The Windmill Turns Both Ways

Blood

Sasuke moved through the deceptively peaceful-looking forest, dappled light sliding over him as he walked under the leaves. He'd been traveling all night with only a vague idea of where he was going, but he strode forward with relentless determination.

His wanted to investigate the war and find the rest of Taka—not necessarily in that order. The war was a diversion. More than anything else, his new eyes wanted to see the destruction of Konoha.

Sasuke paused at the sound of rushing water nearby. The hideout he'd torched with Amaterasu was a safe distance behind him. Now was a good time to stop and decide on the next course of action.

The place was pleasant, but unremarkable. A small waterfall spilled into a clear, shallow pool with white gravel in the bottom of it. Sasuke barely had time to notice the place's natural beauty, though—he froze in his tracks at the sight of at least fifty people resting casually in the open space, sitting on the grass and the sandy boulders scattered around. His eyes widened and shifted almost immediately into the Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan.

There was something very off about this scene. The people were of varying ages, and their clothing was a mix of different styles from different time periods. But almost all of them wore the Uchiha crest.

Sasuke put his hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes darting from one face to another, as more and more looked toward him. Their faces were cracked; their eyes entirely black in most cases. The ones that weren't black-on-black were red-on-black—the Sharingan.

"Sasuke!"

A voice called out and a soft weight ran into him, wrapping him in an embrace. Sasuke's hand slipped off the hilt of the sword and fell to his side numbly. His heart was starting to pound furiously. Confusion, panic—was this real? Her hair pressed into his cheek, and he could swear that it smelled exactly the way it used to.

"Kaa-san?" Sasuke whispered with the very small amount of breath he had left.

He pulled himself from her grasp jerkily. Glancing behind her, he saw what he'd already half-expected to see—his father, standing there with arms crossed and his typical grim expression.

"Orochimaru brought us back," Mikoto said softly. "...You've gotten so tall."

Anger.

Anger—yes, that was something familiar, comfortable. Sasuke latched onto that burning flame the moment he felt it flicker within him. It kept everything else under control a little better.

"Why did he do this?" he demanded, looking around at all the Uchiha assembled. The others continued to watch silently, as if waiting to see what would unfold. Now that he understood what was happening, Sasuke was able to pick out a few other faces that he vaguely recognized. But most of them were unfamiliar.

Orochimaru had always wanted the Uchiha's power. Now he had it. Was this the plan all along? Why now?

"Apparently, there is a war he wants us to fight," Fugaku spoke up with distaste. "We were not told why we had to come here and sit around. We have very limited control over our own actions."

Sasuke stared at his father. The Uchiha clan head was composed, and already seemed to be in charge—as much as was possible under the circumstances. It was so like him to stand in front of the son he hadn't seen in eight years and simply report the situation.

But that—that was easier to handle. It made Sasuke feel less like screaming and crying. He still had a hard time looking at his mother directly, like she was a scorching bright light. If he lost his composure now, he didn't think he could get it back.