Link : https://forums.spacebattles. com/threads/kaleidoscope-naruto-si-complete.497083/
WC : 136k+
Plot : Fear can make you do stupid things. When you're two years behind Itachi, that's a luxury you can't afford.
Chapter 1
April 19
I was born into my second life utterly confused and disoriented. The first and only constant in my earliest days was mother, who held me even though I cried far too much for a normal baby, and whispered softly to me every night as I struggled to make sense of all the conflicting thoughts and memories, her long hair falling down around me in a protective cocoon as I bawled, gleaming light turning the black to indigo.
"It's okay sweetie, it's okay, mama's here, it's okay Hiroki."
And so it was that Uchiha Hiroki came to be.
. . .
I often wondered as I grew older if my mother might not have been blessed with the gift of prophecy, for my name was spelled in a somewhat unusual manner.
Searching Light.
It was peculiarly fitting, for I never stopped moving once I had achieved some semblance of order in my thoughts. There was so little time, and so much to see and do.
I was an Uchiha, and thus I was cursed. Born of the line of Otsutsuki Indra, and blessed with both his eyes and his legacy of madness.
This was not necessarily the most terrible thing that could happen to one dropped into the Elemental Countries, certainly there were worse fates. I would be a strong ninja, at the very least, which was a great boon to one's chances of survival on this planet.
My earliest years were fairly sheltered and I was rarely allowed to leave the house, but our backyard was beautifully maintained by my mother, who filled it with lovely white and purple orchids. Our house was not very large, but the smaller size made it cozy and it was nicely shaded by the Hashirama trees whose broad green leaves cast dappled shadows over my infant flailings in the strong summer sun, and in the fall turned orange and helped the oncoming dusk change the windows to warm fire.
Oh the trees, the glorious trees, towering against the sky, a bulwark against any threat. Not for naught were we called the Village Hidden in the Leaves, for the grand pillars of the Shodaime's bloodline were omnipresent amongst the buildings, and to a child the shade of the canopy was better than any security blanket.
There would be time later to train, time to grow. I would not slack, of course, because War might yet be looming, I could not know for sure when I was yet.
But for a time, I was content.
. . .
How foolish youth.
. . .
When I was three the Kyuubi broke free from its Seal and decimated Konoha.
Our pleasant little house was destroyed, along with much of the Uchiha quarter as my mother and I huddled in the fallout shelters under the Hokage monument, crouched in terrified silence with the rest of the civilians as titanic waves of malevolent energy reshaped the landscape.
When the dust settled we moved to a new house, in a new walled off part of the village, and there were no more cool summers and shady autumns in the lee of great trees, and there never would be again.
Dreams plagued everyone, the malefic echoes of the Bijuu given form in the sleeping mind, but mine were not of the Fox.
The trees rush past in the dim moonlight, shapes given definition by the shadows which the anemic silver luminance does not relieve so much as highlight. The inky blue of the hollows in their roots exert a sucking pressure and lend the grass between the wavering spaces the sickening green hue of an old bruise viewed through tear blurred eyes.
Feet pound in unsteady rhythm, a drumbeat of frantic flight warped to torpor slowness by the clutching shades of indistinct figures hiding behind the towering wooden columns. The ground turns under foot, traitor earth rushing up to blind, fall brought short at the last moment by shaking arms.
Sandaled feet appear ahead, soundless across the cold and barren clearing, flecks of ice spreading to leech color from the surroundings and leave them a tired clinical grey. A sudden flip and a cloaked figure looms, visage bleeding from black inscrutability into Itachi, face lined and pale and devoid of pity as his eyes expand and swirl, red on black consuming the moon to glower down on frozen limbs with baleful crimson disdain as it peeks through incongruously bright leaves. Steel flashes once more and the view topples in accompaniment to shooting pain-
I wake to clutch at the neck so recently severed with a silent scream on my lips.
. . .