Return to homeland
Three days passed like simmering in a frying pan. Amidst a wave of panic and a numb resignation, Uchiha Aoi packed her simple belongings. She rejected the maids' suggestion of finery, taking only a few simple everyday clothes and a few hand-me-downs she couldn't part with, including the small, now smooth, and warm stone from Izuna's brother.
The morning of their departure was a gray sky, much like her current mood. Outside the mansion, a seemingly ordinary yet exceptionally sturdy carriage had been waiting for a long time. Beside it stood four elite ninja, dressed in Uchiha clan attire, with stern expressions and sharp eyes. They saluted the old lady and Aoi with apparent respect, but beneath their seemingly humble gestures, an unmistakable sense of surveillance and control was evident. This was no simple "reception"; it was clearly an escort.
Grandma personally escorted her to the gate. She didn't offer the earnest instructions typical of families bidding farewell to children on a long journey, nor did she even betray much reluctance. She simply gave Kui a deep, complex look, a gaze that seemed to want to remember her for the last time, yet also held an inexpressible resolve. Ultimately, all her emotions dissolved into a barely audible sigh that dissipated in the cold morning breeze. Then, she turned, and with the help of her maid, she returned to the mansion without a second thought. The heavy red door slowly closed behind her with a dull thud, as if completely separating Kui from her former, relatively peaceful life.
The carriage jolted northward, leaving the bustling capital. The closer they got to the Uchiha clan's territory, the more solemn and murderous the atmosphere grew. The sights along the way made Aoi's heart sink, horrified. Vast tracts of forest had been razed by powerful fire techniques or unknown ninjutsu, leaving only charred tree trunks and bare earth like hideous scars on the earth. Familiar supply bases lay in ruins, their shattered walls still bearing the marks of kunai and shuriken. Occasionally, in the grass by the roadside, one could see darkened bloodstains and the broken remains of ninja tools, uncleared. The air was filled with the air of desolation and death. Compared to the road she remembered, a road filled with the cries of grueling training but generally orderly and vibrant, the journey home now seemed to lead to a land of despair, repeatedly ravaged by war and scarred by it.
When the carriage she was riding in finally drove slowly into the familiar yet unfamiliar gate of the Uchiha clan under the highly vigilant guard of the four Uchiha ninjas, the scene before her made her feel extremely complicated and heavy, and she almost couldn't breathe.
Inside the clan territory, the streets were deserted, and everyone was in a hurry, their faces filled with worry, their eyes filled with fatigue, numbness, and a deep worry about the future. Not a smile could be seen. Many houses were conspicuously vacant, their windows broken, or their facades bearing visible signs of battle damage, barely patched up. The training grounds, once bustling with the sweaty figures of young men, now stood deserted. Only a few practiced, their movements heavy with fatigue, devoid of the former vigor and spirit. The entire Uchiha clan was shrouded in a gloomy, despairing shadow. The pride, confidence, and even the slightly paranoid spirit of the past seemed to have been completely worn away by years of relentless, hopeless war, leaving only the heavy breathing of the struggle for survival.
She received no welcome, nor did she immediately see her longed-for brother, Madara. Instead, the four ninjas took her directly to a relatively remote, but heavily guarded, courtyard in a remote corner of the clan's territory. The courtyard was small, its furnishings simple, even shabby, a stark contrast to her residence in the capital, and a sense of deliberate isolation was evident. Her daily care was taken care of by two silent, stern-faced middle-aged servants, their eyes distant and wary, who rarely engaged in any unnecessary communication with her.
This deliberate cold treatment, isolation and surveillance brought her anxiety and fear to a climax. She felt as if she was not a member of the tribe returning home, nor the sister of the noble clan leader, but a precious sacrifice secretly imprisoned, waiting to be offered on the altar.
Through the small, cold, barred window of her room, she gazed out at the familiar yet unfamiliar homeland, her heart filled with unspeakable sorrow and sadness. This was where she was born, bearing some of her earliest and warmest childhood memories: her mother's gentle embrace, her father's stern yet occasionally caring gaze, her brothers' playful laughter... But it was also here that she suffered her most painful and unforgettable loss: the blood of her mother and brothers once stained this land red.
Returning to her homeland, she found a completely different world, a vastly different world. Warm memories were shattered by the cold reality, leaving only a heavy, suffocating pressure and a sense of helplessness, trapped in a quagmire with nowhere to escape. She felt not like a wanderer returning home, but a rare bird forcibly captured by fate, about to be locked in a cage even more magnificent, yet even more cruel. All her struggles seemed futile in the face of this harsh reality. The decline and oppression of her tribe mirrored the bleakness and despair of her own fate.
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