. At every intersection, any encounter offers new potential directions."
© Cloud Atlas
A jolt shook her body. Her spine ached from the impact, and her bruised elbow throbbed.
"Damn it!" Sarada exhaled and jerked to her feet.
It was night outside. Cold air enveloped her bare arms. She had to unwind the thread of memory manually again. Dust and books, the rattling alarm clock, the stone baba with a sly smile, father... The shishi-odoshi tube clacked loudly, and Sarada flinched in surprise.
"Coward," she thought irritably, and her father's words came alive in her memories: "You are the future of the Leaf. You are the future of the Uchiha. You can't afford to be weak."
Sarada sighed. So much responsibility, for which she was utterly unprepared. Yes, watching the Seventh, she had long decided to become Hokage and knew it wouldn't be easy. But when mom died, and father tries to teach you to swim by throwing you into the middle of a deep river; when you don't understand if you're dreaming or in genjutsu or if all this is really happening to you—it's ten times harder to confidently follow your dream.
The wind brought a strange musty smell. The night rustles fell silent. A full moon crawled out from behind a cloud in a halo of cold diffused light.
What is this place?
A splash sounded—fish slapping its tail against the water in a pond nearby. Beyond the pond rose a two-story house with an open veranda. Darkness froze in the windows. Either everyone was already asleep, or the house was empty.
A baby cried. Sarada still hadn't fully recovered after using Sharingan: she didn't sense any foreign presence. Under the veranda's overhang, a small figure stirred, and a tender child's voice said:
"Shh-shh."
The infant's wails didn't lessen in the slightest.
"Don't cry, everything's okay," the voice continued to soothe and suddenly asked: "Who are you?"
Sarada froze. The voice was unlikely addressing the baby. She held her breath: maybe the older child would think it was his imagination and still not notice her?
"I see you," the voice said calmly, without a hint of threat or triumph, and added curiously: "How did you end up in the garden?"
Calm down. It's just a kid.
Her eyes adjusted a bit to the moonlight, and Sarada made out a little boy on the veranda. He sat on the floor, bare feet dangling over the stone threshold, hugging a whimpering light bundle. The child distracted himself from watching her and whispered again:
"Shh, shh."
Now!
Sarada darted deeper into the garden, vaulted the fence, and found herself on the street. A wide road, walled on both sides, sloped gently downward. On each fence segment in the moonlight gleamed a familiar crest—the red-and-white fan. Konoha had no such street, or she would definitely know about it.
Am I really in the past?
The crests dimmed. A cloud obscured the moon. Sarada continued standing in the middle of the road. Waves of shivers engulfed her body. Her knees and hands trembled finely, palms sweated. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, so loudly that the child left on the veranda in the garden could probably hear it.
I'm in the past. This is the past.
She had entered the Uchiha District. Absolutely impossible. Unthinkable. Simply couldn't be. Agreeing to the deal with the deity named Donna, Sarada hadn't actually believed a word from the girl in the dark blue cardigan. A part of her essence, desperately drawn to mom, believed. But the ghostly hope of saving mother from death and father from the pain of loss dissolved in the ocean of healthy skepticism inherent to Sarada from birth.
She tried to dispel the illusory genjutsu, halting her chakra flow.
"Kai!"
Nothing changed.
A new wave of shivers rose. On unsteady legs, Sarada approached the wall, leaned her back against it, and slid down onto the pavement. She probed her trembling knees with her hands and squeezed them tighter.
Come on, stop shaking. Enough!
The moon emerged from behind the cloud and illuminated the Uchiha crests again.
The trembling didn't stop. With every cold gust of wind, rustle of leaves, Sarada convinced herself of the reality of the world around her.
I'm going insane.
Now she feverishly tried to recall everything Donna had told her.
Worlds divide. Every choice gets realized. The moment she arrives in the past, division happens, and a new world clone moves its own path. She's in the past. The process is launched. Now everything will be different from before.
"Gods, what am I doing," Sarada thought in horror. "I'll touch something, and the future will change. What if someone dies? Or mom and dad don't get married. There won't be me. Or..."
A terrible roar sounded. Now not only her knees shook, but the wall and pavement too. An inhuman bellow shook the air over the Hidden Leaf Village. Like metal scraping glass, amplified a hundredfold, it deafened, chilled to the bone.
A strike, vibrating through the ground. Another strike. Everything shook as if an earthquake had begun. But Konoha never had earthquakes!
A wooden gate flew open, and the boy Sarada had seen on the veranda rushed onto the road. He clutched the bundled infant to his chest and looked around. The boy was surely from the Uchiha Clan too, otherwise why live on the clan street? He didn't know yet that he had no future. Neither he nor this wailing bundle he held. Their names would become entries in a library volume on the Uchiha Clan. Entries crossed out with a red X.
"Why did you come here," Sarada scolded herself. "To fix everything. You have to save these children. And not just these. Save the Uchiha."
But instead of saving the Uchiha, Sarada continued sitting on the pavement, unable to stop her knees from shaking and get to her feet.
A glow appeared over the trees. A fire had started somewhere. A siren wailed.
The roar didn't cease. The ground hummed, strike after strike, and the sounds of destruction gradually approached.
"Come on!" a childish voice rang out clearly.
The boy stood and stared straight at her. Sarada didn't move.
Me?
"Come on! Get up."
The child grabbed her hand and pulled, trying to help her stand. His little fingers dug painfully into her skin, but he was still too weak to budge her twelve-year-old self. A very young boy, about four years old, maybe five, but no more.
"You were going to save this kid. And in the end, he's saving you," the inner voice announced mercilessly. "Way to go, future of the Uchiha Clan!"
Anger at herself broke through the panic. Sarada pushed off the pavement with her free hand and stood. The boy nearly fell from inertia but held onto her and kept his balance.
New encounter—new directions. Any trifle could change everything. This child had already spent several minutes persuading an unfamiliar girl to get up. Now he'd run those roads a few minutes later than planned. Or choose different ones altogether. Those few minutes would be his salvation or death sentence? But there was no time to think.
The kid confidently pulled Sarada along, supporting the infant bundle with one hand. They burst onto a bustling street. Frightened people poured from houses and stared in fear at the glow over the neighboring Konoha district. Over distant rooftops, like orange snakes, giant tails unfurled, and another scraping roar rolled over the village, rupturing eardrums.
"K-Kyuubi..." a nearby man exhaled, choking on fear.
His face paled with horror.
"Kyuubi?" Sarada thought. "Bijuu? But he's sealed in Nanadaime!"
The next thought brought her back to reality: "No. Not sealed. No Nanadaime. Snap out of it, Sarada! You're in the past. The Seventh's birthday is..."
The day of the Kyuubi tragedy!
Sarada had never been interested in Boruto's father's personal life, much less known his birthday. Only once, the day after mourning the Nine-Tails victims, Boruto came sullen—not because he was commemorating the dead, but because Hinata-san had prepared a birthday dinner for the Seventh, who stayed overnight at the Residence. An insignificant detail that stuck in her memory by chance.
Nanadaime was born on the day the Nine-Tails attacked Konoha. And until this very moment, Sarada hadn't drawn parallels between his birthday and the Kyuubi attack. What was Donna thinking, sending her to October 10th, the year of the catastrophe? Or... Or was she planning it from the start?
Damn you, deity. Favorite day in Earth history, you say?
An explosion boomed. Something hit the nearest building, and a three-story house collapsed right onto the road. Deafening roar mixed with hysterical screams of people. Sarada and the boy dropped to the ground, covering their heads with hands. The collapse mercifully missed them.
"No way through here now!" someone exclaimed from behind.
Footsteps sounded. Half-crushed survivors moaned under the rubble.
"Run," the boy said curtly.
They headed back to bypass the collapse on the next street.
"Announcement from the Leaf Military Police," a voice boomed through static. "All residents shelter in the southeast bunker! Repeating, all residents..."
And again the Kyuubi's roar drowned out the loudspeakers and the wounded's moans.
In a gap between houses, the Fox's colossal figure suddenly appeared. How enormous he was! Long ears with black stripes from the eyes twitched every time he opened his maw. Here and there on the bijuu's fur flashed explosions and tiny dots—shinobi. The Nine-Tails swatted at attacks like flies and smashed nearby houses with paws. It was terrifying: feeling like an insect in an anthill ravaged by a creature from another world, where everything was many times larger. And nowhere to hide. Houses crumbled, burying peaceful residents; the Nine-Tails could reach another Konoha district in a few leaps, right next to them.
Sarada couldn't tear her gaze from him. This monster's power belonged to the Seventh Hokage in the future, and only now, watching the enraged Kyuubi, did Sarada first understand how incredible Nanadaime was. Rumors of the bijuu inside the Hokage, the golden-orange chakra enveloping him in battle—all mysterious and beautiful. But to carry this demon inside, control its power... If she hadn't seen the Seventh do it, she'd never believe it possible!
She stumbled but stayed on her feet. The Nine-Tails' muzzle vanished behind houses. It was so strange to watch the village destroyed by the power that became its symbol and shield in the future.
Roaring approached from afar. Over rooftops appeared the Kyuubi's long ears. He leaped here from a distant district in seconds and emitted another scraping cry like a prehistoric bird.
At the intersection, three shinobi stopped them.
"Halt. You can't go further right now."
Unclear where the Fox would head. For now, he blocked the path to the shelter. He wasn't smashing everything indiscriminately anymore. Seemed he spotted something on the Hokage Monument and focused there.
First Hokage, Second, Third, Fourth. No more faces.
The past... the past...
The Kyuubi opened his maw, and a purple energy orb formed before his face.
"What is he doing?!" Sarada exclaimed.
The five-year-old before her intently watched the Fox's actions. The Kyuubi fired the orb at the Hokage Monument. A powerful wind gust hit her face. People around fell. Sarada concentrated chakra in her feet, shielded her eyes with her elbow, and stayed upright. The air blast faded, and she lowered her arm. The boy stood firm too.
She was amazed.
Who is this child?
The kid had genin-level skills, yet looked like a toddler. If so, what would he be like at her age? Burning shame flooded Sarada.
A giant seal appeared before the Hokage Monument. The purple orb sank smoothly into it like an invisible vertical swamp and vanished. Seconds later, a blinding blue light dome rose far beyond the Hokage Rock. The ground hummed underfoot.
Bomb... How did it get outside the village?
For a moment, Sarada imagined the explosion here. The Hidden Leaf Village would be gone.
"Teleportation Barrier..." muttered the plump shinobi, resembling Chocho in his ball-like figure.
"Minato..." his comrade chimed in.
Namikaze Minato. Yellow Flash of the Leaf. Father of Nanadaime!
Sarada feverishly recalled academy history lessons: "Feat of the Fourth Hokage," "Hero who sealed the Kyuubi."
So... So Minato-san won't survive this night.
"Everything is in your hands, Sarada," the deity's voice echoed in her head.
But Sarada knew she could do nothing to save Yondaime. To fight the Kyuubi required Hokage-level power, while she had just graduated the academy. Even this boy with the infant looked more resolute now. He was saving her. It should be the other way around.
The Nine-Tails rampaged again. Stones and board debris flew toward their street. The plump shinobi deflected them with a spinning staff and shouted:
"No passage here, go around!"
"Come on," the kid commanded confidently.
Labyrinths of streets filled with siren wails. The loudspeaker crackled. The bijuu roared furiously. Her heart pounded like a rabbit's. Sarada felt like she'd fallen into hell. Amid destruction and death, she felt helpless. She was always protected—Nanadaime, dad, mom. But now, no one was beside her except a five-year-old child. No one to rely on. She had to decide everything herself.
The Kyuubi shifted and blocked their path again. They stopped. The boy stared desperately at the giant orange beast and didn't move.
Several minutes. If he hadn't spent them on me—maybe he'd have run past the first building collapse and reached the shelter... Or gotten buried and died.
Tears blurred Sarada's vision.
"Here!" the child shouted and tossed the infant into her arms.
She barely caught the bundle.
"What... what are you..."
The boy leaped. Sarada turned and saw in horror a huge concrete slab flying straight at them.
"That's it," flashed in her head.
She wouldn't make it. Nothing!
But a small figure appeared in the deathly chunk's path. Blue chakra glow enveloped the boy's hand, and he punched the concrete. It screeched and shattered into small pieces. A hail of stones rained on Sarada. She spun, shielding the roaring baby.
The boy landed on the pavement, shook his right wrist: bruised or strained deflecting the flying mass. He dashed to Sarada and deftly took the child back. The infant wailed. No wonder—he'd been tossed to an unfamiliar girl.
"Shh, shh, Sasuke," the boy cooed. "Don't cry."
Sarada stared blankly at the Uchiha kids.
Her mouth went dry.
Sasuke.
The fragile bundle she'd just pressed to her chest—Uchiha Sasuke. Then this child, his brother, this is...
"Uncle?!" Sarada blurted.
The boy looked away from his brother and stared at her strangely. Probably thought she'd gone mad.
"He moved," the kid said. "We can go."
He ran down the street, short legs pumping.
"Uncle..." Sarada whispered, watching him go.
She shook her head and chased after him.
If before they moved through streets Kyuubi's destructive hatred barely touched, now ruins surrounded them. Corpses. Bodies crushed by stones. A shinobi writhed by a house with a severed arm, moaning in agony, clutching the bleeding stump. A child in hysteria tugged a finger protruding from rubble, squealing: "Mommy!" Mom was surely dead. Sarada involuntarily recalled mom, and feverish shivers gripped her body again. A passing chunin scooped up the kid and carried him away. The child resisted and screamed for mom, but the shinobi moved fast, and the boy's cries soon dissipated in the village's chaotic roar.
"Haku!" a woman called, choking on sobs.
Clutching her limp broken arm to her body, she crawled through house ruins, trying to shift unmovable debris to reach her loved one buried underneath. Probably dead too.
"Do you hear me? Haku!" her voice broke into a screech.
Sarada mechanically followed uncle, but her knees shook and buckled. Chakra surged to her eyes on its own.
Sharingan.
"Go away. You're not needed now. Go away," Sarada repeated.
Her eyes disobeyed. They seemed to say: "We know better, Uchiha. You're suffering. Danger threatens. Take our power, use it, save yourself."
Uncle stopped and peered into an alley whence came thin crying. A little girl, about five, wandered by the wall.
"Come with me," he extended his hand confidently.
"Itachi-kun..."
The girl wiped tears with her fist.
The Kyuubi roared. Another strike boomed. Activated Sharingan discerned something huge approaching. With monstrous force, a bijuu-pawed tree demolished the second floor of a flimsy house. Little uncle yanked the girl toward him, and splinters and dust buried them.
The world spun; Sarada dropped to her knees powerlessly to avoid falling. Chills wracked her. She tried to stand but failed; her weakened body slumped toward the road again.
"You coming?" uncle asked worriedly.
His eyes widened in surprise: he noticed the Sharingan.
"No. Run without me," Sarada exhaled, trying to rise again.
No use. Body unresponsive.
"Run! I'll manage."
Little uncle hesitated briefly.
"Come on," he told the girl.
She clutched his sweater and ran after, not lagging a step.
"...Leaf Police..." the loudspeaker broke through the catastrophe's din, "...immediately... southeast shelter..."
Sarada, disoriented, braced hands on the pavement. In the red world danced foreign chakra sources. Some moved fast, others stayed and faded before her eyes.
Go away. Go away! How to turn you off, shannaro!
Chakra was nearly depleted anyway. On missions with Konohamaru-sensei, in the Land of Water, any sparring—Sarada controlled dojutsu effortlessly. It awakened when needed, faded when not. But since her last meeting with father, Sharingan lived its own life. Sarada's emotions were so intense her soul's pain overrode all signals, activating dojutsu on its own.
Uncle ran off, and Sarada was sure he'd protect Sasuke and the lost girl better than she could. Uchiha Itachi. That name lived long after its bearer's death. No surprise: even now, the boy acted like a true shinobi. In the critical moment when Sarada lost her mind from fear, corpses, bloodied half-dead bodies, he coolly calculated routes, noted tiniest details, acted to protect himself and little Sasuke.
Sarada resented father for his harshness. She agreed to the deity deal hoping dad would soften if she changed his past. But now she understood: in this state, she'd change nothing. She was nobody. To survive this world, this cruel past, she'd have to learn what dad demanded back at the cemetery. Her past life seemed a dream. Light, weightless, calm, happy. Now awake, reality was far more intense and harsh than imagined.
Sharingan kept devouring her chakra. Sarada felt if it continued, she'd lose consciousness soon.
Exhale. Calm down. Clear your head of all this...
But instead of clearing "all this" from her head, Sarada recalled "all this" in detail again: mangled people, corpses, screaming child...
Enough! Don't think about it. Think of something good. Light. Warm. Safe.
Nanadaime...
Before her eyes appeared the Seventh's blond mug. He gazed resolutely afar, then suddenly smiled squinting, boyishly.
Cold tears carved paths down her cheeks, neck, into her dress collar onto her chest. That invincible bright image was far in the future. Here, he wasn't. Here, she was alone.
No. Not alone anymore.
Today was October 10th. Seventh Hokage's birthday. He wasn't far in the future; Uzumaki Naruto was here, just born.
Sarada pried open wet eyes. The world was no longer red. Peace and emptiness settled in her soul. Either all pain flowed out with tears, or Kyuubi finally quieted and destruction's roar faded, signaling the catastrophe passed.
Her head spun. Sarada sighed and lay on the pavement.
By some miracle, she'd survived.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan