Prolog
When he slowly regained consciousness, an impenetrable ignorance surrounded him about his whereabouts. His body pulsed with pain; every muscle seemed to scream. Desperately, he fought against the darkness in his memory, struggling to reconstruct the events of the previous day. Yet his mind was shrouded in fog, a chaos from which no clear memories emerged. With cautious movements, he opened his eyes, only to close them immediately as the bright sunlight blinded him.
He took a deep breath, feeling a certain calmness slowly spreading within him. After a few moments, he dared to try opening his eyes again. This time, he proceeded more cautiously. With deliberate motions, he lifted his lids, initially seeing everything blurred, unable to discern his surroundings. But after a few quick blinks, his vision cleared, and he curiously scanned the room, searching for answers.
A wave of confusion washed over him as he realized he definitely wasn't in his own bedroom. Had he been kidnapped? Yet no memory of an attack came to his consciousness. As he scrutinized the room, he had to admit it felt strangely familiar. It was a modest room but lovingly decorated: a bed on which he lay, a wardrobe, a desk with a chair. Hand-painted pictures adorned the walls, while a carpet graced the floor. A mirror hung on the wall next to the wardrobe, and gradually, he began piecing together the puzzle of his surroundings.
For now, he decided to remain lying calmly. In this uncertainty, he had to be cautious. He even doubted whether he had the strength to get up, feeling as though he had exhausted all his chakra. Desperately, he tried to remember where he knew this room from, but his thoughts were still in disarray. He breathed deeply through his nose, allowing the various scents to envelop him. A familiar scent surrounded him, a feeling of security and comfort slowly enveloping him. But that couldn't be true, could it?
His palms grew sweaty, nervousness coursing through him as he pondered how to proceed. Remaining lying down was not a real option anymore. If he had indeed fallen into the hands of enemies, he had to take action. With cautious movements, he rose from the bed, trembling, his head pounding as if this simple action were already too much for him. Nevertheless, he suppressed his emotions; his years of training routine kicked in automatically. He concentrated, for it was of the utmost importance to find out what was going on.
Slowly, he let his legs slide off the bed and involuntarily flinched as he stared in amazement at his feet, blinking several times. Something was wrong; his thoughts moved slowly until he suddenly realized what was amiss. His feet were too small, his legs too short. He raised his hands and looked at them in horror in front of his face. They, too, were too small. Panic gripped him, his heart racing faster, as reality seemed to slowly fade away.
Ignoring the protests of his body, he sprang from the bed and hurried to the mirror, where he leaned with trembling hands. His breathing was heavy as he observed his own reflection. This simply couldn't be true. Something was definitely wrong. He was a child again. That was impossible; it simply couldn't be. Yesterday, he had certainly been older, even the Hokage himself.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as his heart pounded wildly in his chest, as if trying to escape. Desperately, he pondered what might have happened the day before, how he had ended up in this place. Maybe it was a genjutsu, an illusion. He forced himself to take deep breaths and tried to calm his thoughts. Slowly, he moved away from the mirror and stood up on his shaky legs. His hand formed the necessary seal to dispel the genjutsu, ready to bring the truth to light.
After being trapped in Itachi's Tsukuyomi, he had intensively studied genjutsu and its dissolution. With all his might, he concentrated, although it was difficult for him. "Kai!" His voice sounded unusually high, and he flinched slightly, but he immediately refocused. To his dismay, he found that nothing happened.
Horrified, Kakashi stared at his reflection and made another attempt. "Kai!" But again, nothing happened, and everything remained as it was. His gaze fell to his bare feet as he wondered what was going on and where he was. When he looked up again, a slight dizziness overcame him. There was still one more thing he could try. His gaze fixed on a kunai on the desk. With cautious steps, he approached, leaning on the desk and reaching for the kunai. He still didn't know where he recognized this room from, but he felt a strange familiarity that drove him further into the darkness of the unknown.
He continued to stare at the kunai in his much too small hand. Without hesitation, he cut into his palm. Immediately, blood gushed from the wound, finding its way over his palm and dripping to the ground. His gaze remained motionless on the flowing blood, unable to tear away. Yet again, nothing happened, and he remained trapped in this unsettling situation.
His breathing accelerated once more, his heart pounded in his chest, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Panic surged as his blood dripped onto the floor. It felt like suddenly all his senses were assaulting him. And then it dawned on him where he recognized the room from and why the scents were so familiar.
In a moment of realization, a wave of horror washed over him: This was his childhood room, and the familiar scent of his father lingered heavily in the air. Realization hit him like a lightning bolt – he was actually in the past!
He lost his balance, staggered, and fell to the ground. The coolness of the floor felt pleasant against his skin as he was too weak to get back up. Blood continued to drip onto the floor, forming a small puddle slowly. Thousands of questions raced through his mind, but he couldn't force himself to calm down. His breathing remained labored, his heart raced in his chest. His whole body trembled, the dizziness intensified, and he feared losing consciousness.
His vision began to narrow, everything increasingly blurred. Overwhelmed by weakness, he could barely fight against it. Just as he was about to succumb to unconsciousness, a familiar voice pierced through his fog of thoughts. A voice he hadn't heard in decades. Muffled footsteps approached his room, while the familiar voice incessantly called his name, muffled by the closed door.
Tears welled up in his eyes as the voice triggered a flood of painful memories. Dazed, he heard the door opening and hurried footsteps approaching him. Someone knelt beside him, and this time the voice sounded clear and close, filled with concern. "Kakashi!?"
Kakashi was lifted into strong arms, and his gaze fell on a familiar figure. More tears filled his eyes, slowly making their way down his cheeks and gathering at his exposed chin. A comforting hand ran through his hair, accompanied by a calm voice: "Everything will be okay, I'm here with you, Kashi!"
Slowly, he shook his head, unable to accept that he could be here. He had been dead for a long time. More and more dots danced before his eyes as darkness inexorably engulfed him, threatening to swallow him whole. With one last effort, he uttered a word before unconsciousness finally overwhelmed him. "Dad?"