Note: Yes, this is the sequel to Eras. There is quite a bit of MadaNaru in this despite you know... Everything.

Also, no cover yet, sorry. This is a slight bit short also, but I wanted to get things started.

Pre-Warning: If haven't read ERAS yet You WILL NOT understand any of this. At all.

To fit into silence was a circumstance Naru had never merged well into. He often became the ending of quiet, in creating a loud atmosphere for all to thrive within. Albeit, he did have moments of knowledge, wherein he acknowledged the need for bestillment; such as in mourning, moments to hold oneself in an outward peace while the mind created a chaos.

Even so, silence did not merge well with one born unto the sun, displayed as if in opposition to the moon.

The contrast was brought as small voices returned to make the world slightly brightened again. "Madara?" Gentle and whispered though their words were, Madara could hear each among him with a clearity burning upon his ears. "Madara."

Blinking he turned to Hashirama, looking down ever so slightly at the exhausted, slumping, man, who had come to weighing himself under a guilt he could not hold a proper blame for. There was hair strawn making a cloud above his head, with purple as an eyelining beneath as if khol or reddened paint upon a geisha dancer; the darkened brown of his irises only seemed to increase the intensity of the colouring. Opposing the Hokage's giddy demeanour, Hashirama wore his clan's mofuku, black, by tradition baring no kamon on the back, no embellishments crested the brimming or obi, any colour made was cast only by the tannin of his skin. For a moment of smite, Madara came to wish it were only he who wore a mofuku. Considered as a brief, trite thought that Hashirama were disrespectful by baring colour.

Instead, he forced his eyes apart from the man, gazing among those still gathered. Finding the groupings vasty still whole, and those whom had left were persons of youth, unknowing to the meaning of the ceremony or tradition it was made to represent. All those whom remained were in mass, at least fifty in totality per each grouping. The Uchiha were gathered in full, none had left and the district was vacant. Senju had done similar, though many children had gone, the Sarutobi too were unexpectedly in large along with the Haruno who had scattered about their numbers. Madara came to the simplistic conclusion he both detested the sight, and was touched by the sentimentality showcased with such a enmass crowd attending in true feeling.

Madara wished for there to be rain, opposed to the sun shone skies above, in a tyde of blue. Jiraiya clung upon his leg in quiet, even for a child of vigorous personality, he had a silence about him now, and was looking to the clouds with eyes so shadowcast, the Patriarch faintly hoped his own eyes had begun to create their own genjutsu in result for his own lack of rest, and in truth Jiraiya only appeared mournful. "Its time." No comforting simper raised his expression as he spoke, speaking clear of the disposition Hashirama himself held. Still, his arm was outstretched in a vain replacement to the emotion; Madara took it without a question, his son clinging tight to his other hand, now staring to the ground in a maliceful confusion.

Sunset began then, a yellow glow began to cast along with her orange partner. They took their placements, and he remembered rather abstractly the events of yesterday in blur of unimportance.

He had thought it unchanging, nay, he had thought it today originally, as if the days hadn't passed. A numbness had begun to settle upon him, and with it so came the want to avoid the sensation. Thusly he had taken one of his tentos and cut upon his leg, in the meaning of witnessing or procuring the answer unto himself: if he could still feel.

Uncommonly, he stared on to Naori, who was to take the role and speak fore his voice, which had gone. No resentment came upon him at the understanding of what she did, as then knew whatever words he spoke would be mangled in disorder and unfathomable by any whom weren't within his exact position.

"There is much to say.-" Slowly by the pacing of her beginning, Jiraiya came to hug his father's waist, hiding his face into the comforting hip, crying the tears he couldn't unleash in sound, and sobbing therein. While Madara kept his arm securely around the small shoulders and attempted to withhold himself from succumbing unto emotion so violently contained. "-Many of us gathered were witness to the horrors of the Warring States. None of us could possibly wish for similar. Unto us of the Uchiha... Naru was an innocence." Upon her, Madara wished for a pain, as the statement was made in a comprehension of what Naruto was indeed onto those whom knew him not. "Further to that however, he was a warrior, a shinobi, a Matriarch, a Hanayome, and a Mother. Those truths made part of who he was. Though we had moments among us, he was mine.. And Kou's dear friend, to many of us as well he shared that title.-" A large pause took the entire audience and no one attempted to break at it.

"-and, he's never coming back." It stung deeply unto all. Madara watched, rather thinly; held only by a cord of twine, as she returned to the gathered with a head downcast and her flower already placed.

His was next to come, so he did with the trailing steps of a man captured. By his front placement, Hashirama held firmly onto the shoulder of his Godson, Madara knew without glance that the fact stood.

It was a large stone formed as flame to where Naru's body lay, appropriately. Though Madara breathed many placating, shuddering breaths before he bent to the bottom and glimpsed the carefully made engraving there:

'Founder of Konoha: Uchiha Naru.' A large space proceeded therein, the scoff he gave at the thought failed to retain his anger. Assumption brought the consideration the spacing was contrived for him, Hashirama, and likely Tobirama, albeit, should Mito hold high regard by then, she too would be added. Nothing bubbled forth from his own pit of illease, and he said nought to the subject, merely allowing upon himself a simple contentment that his bride retained a title among those to be honoured in latter years.

In an utterance he spoke. "Naru. I knew you well, the katana found... Was certainly not your own. I cannot hold you once more, I cannot embrace you, nor indulge your body. My promise, I shall keep: I will gain revenge for they whom hast done this unto you... Naru-" He made a futile glance, but choose instead not to look:

"I love you."