Night of the Uchiha Clan Downfall

Kurama Yakumo slowly closed her eyes, and the scenery around her began to distort. The originally empty and cold room transformed in the blink of an eye into a familiar, warm little cabin.

In the center of the room, an unfinished painting stood quietly on an easel. Five blurry figures were faintly visible on the canvas; the paint had not yet dried, as if the artist had suddenly stopped mid-stroke at some moment and never added the final touch. They were her late parents and three relatives who had passed away early.

"Completely open your heart... and let me in."

A low, cold voice drifted quietly from behind her, its tone devoid of any emotion, as if it were a whisper from the depths of a dreamscape.

Yakumo did not turn around; she only nodded gently.

She closed her eyes, and those memories that should have been sealed away surged into her heart like a tide.

Ripples began to emerge in the corner of the wall, and an ancient wooden door appeared from within the corner.

She walked over and peered through the small window on the edge of the door. Outside, there was no one, and the corridor was deathly silent.

She gripped the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open.

"Creak—" A crisp sound rang out, like a chain that had been sealed for ten years snapping apart.

Outside the door, a dim candlelight illuminated the hallway, where rows of portraits of the Kurama Clan ancestors hung on the walls. They stared straight at Yakumo.

"Are you all... still watching me?" she whispered, her tone carrying a hint of unease.

Another cold breeze passed through the corridor, causing the candlelight to flicker and then extinguish. Darkness surged in like a tide, swallowing the end of the hallway.

Yakumo did not flinch. She walked slowly into that darkness, each step feeling like she was traversing between dream and reality. She felt the familiar warmth radiating from the floorboards beneath her feet—the same corridor she had run barefoot through in her youth.

The surroundings suddenly brightened. Before she knew it, she was already standing in a familiar scene.

It was the Kurama Residence as it had been years ago. The windows were bright and clean, cherry blossoms were in full bloom in the courtyard, and the laughter of children echoed in the air.

"Yakumo, why are you still standing there? Come over and help set the table."

A gentle female voice came from behind her, brushing softly against her ear. She turned around abruptly and saw a gentle woman standing by the courtyard gate, smiling with eyes full of maternal love.

"...Mom?" Her voice trembled, and her throat felt parched.

The woman walked over and softly stroked her forehead, her fingertips carrying a nostalgic warmth. "Did you stay up late painting again today? Your complexion looks so terrible."

The sensation was so real it almost made her weep. She squeezed her eyes shut, and tears slid down her eyelashes. She knew this was a genjutsu, yet it was so real, so cruel.

"This is not just a genjutsu... it is a reconstruction of memory, a reenactment from the depths of the soul."

She remembered that voice. That man was actually able to construct such a detailed illusionary realm, even the slight smile on her mother's lips and the temperature of her fingertips were flawless. Even her teacher—Kurenai Yuhi—might not be able to achieve such perfection.

"Why... does he want me to see this?"

At dinner, the entire Kurama Residence was immersed in a warm atmosphere. Cousins were playing in the kitchen, and her father sat upright, discussing Yakumo's future with several clan elders.

"Yakumo's genjutsu has improved recently; she is truly the hope of our clan."

"I saw that painting in her room... she wanted to paint all of us, right?"

The laughter of the group converged at the dinner table, and the atmosphere was peaceful. Yet, Yakumo felt like she was sitting on pins and needles. She looked down at her hands, not knowing whether to clench them or let them go.

She both longed for this moment to be eternal and feared the collapse of the next second.

"If... this is that night..."

"If the dreamscape and memory overlap, then... tonight is the Night of the Uchiha Clan Downfall for the Kurama family."

Yakumo sat at the dinner table, her fingers tightening quietly. She knew clearly that after this dinner, everything would come to an end.

Her mother was serving her soup, her hair falling beside her ear as she bowed her head, carrying a faint scent of sandalwood. She asked softly, "Yakumo, why are you so quiet today? Are you not feeling well? Or are you thinking about some boy?"

The tone was teasing, but her eyes were full of concern.

"No, nothing..." Yakumo subconsciously avoided her gaze and forced a smile, though it was somewhat stiff. "I... I'm just a little tired."

"Sigh, you, always such a quiet little thing. You used to be so clingy when you were a child, but now you aren't close to Mom anymore."

Her mother curled her lips and pushed the bowl of soup toward her. That smile was like a spring breeze, yet it caused a sharp pain to ripple through Yakumo's heart.

She lowered her eyes, her lips trembling. She remembered this conversation; it had truly happened once, and the memory surged into her heart like a tide. But all of this would soon be swallowed by flames.

She whispered, "I'm sorry..."

"Hmm? What did you say?"

"No, nothing." Yakumo looked up, just about to say something else, when at that moment—

BOOM!!!

A deafening explosion rang out like thunder. The entire mansion shook violently, bowls and plates shattered, and the lights flickered. Outside the window came urgent shouts and the sound of running; the chaos arrived like a sudden rainstorm.

"We're under attack!" Her father sprang up, his expression graver than ever. "Everyone to the basement immediately! Yakumo, you go with your mother!"

Her mother grabbed her hand tightly and ran toward the corridor. Footsteps echoed urgently on the wooden floor, but at a certain moment, Yakumo stopped abruptly.

"What's wrong? Yakumo!" Her mother turned back in alarm. "Hurry!"

She stared blankly toward the staircase.

There, a figure stood.

It was herself—the young version of herself.

The small figure stood quietly at the end of the stairs, hair disheveled, face stained with blood, eyes as hollow as stagnant water. Yakumo's breath hitched, her throat feeling as though it were being blocked by something.

"This... how is this possible..."

A sudden, piercing pain tore through her consciousness, causing her to clutch her head and collapse to her knees. By the time she opened her eyes again, the little girl had changed.

Twin Horns sprouted from her forehead, and Flames erupted violently from her body. The small frame twisted like a Demon, her Crimson Pupils glowing, radiating Overwhelming Evil Intent.

"Ahhhhhhh--!!!"

Screams and cries seemed to pour into her ears from every direction. Yakumo looked on in terror as the Clan Members fell one after another. They were not killed by Swords; rather, it was as if their consciousnesses had been torn apart by some form of Invisible Mental Control.

"You... what have you done!" Yakumo covered her mouth, retreating with a trembling voice.

The Monster did not respond, merely watching her quietly with a terrifying smile playing on its lips. Amidst the Flames, its form shifted once more, returning to its true appearance.

Her younger self, eyes blood-red and devoid of any human emotion, tilted her head and spoke slowly:

"You finally came to see me."

"You aren't me! You aren't me!!" Yakumo backed away, her voice quivering. "I didn't do any of this! Someone attacked us! It was the people of the Third Hokage!"

"Is that so?" The girl walked slowly closer, her Bare Feet stepping onto the Red-Hot Floor, the Flames licking at her Ankles. "But you know very well... that you were there that day, too."

"I wasn't..." She shook her head desperately, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I didn't kill them... I didn't... it couldn't have been me..."

"What a pity, they remember." Her younger self smiled, the expression as gentle as if she were coaxing a child. "They were all calling your name right before they died."

Yakumo fell to her knees and burst into uncontrollable sobs.

She remembered the look in her father's eyes before he died—not anger, not hatred, but love.

She remembered her mother holding her amidst the Flames, whispering her final words: "It's alright, Mommy doesn't blame you..."