Shadows by Firelight (Patreon)

Darkness.

Humanity, as a species, has long feared what they can't understand, what they can't intellectually grasp with one hand and dissect with the other.  Darkness, I suppose, can be considered the ultimate embodiment of that fear.  What would appear as an easily disregarded phenomenon caused by the play of light against solid objects is, at first glance, just that: an easily disregarded phenomenon.  Still, I have to wonder how many have been driven mad by the Darkness?  I have to wonder how many primitive peoples stared out into deep caves, inky nights, and even the lowly shadows cast along the ground and let their imaginations run away with them.

Staring into the unknown.

Into the unknowable.

…

I'm sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself.

It's just...how do you start a story like this?  How can I explain things so you don't take me for a nutcase, or worse, a gullible fool?

I guess...I should begin at the beginning.

With my death.

We are born, we grow, we die: this is the natural order of things.  Does that make me unnatural, I wonder?  I was born, I grew, I died, and then...I was born, again.  Do not misunderstand me, I'm not speaking metaphorically or dispensing trite religious similes; I was stone, cold, dead...and then I was brought into the world, kicking and screaming.

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As you can imagine, the experience was...jarring, to put it mildly.

I don't really like the word 'reincarnation,' it smacks too much of some 'higher power.'  The thought that someone...something, 'chose' me for this...well, it's a little disconcerting.  I wouldn't begrudge the existence of a god or godlike being, but the idea that I've done something to retain the personal attention of something like that...

At any rate, it took me a considerable amount of time to come to terms with what had happened to me, not the least of reasons behind that was because, after about a week, I realized I was blind.

Blind.

I was perpetually cold, unable to fend for myself, only somewhat familiar with the language being spoken around me, and constantly exposed to the strange, odd achesomewhere in my body that I couldn't really name beyond the trite and cliché judgment that it felt like my soul hurt.

The people who held me, though, I came to recognize their voicesquickly, even if I had no idea what the words they spoke meant.

And...the level of comfort that brought startled me.

Putting it bluntly, I'd never been a 'touchy' person.  I'd always disliked being touched, to the point where human-to-human contact, after I'd passed high school, was something I almost couldn't stomach.  But...I'd never been reduced to this level of vulnerability before and it was immensely strange to find that I was enjoying the caresses, the firm, but careful grip, and the soft words were probably the only thing that kept me sane at the time.

Because it hurt.

For those of you who've never broken an arm, a leg, or had another semi-serious bodily injury, it is hard to describe the level of pain involved in the experience.  In this instance, try to imagine a pervasive rash covering the inside of your skin, burning and itching maddeningly to the point where rational thought is nearly impossible.

My impressions of this period in my life are vague, uncomfortable, and generally something I try not to recall.

Though my grasp on time was somewhat unreliable, I knew that this pain was steadily getting worse, which was barely ever an indicator of good things to come.  While it worsened, I noticed that the people who held me...my 'parents,' had taken to crying.  Even as I was aware of my own infantile tears of pain and helplessness, I could understand the tones of the soft words they were using, if not the content.

They were saying 'it will be okay, it will be alright, go to sleep and everything will be okay.'

And they were lying, both to me and themselves.

...let me be clear on this:

It is one thing to understand that you have died, to be cognizant of that fact.

It is another thing entirely to understand that you are dying.

I think it was a slow thing, this understanding; a blooming thought deep in the back of my mind, somewhere south of instinct, that whispered something was wrongwith me.  With my body, with my mind, with my soul...there was something that hadn't 'clicked' when I'd made the transition from one life to another.  And it terrified me.

Honestly, I'd never been so utterly scared of something in my life.

Abstractly, I can say I'm not scared of death, but dying...

The actual process of dying, the obliteration of the self, was so utterly painful that I would have done anything to stop it.  It was a good thing, actually, that I was so weak in those first few months, to do anything.  It forced me to still my mind and go over what I knew, to let the panic of my upcoming demise pass me by.  If I had been capable of action...

I'd probably have killed myself.

To end that venomous, burning pain...I was that desperate.

It was that same desperation that would save my life, eventually.  My parents knew well enough that something was wrong with me and had taken me to what I would later understand was the equivalent of a medical professional in this world.

I felt an unfamiliar, large hand being pressed to my stomach and...the sensation of fire being extinguished washed over me.  It was not merely a 'balm' to my pain, it was as if the pain never was.  After so long of having the looming specter of agony standing over me, relief was almost euphoric.

A moment of relaxation was all I afforded myself, though, as the 'relief' began to direct itself along the path of the hand placed on me.  The wash of cooling sensations continued, trailing an almost electric 'tingle' on and beneath my skin.

And with the absence of the pain, I was also able to focus for the first time since my 'birth.'

Chakra...how to explain it?

Chakra is...life.  Chakra is the essence of the state we call 'living.'  It is motion, it is stillness, it is beautiful and terrible and a thousand other things that can't be seen or heard or smelled or tasted, but...

You can feel it.

Not with your fingers, or your feet, or your skin, but 'feel' is the best word I know to use.

The first time I actually understood what I was seeing, it was awe inspiring to the point of leaving me gaping.  From time to time, I still have to remind myself that my comrades don't understand the majesty of the gift they've been given...don't understand what it's like to be merely mortal.

Even, and especially, Rock Lee...

Even Naruto himself...

They know what failure is...they don't know what utter powerlessness is.

To behold the concept of the power itself, the sheer possibility of life, that is what chakra is, because these people are gods, and very few of them understand that.  I understood it almost at once, 'seeing' the towering form of-

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-a shinobi standing over me.  They had chakra, and it had made them strong almost beyond belief.  I had chakra as well, but it was killing me.  It was killing me slowly, painfully, and terribly.

I hadn't been born with a merely 'defective' chakra system, like Rock Lee.

I hadn't been born as a 'sensor' like others, who felt chakra more innately.

I'd been born with a condition known as 'Stage 3 Chakra Hypersensitivity.'

Sparing you the technical medical jargon, I'll say that I was essentially suffering from an immuno-reaction to my own chakra.  My own body was 'allergic' to the metaphysical energy flowing through my 'veins.'  The pain I'd been feeling was the irritation building from the contact between my chakra system and the muscle and pulmonary fibers which bordered it.  I learned later that what happens to cases like mine are a slow buildup of pain until the mind literally shuts down after a certain threshold is reached, the body will slip into a coma, and then you will die.

You'll die from pain.

...I really wish House could have picked a different time to be right about something.

There was treatment for the condition, though it required a skilled medic-nin and the time and money to pay for such treatment.  I was absurdly lucky in that my family was part of a prominent clan and able to negotiate to extend my life expectentcy.

My first treatment was two months after my birth and caught me by surprise.

My second treatment was a week later, and I was ready.

This time, I turned the whole of my attention to the energy leaking into my body, saturating my system, and soothing the pain away.  Even as I felt the process begin, I clumsily 'pushed' against the outstretched energy, melding the chakra in my body with the cool touch of the medical chakra.

I think the medic almost dropped me in shock.

I began crying in response to the sudden halt.

...One day, I'll have to apologize for the hell I probably put my parents through.

Tentatively, the medical chakra stretched out again, seeping into my body.  This time I was more careful, more 'gentle.'  It was lucky I wasn't actually expelling any chakra, merely molding it inside my body, or I probably would have done serious damage to myself.  As it was, I think I shocked the medic nearly into catatonia and blew my hopes of ever pretending to be anything other than a prodigy.

But it was worth it.

It took nearly a year, but I managed to match the energy that was making the pain go away.

By that point, I had a name which I could consciously apply to it as well: Chakra.

…

What the show doesn't explain, and they probably wouldn't, if they could, is that the language spoken in the 'Naruto-verse' is not Japanese...or at least, not modern Japanese.  The fact that I'd studied a few languages in my past life meant I knew enough to tell the difference, thankfully, because using a twisted form of the contemporary language could probably have been written off as childish behavior, but was best to avoid altogether.

Given that I'd been 'reborn' in a world with odd abilities and had no way of knowing exactly what the 'energy' I felt was, meant that I was treading on eggshells.

It was about six months before I really registered a word that I'd heard before, but hadn't understood the implications of.  Besides, the word had other meanings and I couldn't really be blamed for not understanding it while I was working out the difficulties of crafting internal medical chakra.  Still, there wasn't any opportunity for misunderstanding when you head the phrase 'clan meeting' with the word 'Uchiha.'

I also understood, for the first time, that one of the sets of hands which held me were not those of my mother or father.

With the slow progress of my skill with molding chakra also came a sharp increase in my awareness of the odd, alien energy.  Before I was a year old I was able to distinguish 'mom' from 'dad' and both of them from my older brother.  I would later learn that he was about seven years old, just old enough to be able to hold and care for me somewhat reliably.  His voice was quieter than those of my parents, almost as if he was afraid of scaring me.  His was the third chakra signature which I would memorize and, to this day, I still have to brush aside the memories of those tender hands holding me in my early days.

With my slow grasp of the language came names.

Mom was Motoko.

Dad was Sosuke.

My brother was Shisui.

...If I had been born a normal child, I think that would have been as far as I got in getting to know them.  If I had been able to see...if I had been able to function without constant assistance...if I hadn't formed an emotional bond with them as my caretakers...

I don't think I would have bothered acknowledging them.

They, the Uchiha, were going to die.

My 'family' were going to die.

My life would have been so much easier if I didn't care.  There was a chance I could dodge Itachi and 'Madara's' slaughter of the clan, slip through the works as it were, without arousing too much suspicion.  Stopping the massacre was something I was in no way equipped, skilled enough, or smart enough to accomplish.  In conjunction, there was also the greater timeline to take into account; the death of the Uchiha clan was an important event in the course of this world's unwritten history.  More to the point, though, even if I managed to stop the massacre, I would sacrifice any foreknowledge to do so.

For a few months, I ignored the problem.

Honestly, I could do little else as I absorbed words and phrases spoken around me, building a blueprint of a foreign language and working to mimic the feeling to medical chakra.

Thankfully, I'm pretty sure my parents understood that I wasn't anything like a normal child.

I think they felt that I was just 'advanced' or 'more developed' than most children.  Then again, that was probably for the best, seeing as how the truth would have probably disturbed them.  My father took to talking to me in level, adult tones, lacking any of the teasing mockery of baby-talk, which I will probably never be able to thank him enough for.  My mother, on the other hand...

For all that my father was the bread-winner, mother was nothing like what an Uchiha should be.

Because she wasn't.

Mother was the third daughter of a noble of the Land of Fire and, although the marriage had started out a political one, I think she and my father cared for each other well enough.  Still, the noble upbringing showed through in so many ways, such that I have her to thank for encouraging Shisui's...individuality.

She was outspoken where Uchiha women stuck to the background.

She wasn't a ninja, an odd choice for the wife of a brother to the head of a ninja clan.

Although she could barely cook, she was skilled with a bow, knew how to ride a horse, and probably had a better understanding of a blade than any civilian noble woman should.

And...she loved me.

Even now, a part of me sees that admission as a betrayal of my other, prior family.

Another part of me sees it as something amazing; in a world where survival is of the fittest only, a child like me should have been discarded or allowed to die out of a twisted concept of 'mercy.'  The amount of love, dedication, and sheer stubbornness it took to disregard the opinions of everyone she knew to raise me?  To raise a child that would, by any realistic expectation, be a dependent invalid for the remainder of its natural life?

That is love.

My father, on the other hand, was a nebulous presence early in my life.

My mother was omnipresent.  She held me, spoke to me, read to me, and even used my infantile fingers to trace the intricate designs of hiragana, katakana, and kanji on the books she read aloud.