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The Uchiha household was quiet, bathed in the soft orange glow of the setting sun. Outside, the cicadas had begun their evening chorus, their steady hum a backdrop to the peace inside. It had been a rare day for the Uchiha family—no missions, no emergencies, no interruptions. Just a simple family outing to the park, followed by a long walk home, and the kind of quiet laughter that was so rare for them.
By the time they returned, Sarada was worn out from toddling around with Sakura’s help and clinging to Sasuke’s sleeve whenever he tried to walk ahead. She had been babbling all day, her little mouth forming nonsense sounds, hands reaching for every flower, every pebble, every tiny wonder the world offered her.
Now, the house was still.
Sasuke was stretched out on the futon in the living room, an arm thrown lazily over his eyes, his other hand resting against Sakura’s shoulder where she leaned into him. She was asleep too, their exhaustion softened by the comfort of being together.
In her crib, just a few feet away, Sarada slept soundly, one fist curled around the edge of her blanket. Her lips parted in tiny snores, chest rising and falling steadily.
For a moment, it felt like the world had paused just for them.
And then—quite literally—it did.
The hum of cicadas ceased. The clock’s ticking halted mid-beat. Even the air seemed frozen, dust motes hanging unmoving in the late sunlight.
But Sarada stirred.
Her eyes blinked open, adjusting to the strange stillness. She sat up in her crib, gripping the wooden bars with tiny hands. “Ba… baaa…” she babbled, tilting her head.
Then, as if tugged by an invisible thread, the world around her dissolved.
Colors blurred, walls faded, and Sarada blinked again to find herself not in her cozy living room, but in a strange, quiet place. It was an endless expanse, soft and pale, like a dream given form.
Her crib was still beneath her, but when she pulled herself to her feet and peered over the side, she saw someone standing a short distance away.
A young man.
Tall, with long black hair tied in a ponytail and dark eyes that seemed both kind and unbearably sad. His forehead protector bore the familiar Konoha symbol, but it had a slash through it's center. He wore a tattered black cloak that had red clouds on it. His presence was calm, steady, yet powerful in a way even baby Sarada could sense.
Sarada blinked up at him, wide-eyed.
The man’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “…So, you’re Sarada.”
Her little hands slapped against the crib’s railing as she laughed, a bubbling baby giggle. Something about his voice, soft and low, felt safe.
The man stepped forward, and with an ease born of habit, he leaned down and lifted her from the crib. Sarada squealed in delight, grabbing a handful of his hair before he gently redirected her tiny fist to his shoulder.
“I’m… your uncle,” he murmured. “Itachi Uchiha.”
Sarada’s mouth formed a clumsy, “Ta! Ta—eehh!” She kicked her little legs in excitement.
Itachi chuckled softly, the sound like wind through leaves. “So eager to talk. You’re definitely Sasuke’s daughter.”
At the mention of her father, Sarada tilted her head curiously, as if she recognized the name.
“Tell me…” Itachi’s voice grew quieter, thoughtful. “How is he? My foolish little brother.”
Sarada responded with a string of babbles, pressing her palm against his cheek. “Ba-ba-buuuhhh!”
He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into the tiny hand. “I see… I suppose that’s answer enough.”
Sarada giggled again, wriggling in his arms. Itachi shifted her weight easily, letting her lean against him.
“You’ll have to watch over him,” Itachi said gently. “He can be reckless. Even now, even as an adult, he’ll carry too much on his own shoulders. That’s why you must grow strong. Strong enough to protect him, strong enough to guide him when he loses his way.”
Sarada blew a raspberry in response.
Itachi chuckled again, shaking his head. “You really are precious.”
For a while, he simply held her, the surreal silence of the dreamlike space wrapping around them. Sarada played with the ties of his cloak, babbling nonsense and giggling every time he let her tug at his hair.
Finally, he looked at her with warmth and a flicker of sadness. “I can’t stay long. But remember, Sarada… you carry not only your father’s will, but mine as well.”
Her only response was another delighted squeal, as if she understood everything and nothing at all.
The world shimmered around them, fading, pulling her back.
And the last thing Sarada saw was Itachi’s smile—gentle, soft, full of love.
Sarada blinked awake in her crib, the real world rushing back in—the hum of cicadas, the faint creak of the house, the slow, steady breaths of her parents. She kicked her legs under the blanket, giggling to herself, babbling happily.
Sakura stirred first, stretching as she sat up. Her eyes softened as she noticed Sarada awake, cheeks flushed with joy. “Hmm? What’s gotten into you, little one? Why are you so happy?”
She walked over to the crib and lifted Sarada into her arms. The baby immediately nestled against her chest, still babbling, “Ta-chee! Ta-chee!”
Sakura blinked. “Huh? What’s that, sweetheart?”
Sarada’s arms flailed excitedly. “Taaacheee!”
Confused but smiling, Sakura kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “You’re trying so hard to say something, aren’t you?” Her eyes widened slightly. “Wait… oh my gosh. Sasuke!”
Sasuke stirred, rubbing his eyes before sitting up lazily. “…What is it?”
“She’s—she’s trying to talk!” Sakura’s voice was bubbling with excitement. “Come here, she might say her first word!”
Sasuke raised a brow but pushed himself to his feet, crossing the room to stand beside them. His dark eyes softened as he looked at his daughter, still babbling happily in Sakura’s arms.
“Go on, Sarada,” Sakura encouraged, smiling brightly. “Come on, you can do it.”
Sasuke leaned in closer, his gaze steady. “Let’s hear it.”
Sarada grinned, bouncing a little in her mother’s hold. She opened her mouth, and with all the determination of a baby trying something brand new, she exclaimed:
“Itachi!”
Sakura and Sasuke froze.
The air itself seemed to still.
“…Did she just—?” Sakura started.
But Sarada was already giggling again, repeating, “Tacheee! Itachee!” as if it were the most delightful sound in the world.
Sasuke’s expression was unreadable, his eyes shadowed with something deep and unspoken. Sakura looked at him nervously, unsure of what to say.
Slowly, Sasuke reached out for Sarada and Sakura handed her over.
Sasuke held his daughter close, staring down at her tiny face, so full of joy. She reached up, grabbing at his chin with her little hand, still giggling, still chanting the name.
His throat tightened. For the first time in years, a single tear slid down his cheek.
“…Good job, Sarada,” he whispered, pulling her against him in a firm embrace.
Sakura’s heart ached as she watched—the weight of grief and love colliding in Sasuke’s quiet acceptance. But in that moment, their little family felt fuller, as though a missing piece had briefly returned.
And Sarada, safe and content in her father’s arms, babbled happily, unaware of how deeply her first word had pierced his heart.