Golden Crown of Sorrow, Bloody Sword to Swing

Chapter Four

A/N: cw for slight suicidal ideation

[Bloody Sword to Swing]

Shisui knelt before the kamidana to Tsukuyomi, rocks digging into his knees through the thin fabric of his pants. Bitter dread sat heavy in his stomach as he dug his nails into the dirt beneath him, a few tears mingling with the soil. He had never cried to a deity before and never expected to, but there was a first for everything.

I don't even ask for power, he implored the wooden panels of the kamidana, his eyes screwed shut, not daring to bear his sharingan before Tsukuyomi. I thank you for the power bestowed upon me–the power to alter reality–but I'm scared. I only ask for the courage needed to save my clan.

The admission of fear brought even more sourness to Shisui's stomach. Would Mikoto have been this terrified? Would Itachi? He alone had the power to fix the doomed trajectory of the Uchiha, but he could barely bring himself to do it. The fear had brought him to frankly frightful precipices where he had begun to question whether living his life was even worth it; would it have been easier to die by his own blade and escape the unbearable burden of managing his clan's fate? A quiet voice in the back of Shisui's mind assured him that it would be easier–easier and far, far less bloody. But the prospect of Mikoto and Itachi's future without him even trying to right the trajectory of the clan stayed his hand and he stepped off the edge of the metaphorical cliff and back to imploring the gods.

He continued his prayer. I will use Kotoamatsukami tomorrow. I humbly ask for your blessing in that endeavor. I am using your generous gift only for the goodness of the clan, that I swear on my life.

Shisui did not know what he expected in response, some sign perhap: a vision, a voice, a particularly sharp gust of wind, but he got nothing in return. Nothing but the quiet chirp of birds and of leaves rustling in the dense Uchiha forests. Rising slowly to his feet, he wiped the tears off of his cheeks and dusted the dirt from his knees. He knew that Itachi would be waiting for him back at home, likely sitting straight-backed on his couch, hands folded in his lap just as he had been taught to do. The prospect of seeing Itachi, of sitting beside him, eased some of the crushing fear that threatened to consume Shisui, but did not manage to banish all the dread.

He had begun to fear that the Uchiha were destined for downfall. If their position in Konoha had begun with Madara's defeat, perhaps the Uchiha were always meant to fall on Konoha's soil. Bitterly, Shisui wondered if it was the Uchiha gods themselves punishing the clan for their misinterpretation of what it meant to be an Uchiha. Perhaps Susanoo saw how Uchiha lusted after the power of the sharingan without considering where that power came from or its intended use. Perhaps all of the Uchiha's suffering, the pain that came from the sharingan, was a punishment for hubris accumulated over generations, for giving into The Curse of Hatred, though Uchiha seemed to die indiscriminately of whether they gave in to the call of their blood or not; his own ancestor, Kagami, was a clear example.

Regardless of whether the doom of the Uchiha was a punishment or not, Shisui knew that he had to do everything in his power to prevent it; he owed it to the younger generation of Uchiha. He owed it to Itachi who would do anything to make sure his little brother was safe. So he gathered himself, running a shaky hand through his hair, and began his walk back home. He did not take the trees as he typically would, choosing instead to amble down the forested path that led from the kamidana to the clan compound proper. Crows called to him from the bows of the trees, one landing gently on his shoulder and resting there until it grew restless and flew away. Shisui noted everywhere he had walked with Itachi: where the two had sat together after a training session, the exact tree under which Itachi had fallen asleep in his lap, and the patch of grass that never recovered from a particularly nasty katon.