The sun rose.

Through the village, a soft breeze circled. It was temperate, a comforting blend of gentleness and warmth. The earth was cool and stable.

The horizon lightened, a band of colors varying from the richest purple to the palest white. Soft clouds floated, reflecting the sun's yellow rays. Yellow and blue and white. Yellow and blue and white mingling with the plumes of smoke rising from the village.

Heavy feet shuffled numbly. Heavy breaths filled the air. Heavy eyes stared to the heavens or the still ground. Surprising in a village of such size, very few spoke. Those who did quickly hushed. No one wanted to shatter the stillness that had settled over them, that wretched cloying stillness. But it was preferable to the surging ground. It was preferable to the raging fires. It was preferable to that demonic scream.

Over it all, the sun rose.

oOo

It is a murmur, tiny ripples of water growing, multiplying, thriving. Mere whispers carried on that soothing wind. Words to destroy.

Again and again and again and again.

The same reactions.

Again and again and again and again.

Here is a man, collapsed, hand held to his face to hide his tears.

Here is a woman, dry-eyed and pale, still trying to understand.

Here is a child, whimpering, seeking parents he no longer has.

Again and again and again and again.

Here is a genin, haunted by the images of her teammates swallowed by the surging earth, trying to believe in her hero.

Here is a chuunin, trying to find anyone alive trapped in the rubble, unable to stop even for the bitter news.

Here is a jounin, a promising career ripped from him along with his right arm and leg, wishing the same had occurred to him.

Again and again and again and again.

Words. Just words. Two or three words. No more. Words with the ability to destroy what little hope they have. Whispers again and again and again and again because they cannot be voiced louder.

And the sun continues rising.

oOo

It was midday and everyone was outside. Everyone searched for a familiar face. Everyone strained for a familiar voice. Everyone struggled with the weight of one less, he's gone, no one is unscathed.

No one is unscathed.

No one is unscathed.

No one.

oOo

It was late in the afternoon and everyone knew. Everyone had known for hours. Those words had raced from one edge of the village to the other, through voice, through tears, through murmurs, through screams, through violence.

The sun had risen, mocking in its glory. Their sun was gone. Their sun was extinguished. Their sun

Yondaime fell.

Yondaime is dead.

Yondaime sacrificed himself.

Yondaime!

had fallen.

oOo

It was evening and two men sat in the shadowed Hokage's office. One, holding a bundle in his lap, had left the office once with the belief he would not return. The other, with nothing to hold onto, had left the office the morning before, taunting the man that used to sit behind the polished desk.

Neither man sat in that chair. It was his and it was stupid because he was gone, but it was his.

The younger had screamed that to the older earlier that day. The older had accepted the fury wordlessly.

"Jiraiya…"

The younger man choked on a sob.

The older continued, "Jiraiya, he left everything to his son, but someone needs to manage the estate until the boy comes of age. As you're—"

"You can do it, Sarutobi-sensei," mumbled Jiraiya. "Knowing me, I'll spend it all on stupid things."

Sarutobi sighed. "There's also the matter of who will care for his son. You're his godfather, Jiraiya. Minato entru—"

"Don't say his name!"

Sarutobi closed his eyes momentarily. The bundle in his hands started, fussed. "You're the child's godfather, Jiraiya. His father entrusted you with him."

Before Jiraiya could yell again, Sarutobi stood and set the newborn infant in the other man's hands.

Jiraiya looked stricken, grasping the child as one would a wild animal that can turn around and bite him at any moment.

The baby yawned revealing toothless pink gums. A tiny hand opened, fingers splayed—rays of a dawning sun—before curling into the soft palm. The hand tucked itself against the small chest, bright blue eyes peering curiously at the man holding him.

Curious, bright blue eyes.

Blueblueblueblueblueblue.

Jiraiya, pushing Naruto to Sarutobi, rasped, "When I look at him all I see is Minato and I can't. I can't…"

oOo

The whispers adopt a different tone.

Darker. Twisting. Sharper.

Kyuubi is still alive.

The fox is still among them. The demon who destroyed their homes, killed their family and friends, made their leader sacrifice himself.

Kyuubi is still alive.

Kyuubi, the fox. Kyuubi, the demon. Kyuubi, that wretched creature.

Kyuubi is still alive.

Not dead like they had believed. Sealed. Sealed inside a baby.

Kyuubi is still alive.

And the whispers continue.

oOo

It was just shy of midnight. A boy and a girl had climbed to the top of the fourth stone head carved into the mountain wall.

The girl sat on the rough stone, uncaring of the abrasive surface. Her face was hidden against her knees. Her thin shoulders shook with the force of her sobs.

The boy stood next her, back half-turned to her. One hand lingered over the tilted hitai-ite. The eye hidden underneath was throbbing, a clear salty trail flowing freely to be absorbed by the navy cloth covering it.

Even Obito is crying.

The girl wiped her cheeks, the purple marks on her skin catching the moon's soft light. Her lashes were wet and shining.

The boy knelt by her side. His hand briefly touched her shoulder. She understood and leaned against him, hiding her face in his shirt. Both were still wearing the clothes they had the night before, the clothes that saw the waves of earth and felt the burn of unearthly flames and had warm hands hold onto them for support before those hands fell away.

oOo

It was the dead hours of the night and a body was kept under careful vigil. The ANBU standing outside the doors were honored to be there, watching over their Hokage for the last time.

One looked at the body and was surprised at how peaceful he appeared. For the briefest moment, he hoped the Hokage was merely asleep.

The seconds ticked down, transforming into minutes and those transfiguring into hours.

The Hokage remained in the position he had been set, hands on his chest, body straight and still dressed in his famous robes, his hitai-ite still wrapped around his forehead.

oOo

The sun rose, warm, bright, living. There were few clouds and those were iridescently white. Birds twittered as they looped through the currents. The breeze was gentle enough to be painful.

The casket was ornate and fit for a king. Konoha's leaf, gilded, was engraved on the surface.

Everyone had turned out, man, woman and child, to witness the burial of their leader.

Sarutobi was to lead the ceremony. But he was searching with increasing desperation for Naruto.

Lingering apart from the moving crowd, he saw his student's distinctive white mane.

"Jiraiya!" Jiraiya glanced around, his face lost and confused. Sarutobi laid a hand on his shoulder. "Jiraiya, I need your help."

"What happened?" Sarutobi's tone had managed to pierce through the fog surrounding Jiraiya.

"Naruto's gone. I can't stop this now and I can't announce his disappearance." Sarutobi clutched Jiraiya's shoulder. His student looked so much older. "Please."

Jiraiya traced Naruto's kidnappers to an old, abandoned playground. He recognized it; it was the playground that had been open when Minato had been a child. He knew who had Naruto without needing to see.

He summoned a toad and sent him to contact Sarutobi. He walked inside, lingering within a copse of trees.

In the remains of the old playground, two children sat quietly. Kakashi stood protectively in front of his teammate, staring where Jiraiya was hidden. Rin sat on the only swing that remained intact, a white-knuckled grip on the blankets swaddled around Naruto. A calla lily was tucked into her pocket.

The silence was broken only by the infant's whimpers and Rin's soothing.

"Ssh, ssh. It's okay, Naruto-chan. You're okay. We're here. Don't worry." Following her ministrations, the child hushed. She rocked him gently, keeping him close to her chest.

At the child's cries, Kakashi's stance had grown fully aggressive, knees slightly bent, his hand twitching open and shut near his weapon holster. The other hand had pulled his hitai-ite away from his eye, the Sharingan spinning lazily in warning.

Jiraiya pulled himself free of the shadows of the trees.

"You are supposed to be at the funeral," he said without inflection. "And that boy should be with Sandaime."

"Those people are only mourning their Hokage," Kakashi snapped. Jiraiya had never heard such a tone from him before. "They're not mourning Minato-sensei. They didn't know him."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" Jiraiya felt the first stirrings of emotion since he first heard of his apprentice's death. There was something of his idiotic student in this gray-haired boy.

"They despise Naruto," Rin said softly. "If they knew Minato-sensei, if they cared for him, they would not be saying such things." One sandaled foot pushed against the sand under the swings, rocking herself and the baby.

Jiraiya couldn't find what to tell her. That Naruto would be shunned, probably for the rest of his life? That the villagers were hurt and afraid and the reason for their suffering happened to be sealed in a defenseless body? That very few would ever know the truth behind Naruto's parentage if Sarutobi's fears came to pass?

They remained silent. Kakashi had relaxed his pose somewhat, but his eyes—both of them—followed every one of Jiraiya's movements. Naruto was asleep in Rin's arms, the girl rocking him gently.

Sarutobi approached a short while later. He turned to Jiraiya and the white-haired man briefly explained the situation. He smiled sadly.

"Rin? Kakashi?" He stepped forward carefully, but both teenagers backed away. They were too loyal to take defensive positions against their Hokage, but there was no doubt they would rather run before listening to an order to give up Naruto.

"Would you accompany me to your sensei's burial?"

"It's done." Kakashi blinked. "We could hear it from over here."

Sarutobi shook his head. "That was an empty casket. Minato is to be buried elsewhere, to protect his body. He and his wife are to be interred together. And...I think they would both want a final chance to say goodbye to you—and their son."

oOo

Blue slits widened before opening sleepily. Rin smiled at the child in her hands, warm and so alive. He looked so much like his father. She was not able to save her teacher, but she could protect his son.

Her heart ached as she remembered her teacher's eyes, his mannerisms, his compassion. She had cried and cried and cried. Cried so much she wondered how it was possible she could still cry. But she couldn't show tears in front of Naruto. She would smile and be as kind to him as his father had been to her. He would believe in her mask and maybe, just maybe, she could eventually believe she was happy too.

Minato-sensei's final resting place was at the top of a smooth green hill. The vestiges of small white flowers dotted the land. Rin imagined that once summer came again this land would be beautiful.

Unlike the elaborate closed casket for the public burial, this one was simple mahogany, polished to a warm brown. Beside it, was another casket, this one of ash.

Minato and Kushina lay quietly in their respective casket. Rin almost felt it an insult. Minato-sensei and Kushina-san weren't quiet. They were vivid and colorful and alive.

Then she remembered they weren't alive anymore and the thought left an ashen bitter taste in her mouth of burning lemon oil.

Both wore what would have been their wedding gowns. Minato-sensei had black robes that seemed to flow around him like resplendent ink. The yellow of his hair was brighter than ever against the darkness of his kimono.

Kushina wore a beautiful kimono with an intricately designed fall landscape. Golden bamboo forests grew up her body. It was just like Kushina to have chosen bronze as the color for her wedding dress. The color drew out darker tones to her titian hair. Against her usual golden skin, it would have been stunning. But against her icy pallor now, it just made her seem paler, almost frail. They both seemed...lifeless.

Rin choked.

The two of them. Gone. Two candles that burned too brightly and exhausted their own flame.

It was Kakashi who broke the silence.

Kakashi...who was crying.

"Sensei...you said to look underneath the underneath. I found nothing." Another tear arced down his cheek. "What more is there underneath, sensei?"

Sarutobi and Jiraiya watched him carefully. Rin's heart pounded a staccato beat. Naruto whimpered. Kakashi startled, a dark eye meeting wide blue ones. A shaking hand rose, just barely grazing the messy yellow strands of hair. Rin pressed closer to Kakashi, hugging Naruto tightly.

Jiraiya closed the caskets. He paused at Minato's, arms trembling. Finally, the lid closed softly. With a whispered jutsu, the earth arced smoothly out from under them, resting over the smooth wood surfaced. Finally, only two mounds remained.

Rin took the lily from her pocket. She closed Naruto's tiny hand over the stem and stepped forward. She opened the baby's fingers over the earth, letting the flower drop, its petals devastatingly white.

"Those were your parents," she whispered to the blinking blue eyes. Her voice was breaking. "And they...they really loved you."

oOo

The whispers continue.

Yondaime died.

The demon is still alive.

A woman with riant eyes and flaming hair passes into oblivion. A child's heritage is hidden from him and all who would harm him. A man leaves the village with no intention of returning. A girl and a boy promise to look after their teacher's son as well as they can, but when she dies, the boy can no longer do so alone. A man returns to the office and position he never imagined would be his again.

And the whispers continue.