Threads of Faith

by brb12

Summary:

Alternate Universe Fantasy. Enemies to Lovers. A truce halts decades of war, but when the Uchiha heir falls for the enemy’s daughter, desire collides with duty—and neither kingdom will ever be the same.

Notes:

Hey guys!

Thank you for taking the time to read my fan fiction. This is my first attempt at writing a story, so forgive me for my mistakes. This story will be enemies to lovers, slow burn, and a different fantasy world full of many chapters to come. This story has been living rent-free in my head for a while, and I wanted to share it. I hope you like it!

Chapter 1: RIN

We rode hard.

The wind lashed against our faces as our horses thundered through the borderlands, hooves pounding over earth still stained from older wars.

Ruen rode ahead, his jaw clenched.

Kakashi was silent beside me, his cloak fluttering like a shadow at my side.

We were headed into the heart of Rowan Woods—sent to rescue what remained of the Senju soldiers who had been ambushed.

Attacked.

Slaughtered.

By Uchiha soldiers.

Gods, please let someone still be alive.

Damn the Uchiha.

There had been no formal declaration of war.

No banners.

No messengers.

Just blood on the soil and broken bodies in the forest.

For decades, our nations had been caught in a Cold War—two blades pressed to each other’s throats, waiting for the other to move first.

And then, suddenly, they moved.

Why now?
Why break the peace after so many years of silence?

“What are they planning?” I whispered to no one, my heart thudding louder than the horse beneath me.

Ruen broke the silence.

“Do you think they’ll try another peace negotiation?”

Kakashi’s voice was low, grim.

“After the last talks failed? Not likely. Queen Tsunade’s patience is wearing thin. If these ambushes continue, this Cold War will boil over… and become something far worse.”

I swallowed hard.

“Gods, I hope not.”

An all-out war meant death—millions of innocent lives, caught in a storm they never asked for.

And yet… we were already halfway there.

“If King Fugaku had shown up to the summit himself instead of sending that BASTARD” Ruen spat, “maybe we’d have reached an agreement.”

Kakashi turned his head, his voice sharpened.

“That bastard is Prince Obito Uchiha—the king’s eldest son and heir to Akatsuki Land. King Fugaku was meeting with King Rasa. He sent Obito and Itachi in his place.”

Ruen scowled.

“And what did His Royal Arrogance say?”

“When Her Majesty demanded answers for the border attacks, Obito denied everything. Said the Uchiha had ‘better things to do than waste time on Senju rats.’ Then he threatened to raise taxes on all import goods. Especially Danya Ale.”

I hissed under my breath.

Not Danya Ale.

I hated to admit it, but the Akatsuki brewed the best damn ale on the continent.

“And the Clan Killer was there too?” Ruen growled. “I should’ve gone. I’d have cut out his tongue before he could threaten anything.”

“Control your temper, Ruen,” Kakashi snapped. “I don’t make the decision, Ruen. You know that."

Ruen muttered something under his breath.

I didn’t ask.

Ahead, the forest loomed like a waiting mouth.

Rowan Woods—ancient and vast—sat between Konoha and Akatsuki Land, its trees older than either kingdom.

On our side, the forest was light-dappled and quiet.

But as we crossed deeper, toward the Akatsuki edge, it grew darker.

Hungrier.

The trees stretched high into the sky, branches gnarled like bone fingers.

Thick underbrush clawed at our legs.

The horses moved slower here, hooves muffled by a blanket of damp, dead leaves.

A strange hush fell around us, swallowing birdsong, wind—everything.

The heart of the forest did not welcome strangers.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to pass this far without permission?”

Ruen asked, glancing uneasily at the path ahead.

“We can’t leave our men to die,” Kakashi said. “If the roles were reversed, they’d do the same.”

He looked over his shoulder.

“Stay alert. We’re getting close.”

The sun was sinking faster than it should’ve. Shadows stretched long and thin.

Our lanterns were lit, but they barely cut through the gloom.

And then—

“Stop.” Kakashi’s voice dropped to a warning.

We dismounted as one, weapons drawn.

The air felt heavier here—like the forest was holding its breath.

I gripped my daggers, my palms already sweating.

Snap.

The sound of a twig.

Then whispers. Dozens of them. Slithering through the air like snakes.

“Give us the jinchuriki…” a voice hissed.

I froze.

Jinchuriki?

My heart pounded.

That word… that curse of a title…

Kakashi and Ruen were already at my sides, blades drawn.

“Not happening,” Kakashi said sharply into the shadows.

The leaves rustled louder—then burst open.

Masked Uchiha soldiers stepped into the clearing like wraiths from a nightmare.

Oni masks.

Kitsune faces carved from bone-white porcelain.

Their crimson eyes glowed from the slits.

Dozens.

We were surrounded.

“Rin, stay behind me,” Kakashi ordered.

“Sister, don’t move,” Ruen added, taking my other side.

Then—CRACK.

A blow landed hard across Ruen’s face. Blood sprayed. His sword clattered to the ground.

“RUEN!” I screamed, but before I could move—

THUD.

Kakashi was thrown back, limbs twisted, cloak torn.

A giant boot slammed into Ruen’s chest. He hit the ground with a strangled gasp.

Still struggling to breathe, Kakashi raised his sword and shouted, “Rin—RUN!”

I didn’t hesitate.

Daggers clenched tight, I turned and ran into the trees.

But they were faster.

Their footsteps were everywhere. I zigzagged. Ducked branches. Jumped roots. But it didn’t matter.

SHIT.

They were closing in.

Fast.

Six shadows emerged—surrounding me. Faces hidden.

Eyes merciless.

Why me?
Why are they after me?!

I raised my blade—but too late.

A bag slammed down over my head.

CRACK.

Pain exploded across my skull.

The world tilted.

Ruen’s voice was the last thing I heard—shouting through the void as I was dragged under:

“SISTER—!!!”

That was the last word I heard before everything turned black.

Chapter 2: Rin

The distorted voices grew louder as I regained consciousness.

The throbbing pain in my head felt like an impending explosion.

I realized that they had both of my legs tied together as my arms were roped behind my back.

A thick, black, opaque blindfold wrapped around my eyes.

They tapped my mouth shut; screaming was impossible.

Reality struck me like lightning.

I was kidnapped.

The entirety of my body went cold as my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach.

My brain cycled through its frantic mantra: Why Me? Why Me? What did I do? What do I do?

I am going to die….

I'm thrown back to reality when I hear an eerie voice speak.

"The Jinchuriki is awake."

Jinchuriki…?

No.

How did they know that I was a jinchuriki?

It's not common knowledge.

"Master would be delighted and pleased with us for catching another jinchuriki," another eerie voice says.

"Yes, very pleased indeed," dozens of eerie voices say simultaneously.

I'm faltering, desperately trying to tug my arms free.

I lean back, seeking stability and something to cling to, and it feels like... a tree?

A tree!

We're still in the forest, then!

They couldn't have taken me far then.

Ruen and Kakashi should be able to find and rescue me.

Hope filled my heart.

I let out the breath I'd not realized I was holding.

"We should be able to reach the master at the Holy City tomorrow." Another eerie voice said.

Wait!

What?!

Holy City?

Which Holy City?

My brain was scattering, trying to remember the distance to Konoha Holy City.

Could they be planning to smuggle me into a different country?

The other closest Holy City near Konoha is in Akatsuki Land.

Of course, they would—Damn Uchiha’s.

Damn Uchiha kidnappers.

I wanted to yell and scream at the top of my lungs, hoping someone could hear me, but the screams died in my throat.

Fear and anguish rushed over my body. Who was this master of theirs?

What did he want from me?

And exactly how many people like me have they kidnapped?

There are about nine Jinchuriki's in the world, each one of them all-powerful tailed beast.

The more tails the beast had, the stronger its vessel.

I remember reading many books about the tailed beasts and the significance of being born a jinchuriki as a child.

Centuries ago, many countries worshipped and admired jinchuriki, considering them to be godlike figures at one point.

They were seen as powerful symbols of strength and were deemed unstoppable.

Only the visual prowess of the Uchiha Clan's Sharingan could control and dominate the tailed beasts.

I couldn't help but wonder how many tails my sealed beast has.

Not that far from a distance, another voice broke through the silence.

"Well, well, well, my brethren! What do we have here?"

His voice was different from that of the other Uchiha man.

The sound of feet hitting the ground, crushing leaves and branches echoed nearby.

Tension was building in the air.

I could feel it around me, suffocating.

"What are you doing here? How did you find us?" Panic struck the others as the man approached. "Don't let him get his hands on the sacrifice!"

"Sacrifice, eh? What, am I not invited to the party?” He mocks.

"KILL HIM!!!! We must kill him! He will ruin the master's plan!" Panic and fear rushed into their voices.

"Go on then, please let's test that assumption boys."

The composed coldness in his tone shivered through my spine.

Suddenly, screams erupted around me, and the sound of bodies crashing to the ground echoed through the forest like a rolling thunderstorm.

Panic surged through my veins as I fought against the ropes binding my body, the chaos swelling into a wild tempest.

The earth trembled beneath my feet, each impact resonating through the trees like the toll of a distance.

The air went still as footsteps got closer. I could feel him approaching, his hand reaching for me.

My heart was drumming in my ears, desperation taking hold of my senses.

It took me a moment to adjust to the surroundings, and my eyes strained with the phantom pain of being obstructed for so long.

The mystery man…just took off my blindfold.

The Uchiha man wore a Demon Kabuto Mempo mask, with only his red Sharingan visible.

"This is going to hurt for a moment," the masked man said as he pulled the tape from my mouth. I couldn't hold back a yell as pain ripped through my face.

"Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" his eyes examined from top to bottom for any hints of injuries.

"N-No!.'" I reply hesitantly.

He grabbed his dagger from its sheath.

My mantra continued in my head: "He is going to kill me!"

My heart started beating fast.

A sense of relief rushed through me, releasing the pain and anguish of my tied hands.

He freed me!

He kneels and starts cutting the rope that binds my feet together.

Freedom!

He freed me from my bondage.

My hand slowly slings over the hilt of my dagger.

Just because he freed me doesn't mean he won't kidnap me for his purpose.

Putting his dagger away, he stands, offering me a hand.

My chest heaves, still recovering from the unbonded; I take the offering.

He tugs me to my feet.

Without hesitation, I grab my dagger from my left sheath, punching for the throat.

He's fast.

He holds the dagger with his right arm, blood dripping from his hand.

He tugs the dagger away from my hand without a hitch to his breath.

Taking a wide angle and fast precession, he presses my wrists against the closest tree, my feet off the ground.

I'm like a rag doll dangling over.

The sharp bite of my dagger at my throat, he leans right towards me.

"My, you are a violent, dangerous little princess, aren't you?"

His eyes crinkle with amusement.

My blood boils.

"I'm not a princess!" I snap.

"You could have fooled me," his eyes never leave mine.

"Let me go!"

I demand, trying to fight his strong hold without any luck.

"Is this the Senju way of thanking someone who saved your life?" His voice mocking.

"What are you planning to do with me?" I asked, my anger rising.

"I can think of a few fun activities you and I can do to pass the time."

A twinkle in his eye made my cheeks warm red.

His eyes glared at me, him gently stroking the dagger up and down my neck and chest.

"Cocky Uchiha Bastard!"

The words are past my lips before I shut my mouth.

To my surprise, he tilts his head and genuinely laughs.

Even his laughter sounds charming as he leans closer to me.

"I've been called worse," he whispers. Heat rushes to my cheeks once again.

"Just kill me and get it over with bastard."

I wouldn't say I like how much power he has over me that I can't control my anger.

"And be denied the pleasure of your company, Princess? That's not fair!" he mocks.

"You are a bastard."

My eyes narrow. Admiring his crimson sharingan.

"Perhaps."

His gaze never left mine; he could read my thoughts and emotions with his cursed sharingan.

"Killing a beautiful jinchuriki like yourself would be a crime."

I swear, I think he might be smirking underneath that mask.

Wait!

He thinks I'm beautiful?

Heat rushes up my neck, and flames rush to my cheeks again.

He leaves his face inches away from mine. His eyes admire my lips, and then we lock eyes again.

He could have me lost in his beautiful eyes.

I can make out every speck of his sharingan.

My breath catches, and my body warms.

Why does one man have so much power over me like this?

Am I attracted to him?

No, I can't allow myself.

You are not attracted to him, Rin Nohora!

He is the enemy.

Our clans have been at war with each other for decades.

His clan members are responsible for thousands of innocent lives of my people.

And yet my traitorous body heats up at the sight of him.

He guides my dagger back into its sheath, putting me gently down on the ground, letting go of my wrist.

Our gazes never break.

Gods, he's massive.

He must be over three inches over six feet tall. I barely reach his chest, and I look like a tiny girl compared to him.

Heat rushes up my neck AGAIN, my body warming.

My breath is trying to catch itself for the second time.

You are not attracted to him, Rin Nohora!

Second reminder to myself.

"Aren’t you worried that I might attack you again?"

I ask condescendingly as he steps back a couple of feet.

"You can try, Princess," he mockingly challenges, opening his arms wide.

I roll my eyes at him, and he laughs.

Cocky. Uchiha. Bastard.

Even his laughter has an annoyingly attractive sound.

The mirth quickly fades from his eyes, replaced by a cold, calculating expression.

"Did those individuals kidnap you from Konoha?" He asks seriously.

"No, I was with my brother and friend in the forest," I responded.

"What were you doing in the forest?" he asked.

"We got word from our generals that Uchiha soldiers attacked a group of our men in the forest. We were sent to rescue them," I told him the truth.

"I'm assuming you're a healer and were sent to heal your men?"

His question took me by surprise.

Not many could have assumed that about me that quickly.

"Yes, they told us they needed urgent medical attention," she said.

"Were you able to find your injured men?" he asked.

"No, we were ambushed ourselves by dozens of Uchiha soldiers. I was taken. When you arrived here, that's when I barely regained consciousness."

"I see," he replied.

"You, see?" I glared at him.

"It's your men's fault why I'm in this situation and the continuous attacks that have been happening—"

"They are not my men," he cuts me off.

"Uchiha soldiers know better than to attack innocent civilians and kidnap beautiful women," he argues back.

"Then who are these men if they're not—?"

The words get stuck as I point out to the slain Uchiha.

What?

Those aren't men!

They are men turned into wood.

Wooden men?

This doesn't make sense.

I saw these men attack us and capture me!

"What are they?" I turned to face him.

"I would like to know myself. We got word that Uchiha soldiers have been attacking other countries and civilians. My generals sent me to uncover the truth behind these attacks."

"They sent you by yourself? Why not send others to help?" I asked curiously.

"I work alone." He replies confidently.

I swallow a laugh, threatening to bubble out of me.

Cocky Bastard indeed.

"How did you know they weren't your men or human?" I asked, curious.

"My sharingan." He explained.

"Your Sharingan could show you that?"

Amusement rushed out of my mouth before I could contain it.

Throughout my studies, we've been told that the Uchiha Clan is one of the strongest clans.

And their Sharingan eyes come second to the Hyuga Clans Byakugan.

Amazing!

To have such power just in your eyes! I cannot fathom such power.

A whistle brings me back to my senses as a black horse approaches us.

Gods, even his horse is massive.

It's an absolute beauty.

"What are you planning to do next?" I asked.

"I plan to report to my father and the rest of our generals with this new information I uncovered right after I take you back to Konoha," he replies.

"Excuse me?" His words took me by surprise. "You can't just ride up to Konoha like it's nothing!" I argue back.

"Unless you want to stay here and wait for rescue to find you. I'm sure the rest of those things will return, wondering where and what happened to their sacrifice." Annoyance in his tone.

I froze dead in my tracks.

He's right.

Those things will come after me again if I stay here and wait for rescuers to find me.

I'm not too fond of it when he's right.

"I don't even know your name. How do you expect me to travel with you if I don't know who you are?"

"Toby Uchiha, at your service, princess," he bows gracefully.

"Rin Nohora, Lord Uchiha," I offer a bow myself.

"I'm not a lord, princess."

"And I'm not a princess, lord," I suppressed a smile and couldn't help but smirk.

"Well, then, my lady," offering his hand, and I accept.

He tugs me into his chest. Heat flushes my cheeks again; my traitorous body can't stop warming up to the sight of him. His hands are on my waist as he helps me onto the massive horse.

"This is Nightmare."

He adjusts the robe, and we start returning to Konoha.

Chapter 3: RIN

I've never been this deep in the heart of the forest before. I blinked, forcing my eyes to adjust to the darkness slowly.

Tree trunks sprawled across the path, and clumps of bushes were barely discernible as dark trails wove through the undergrowth.

As nightfall neared, the setting sun revealed deeper shadows in the glistening foliage. Uncertainty lingered in the cold air as sounds of nocturnal creatures began to signal the approaching stretch of night.

Thoughts of Ruen and Kakashi wash over me at once, and my breath suddenly feels strained. Had they managed to get away, to survive against these monstrosities?

I close my eyes, hoping to find some calm–something to focus on for a little bit.

The most important thing was survival; I knew that.

I couldn't let myself succumb to despair just yet. My only distraction was the strange, intimidating man who had first rescued me from the kidnappers, only to capture me for himself.

His presence was both a source of fear and a source of curious intrigue.

Something about him—his cold, calculating gaze, the way he moved with such controlled precision—kept my mind from spiraling into complete hopelessness. Just who was this guy? Why had he saved me only to imprison me?

The question gnawed at me, a mystery that kept my thoughts occupied as I tried to make sense of my current predicament.

I would survive this no matter what.

"Are we going to reach Konoha by nightfall?" I asked him, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Nightfall?" he asked absentmindedly, not bothering to look at me.

"You heard me. We should be close to Konoha by now.”

He turned to face me at last, a serious look on his face—Toby, that's what his name was, or maybe he made it up; it would be foolish to really trust anything anyone says in these circumstances.

"Nice try, princess. You don't know where we are, do you?” he said with a nasty smirk on his face.

The audacity of this guy was starting to get to me. He might've saved me, but he’s no better than those enemies from before. I’m just some sort of bounty to him. I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"Rowan Woods, the forest between the Land of Konoha and the Land of Akatsuki. You were saying?”

He suddenly stopped.

"Lamb, we're in the Land of Keys. We are not anywhere near Rowan Woods. It's a three-day journey."

His eyes were deadly and intense, fixing on me and not wavering for a second. I gulp at the intrusion.

The Land of Keys…a three-day journey.

That meant the kidnappers had kept me under for three whole days.

No, no!

This couldn't be happening!

Tears clawed at my eyes, but I forced them back.

My family and everyone else must be in a frenzy of worry.

And Her Majesty—how was she handling my disappearance?

Has anyone pieced together the puzzle yet?

"My family is worried. They are probably out looking for me as we speak. Please hurry, Lord Toby.”

"I’m no Lord,” he said. “Three days is three days. But,” he licked his lips, “You're not exactly in the position to be worrying about other people, don't you think?”

I glared at him. “And who’s fault is that? Toby, please, let’s just hurry.”

But he’s completely unaffected by anything I say, apparently focusing on the road ahead and not sparing thoughts on the girl struggling in his arms.

By this point, I lost count of how many times I rolled my eyes. The more I roll my eyes at him, the more he mocks me–does he think this is funny?

Jerk.

They are all the same–Uchiha's blood is cursed. It doesn't matter that he rescued me because when it comes to them, the rules just don't apply as they do to everyone else. I’m still a prisoner. His prisoner now.

And it’s infuriating.

How the hell did it end up like this?

Call it inspiration, or maybe I was just that desperate.

But I just had to get out of this situation, do something–anything but stand still and let myself get dragged off to Gods knows whereby this dangerous stranger who, judging by the way he handled those men, his brethren, had no qualms about taking human life as though he could give it back.

I shifted in his arms, careful to get close enough to him so that our bodies were pressed together. Then, I slowly circled my arms around his neck and leaned into him.

My breath was hot against his skin, and I could feel him suddenly stiffen under my touch.

Perfect–maybe my plan would work after all.

Then, just like clockwork, I licked my lips so he could hear me do it and whispered against his ear: “I wonder what you’re hiding under this mask.”

This made him grunt a guttural sound.

This was the window I was waiting for–without a moment’s hesitation, I stole the reins from his grip and wrapped them around my own hands.

“He-yah,” I commanded, and Nightmare listened, raising his frontal hooves up in the air and knocking Toby off his back. I took a moment to catch my breath and turned around to take one more look at him.

His mask was intact, but I could feel him glaring at me. Sure, it was a dirty trick, but they never played fair, so I took matters into my own hands and turned the scales in my favor.

“Goodbye, Toby.”

With a kick to his sides, Nightmare starts galloping.

He’s a fast horse, but I am faster to bask in the glory of having just escaped my abductor with eyes of coal and voice of fire.

He would not burn me anymore.

But then, something ripped. Faster than I could process everything, I found myself lying on the cold ground with my pants torn from the thigh down. Horror washed over me like a tidal wave because how could I mess this up?

The fabric must’ve got stuck in one of the branches and dammit!

Before I knew it, tears started falling from my eyes.

It wasn’t long before Toby emerged from the forest's shadows, showing me Nightmare’s reins were again in his hands.

I looked away. I’d rather die than let this bastard see me cry.

The jerk picked me up by the collar of my shirt, and it was humiliating.

The way he looked down on me and held me like I was nothing.

He tilted slightly to look at me, almost as if flaunting his infuriating, advantageous height. It made me feel so small–a vulnerable, helpless lamb, trembling before the frightening wolf, just what he’d called me.

There were many moments in my life where I was disappointed in myself, but none of them stung with pain like this.

How pitiful to be at the mercy of a Uchiha.

“Cute attempt,” he said, probably smirking like an asshole behind his shitty orange mask.

“Fuck you.”

“I had a feeling you were into me.”

The nerve this guy had. I swing my arms hoping, praying, to land just one hit. Or at least knock that stupid mask off his face. But he tilts his head and laughs.

“Put me down. Now. You–you!”

“Me?”

“Ugh! You’re such a jerk! I hate you!”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he puts me back on his horse, still holding onto the leash, “Didn’t know you had it in you. That was a dirty trick you pulled.”

“Yeah. Cause you’re the reigning King of the Morality Kingdom.” My eyes were sharp, but my words were sharper. “You’ve no right to lecture me.”

“I wasn’t,” his voice had a playful, dark undertone. “I even liked it.”

Mortified by his debauchery, I looked away. Because there was no fucking way I could get flattered by a guy like him.

“Let’s just go already.”

We continued the rest of the journey in begrudging silence.

There was something about Toby, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. His black leather ensemble stands out starkly from the typical Uchiha soldier's uniform.

Especially striking is the long, heavy coat draped over him, complemented by a massive sword on his back, daggers at his side, and another sword hanging by his hip.

Among his attire, the red cloud over his pants, the iconic Akatsuki Red Cloud, catches the eye.

I wonder if he bears the Uchiha Clan symbol on his back like most Uchiha clan members. His mask deviates from other Uchiha soldiers' traditional Raven leather drow helmets. Instead, he sports a full-face orange demon Kabuto memo mask.

Beyond the endless questions about his identity and the possibility that he might have a higher clearance, his attitude baffled me.

No matter how much I tried, I couldn't read him.

He’d briefly mentioned that the generals specifically assigned him to this mission, which suggests his fighting abilities are completely different.

Couple that with the obstructing mask on his face, and he’s a total mystery.

Meanwhile, I cry and whine and talk back like I know what I’m doing when I’m just someone he gets to play with, like a toy he randomly decided to fixate on.

“Looks like it’s going to rain. We need to find shelter,” he says, stopping to a halt and looking around.

"Spend the night with you? You must be dreaming.”

Toby chuckled, still looking around for some cave. “You’ve got spunk. I like that.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like you.”

"I see a small cave not too far from here,” he said, studying my expression with knowing eyes. “We’ll camp there for the night.”

“And if I say no?”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Jerk.”

As we arrived at the cave, the moon's silvery fingers wove through the leaves, slipping through the occasional tear in the patchy sky. Each break in the canopy above offered fleeting glimpses of stars, twinkling like scattered jewels in the night.

The celestial light danced upon our path, casting an otherworldly glow on the entrance to the cave.

Without warning, he grabbed me by the waist and lifted me off his horse.

"Stay here,” he said, scouting the cave with his eyes. “I'm going to get wood for the fire. This forest is called Deadton Woods for a reason. It’s not safe to be by yourself. I'll be back soon.”

“I can take care of myself just fine. Besides, why are you going if it’s so dangerous?”

"Are you worried about me, Princess?”

Fuck this guy.

“Fine! You know what? I hope you never come back!”

“Happy to disappoint,” he retorted, his figure already getting lost between the nocturnal shades of the forest.

With a heavy sigh, I turn to Nightmare.

Wrapping my arms around his muzzle, I press my forehead against his and let the tears flow freely.

I cry for Kakashi and Ruen, my family, and finally, myself—mourning how far I've fallen. The weight of my sorrow pours out, each tear a testament to my grief and the pitiful state I've stepped into.

Nightmare stands still, a silent companion to my anguish, his presence a small comfort in this godforsaken forest.

What am I going to do?

Chapter 4: OBITO

The trees in the forest had overhanging limbs across the path. The decaying air and stifling atmosphere provided the perfect setting. Centuries-old trees with sprawling limbs guarded the darkness, blotting out any sunlight.

Clumps of wet moss dangled from their rotten boughs.

A pungent smell oozed from every living being in the forest.

I’m used to traveling alone. I prefer it.

Since I was a boy, my father sent me on missions by myself.

Shisui joined me after he turned fifteen, but I already had years under my belt by then.

“It’s not enough to inherit the crown,” Father used to say. “You must know the people you’re meant to rule. See their struggles. Earn their trust. Don’t let your arrogance become ignorance. The people want a powerful king, yes—but also a humble one.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Travel humbles you fast. It shows you beauty and heartbreak, cruelty and grace—all stitched into the same world. It taught me what kind of king I don’t want to be.

Now, though, there’s more at stake.

Deadton Woods is the only forest between the Land of Sand and The Land of Hot Waters. There is no way around it. Even if I wanted to take shortcuts, time is not our side. We still have a three-day journey ahead of us. I am curious about Rin's plans.

Why can't she see that I'm only trying to help her?

The little stunt she pulled was clever, I must admit. I didn't think she would dare to pull something like that, especially against me.

Are all women from Konoha this delusional and crazy?

The sooner we arrive in Konoha, the better.

I can continue my investigations of these wooden creatures and where they come from.

The only clue I've gathered is that they have a master, and Rin was another "sacrifice" they captured. I wonder if Priestess Karin would know the meaning and purpose behind sacrificing jinchuriki or if Lord Minato might have some insight, considering his late wife was the head priestess of the Holy City in Akatsuki Land.

How many other jinchuriki’s are still in danger? And what will they do if they manage to gather all nine of them? Priestess Kushina used to say that the tailed beasts brought balance and strength to the world.

Some believed that the ancient gods wanted to descend to earth, but the Holy Father prohibited it.

Becoming a beast was the only way they could ascend to earth. So, the ancient nine gods sealed their souls within their tailed beast companions, which they then dispersed among humans.

Folklore and myths are tales passed down by old caretakers and parents, often shared as bedtime stories for children.

Yesterday, Kankuro mentioned that they tripled their guards, and he hardly left Gaara's side.

I should be more worried about Naruto, but Sasuke is always almost by his side.

They're both inseparable.

At this rate, Naruto is nearly done mastering his tailed beast.

That stubborn fox.

I wonder what Rin is thinking right now.

She's the first female jinchuriki I have met.

She is a beautiful woman.

And if I’m being honest…

She’s beautiful. Wild. Unapologetic.

I like that about her.

Half an hour later, I returned to the cave with enough firewood for the night.

Rin was leaning against Nightmare, waiting for me. Luckily, more of those enemies didn't come looking for her.

That doesn't mean I should let my guard down. Her eyes sparkled with relief when she saw me approaching the cave.

"Thank the Gods you're safe," she said.

Was that… worry?

A member of the Senju Clan was concerned about a Uchiha. I didn't know Senju women could care about others other than people from their own country.

Mother would find this delightful, though.

"Didn't mean to keep you waiting, my darling Princess." I tease. I can't help myself. Seeing her cheeks flush anytime I flirt with her is captivating. It makes me want to do more, especially when she rolls her eyes at me and there it is.

“Trust me, I wasn’t worried. As a matter of fact, I was hoping you wouldn’t return at all.” Rin tells me, annoyance in her voice. “Happy to disappoint anytime dove.” I tell her mockingly. I wonder how fast she can get riled up?

I wonder.

The thought of her losing control excites me. There's something about Rin that makes me want to fuck with her even more. Is it because she's from Konoha, and they're our enemy?

Is it because she's a jinchuriki, and having sex with one could be an experience of a lifetime?

Or could it be that I'm just attracted to this woman?

She makes it easy for me to fuck with her. Maybe it's been a while since I got laid, and seeing her excites me.

I can't stop admiring her; my stupid heart can't seem to stop beating fast when I see her.

Damn organ.

This is a new feeling I have never felt before for another woman. Traveling all around the world, seeing and fucking many beautiful women, I never had a tole over me like Rin does.

Does she know, or can she tell how she takes my breath away? When she looks at me, the wonder behind her eyes is undeniable.

Gods, I hate how this annoying little girl affects me the way she does. I can tell that I also get under her skin.

She's as stubborn as Naruto.

Are all jinchuriki this much of a pain in the ass?

This is no time to start having thoughts like this. It’s not like me anyway to let myself be fascinated by a woman, especially when she’s from Konoha. Just a few more days, and you’ll never have to see or speak to her again.

I need to be cautious.

She is a jinchuriki, and I wonder if her tailed beast is under control.

The kanji sealing symbols hanging from her hairpins suggest she probably has little control over her tailed beast.

Typically, taming a tailed beast requires the assistance of an experienced Akatsuki Priest or Priestess who has dealt with jinchuriki before.

I don't plan to test that theory tonight.

After starting the fire, Rin and I sit across from each other. She leans against Nightmare, feeding him his favorite carrots.

She's so gentle and loving towards him.

Many people are intimidated by Nightmare's sheer size and his unpredictable personality.

Even though I trained and raised him since he was a foal, Nightmare doesn't show this much affection towards me.

She is so beautiful; the fire burning before us pales compared to her beauty. She catches me admiring her like a deity, and her mouth curves into a small smile.

Her smile took my breath away, and my heartbeat raced again—damn organ.

What is it about her, Obito?

No other woman has ever captivated you like she does.

What makes her so unique?

Is it because she's a jinchuriki, and I have a soft spot for the hosts of the tailed beasts?

Or maybe it's because I grew up around several jinchuriki and witnessed the prejudice, unfairness, and cruelty they faced every day?

The thought of someone mistreating this beautiful soul with such cruelty makes my blood boil with rage. I can't imagine her dreamy hazel eyes full of tears. Death wouldn't be merciful once I'm done with them.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Since when did I want to kill just because they made a woman cry?

But she's no ordinary woman to you, is she?

The wind crept into the cave, bringing a chilly breeze. Rin shivered from the cold; her short-sleeved shirt and ripped pants didn't provide much warmth. I don't think she could have carried her medical bag on her side if she had worn a dress.

Rin's stomach started growling, and she felt embarrassed. It occurred to me that she might not have eaten anything for days. Looking for something to eat at this late hour would be quite a challenge.

There is a small town near the forest, but walking through the forest might not be a good idea late at night. I realize that I have one more rice ball left.

I get up, walk towards her, and offer it to her, saying, "Here, take it." I hand her a rice ball wrapped in a cloth for protection.

"I'm not hungry," Rin lied, despite her stomach growling.

"You're not a good liar, lamb. It's not much, but it should hold you over for the night," I said.

"I don't want it!" she responded, eyeing the food hungrily.

"If you don't take it and eat, I swear to the highest Gods, I'll make you eat it!"

Gods, why is this woman such a pain?

"And how do you plan to accomplish that?" The look of "I dare you, and you wouldn't dare" in her eyes tells me she's enjoying fucking with me.

"Trust me, Princess, I have my ways. Either you’ll find out the hard way or be a good girl, take it and eat it.”

She seems hesitant and shy, but I insist, whisper "Please," and she ultimately accepts my offer.

"What about you?" Her eyes express concern.

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine," I say, removing my jacket and putting it over her. She seems even more surprised.

"Thank you, Toby," she says with a smile.

"She does know how to thank someone." If only she could see my smirk when she rolled her eyes at me. I'm starting to enjoy too much of her doing that to me.

I return to the spot where I was sitting, and she comes and sits next to me. I'm surprised as she unravels the wrapped cloth, splits the rice ball, and hands me the other half. I can't believe she just did that. She’s starving, yet she’s willing to share her food with me.

Her soul is pure and beautiful. She is good beyond my grasp, beyond any measure. She is one that I am not worthy of.

"You should eat, darling lamb. You need your strength for the journey," she said.

"What about your strength for the journey?" Rin asked.

"I have gone days without any food or water. I was trained for it. I can manage without a few days," I reassured her. She hesitated for a minute but then ate the rice ball.

"Are you always this kind to your enemies?"

I chuckle and say,"'Only for you, darling lamb.'" A slow smirk comes to her lips, and then she looks down at my wrapped right hand - the one she's responsible for cutting.

"What were you doing in Deadton Woods, and how did you find me?" Her question was abrupt.

Now, I'm the one hesitating to answer her.

"I was returning from the Land of Sand when I spotted dozens of soldiers carrying you to the woods, so I followed them into the forest. I was shocked when I realized that they were Uchiha soldiers. However, something about that didn't sit right with me. Akatsuki soldiers always wear their raven helmets, but these men didn't. With my visual prowess, I could see they weren't human either. I waited for the right moment to attack. And as for the Sand part, there were multiple failed attempts to kidnap Prince Gaara. I was sent to investigate the rumors. Additionally, I escorted an Akatsuki Priest to the Sunagakure royal family." I answered truthfully.

Rin furrowed her eyebrows and asked, "Why did they try to attack the prince?"

"Gaara is a jinchuriki himself. I assume those individuals tried to kidnap him for the same reasons they kidnapped you. In the Land of Sand, a law states that if any member of the royal family is born a jinchuriki, they are the heir to the throne, regardless of their age. The Kingdom Sunagakure believes that having a jinchuriki as a ruler is a blessing from the gods."

"Then why the priest?" Rin asks.

"The priest is meant to help guide Gaara in taming his tailed beast," I respond to her, never breaking eye contact. She looks down at my wrapped hand again.

"Let me see your hand.”

Rin gently takes my hand, unravels it, and hovers her hand over mine. A greenish glow glimmers from her hand as she heals my right hand. I've seen healers heal with magic, but no one has come close to her care and gentleness.

In the next moment, my hand is healed.

"There, all better now," she said, smiling gently. The wound was completely healed, with no trace left behind.

"Thank you."

She moved back to Nightmare. There was silence in the air.

"Can I ask you another question, Toby?"

"Sure."

"How did you know I was a jinchuriki?"

"The purple markings on your face gave it away," I responded.

"My purple markings?" Her hand glided over her face. "What do you mean by that?"

"Jinchuriki are born with markings on their bodies, which can be any shape or size. I doubt you got a purple tattoo on your face for fun. Also, the kanji sealing symbols hanging from your hair pins were a dead giveaway. That's how I knew you were a jinchuriki."

"Oh, I see."

"Do you know which tailed beast you're the host of?"

"No, not really."

"You never found out? Weren't you at least curious to know which tailed beast you carry?"

"When I was a little girl, there was an incident where I lost control of my anger, and my jinchuriki powers started pouring out of me. Luckily, His Majesty Jiraiya was there, and he was able to put a seal on me. Ever since then, I have been too scared to find out what if I lost control again and hurt the people I love. Her Majesty Tsunade gave me these kanji sealing symbols a gift, and I've worn them ever since. Do you know plenty of jinchuriki?"

"A handful. You are the first female jinchuriki that I have met."

"Are there any jinchuriki in your family?"

"Maybe." Naruto comes to my thoughts. There was a brief silence between us.

"Have you met the Akatsuki princes before? Do you work with them?" Rin asked me. I nodded. "What are they like? Is what people say about them true?"

"Curious, what do people say about the princes from my country?"

"I've heard people say that Prince Itachi murdered an entire clan for sport and that all four princes are arrogant jerks, especially the oldest, Prince Obito. I've heard he's a monster." Fear and curiosity filled her gaze as she waited for my response. I suppressed a laugh that almost burst out. "Itachi did murder an entire clan, but it wasn't for sport. He had his reasons."

"What reasons could there be to kill off an entire generation, men, women, and children?"

"Love, princess, love."

"Love?"

"Yes, we Uchiha men kill for the women we love." Rin was silent. The look in her eyes told me that she hadn’t seen or experienced this type of love before.

"A few years ago, there were two clans who rebelled and were planning to assassinate the royal family. The royal spies identified the two families who conspired together. The first family admitted to the plan, and only the women were spared and sent into exile, while all the men were executed. The second family went into hiding, but not before kidnapping Itachi's fiancé. The Hayashi family attempted to use her as a bargaining tool, threatening to kill her if the royal family didn't comply with their demands. Filled with rage, Itachi went on a hunt for Izumi. But no member of the Hayashi family admitted to their whereabouts. So, he killed them one by one until he found the Hayashi asshole.”

In truth, no one knew what had happened until now.

"What happened to Izumi?"

"Itachi saved her, and they married a month later."

Rin was speechless.

She was processing the truth she had just heard.

"Have you ever killed anyone for the woman you love, Toby?"

I remained silent. I've indeed taken lives, but never for a woman, not yet anyway. Instead, I inquired of Rin, "You mentioned having a brother; do you have any other siblings? And what about your parents?"

"It's just my older brother and me. As for my parents, my mother is an educator, and my father is the city's doctor and the physician of the Crown." That explains how she learned to be a healer.

"What about yourself? Do you have any siblings?" Rin asks.

"I have three younger brothers." I respond.

"No sisters?"

"No, but I have two sisters-in-law if that counts."

"Poor girls, I can't imagine being related to you." She tells me.

I couldn't help but chuckle under my breath. "And what's the story behind the diamond on your forehead? How did you get that?" I point at her forehead.

"Ah, this thing," Rin said as she touched her diamond, giggling. "This is known as The Mark of the Strength of a Hundred Seal. Her Majesty Tsunade is a doctor herself. My cousin Sakura and I were among the few lucky ladies the queen took under her wing and taught special medical treatments. The queen, Sakura, and I are the only ones with the mark of the Strength of a Hundred Seal. The seal can help enhance my physical abilities in healing and combat use. It took a lot of discipline and practice, and with enough chakra stored, I could unlock the power."

Wow, what an incredible woman.

And she's one of only three people who could unlock it?

"Impressive," I admitted. I held my breath when she flashed a small, sincere smile. I sensed something was troubling her and needed to know the truth.

"Did your family or anyone treat you differently just because you are one?" I asked. The sadness in her eyes revealed everything I needed to know.

"Not all the time. In the beginning, it was hard for them to understand. They think being born a jinchuriki is a curse from the Gods."

"Many believe that being born a jinchuriki is a blessing from the gods. The old City of Underground Oasis used to worship jinchuriki.

Our gazes met again, in the soft silence that followed.

Something inside me broke.

The sight of her—sitting by the fire, wrapped in my jacket, cheeks flushed, eyes soft—was enough to split open a piece of my heart I didn’t know I still had.

I fear I’m beginning to enjoy her.

And worse…

I fear I’m starting to fall.

 

Chapter 5: RIN

At dawn, Toby and I left the cave where we had spent the night and continued our journey back to Konoha.

It was my first time sleeping inside a cave. The women in our town used to tell us stories of the aggressive and cruel nature of the men from The Land of Akatsuki and how they pursued women with complete disregard for what they wanted.

That thought had plagued my mind in the late and forbidden hours of the night.

I was afraid that this mysterious stranger, who was apparently very good at apprehending people–and killing them–would try to take advantage of me in ways that made my skin crawl.

It was foolish to think I would've been able to stop him, especially given everything I’d seen him do insofar as I was and still am his prisoner.

To my relief, he did no such thing. In fact, surprisingly, he was respectful and kind, giving me his food and lending me that enormous coat to keep warm.

I can't recall a moment in my life when a stranger showed me this much kindness. Which was unexpected, given the fact that there was a monster inside of me.

There are days in which I lay awake contemplating whether that monster is the jinchuriki or just…me.

People have always run away, and I've always been alone.

And yet, this guy…Toby ran to me.

He gripped Nightmare's reins as we walked, with me beside him. I lifted my face, letting the early morning sun's light dance across my skin.

The morning stars peeked at us like golden asters, warm and shimmering. We walked through the ancient forest; it reeked of age and primitiveness.

We could hear the orchestra of birds and bees humming in and out of the pennyroyal. You couldn't tell that it had rained the night before.

The simpering wing carried a refreshing fragrance and the mix of the forest's perfume. The grass was wet and crispy under our feet as wildflowers grew freely on the clumps.

The mossy ground felt damp and crisp as we walked, and Toby offered me a few windfall apples that had fallen from a nearby tree.

They were sweet with a bitter twist. I didn't care about the bitter taste because I hadn't eaten since last night, and truthfully, I wasn't feeling too good.

"How old are you?" I asked, truthfully curious.

Toby looked at me with mirth in his eyes, "Just turned 26."

Not that much older, then.

“I know it’s impolite to ask a woman her age,” the tone of his voice was playful, “But I don't have to. I can tell just by looking.”

There we go again. I sigh, exasperated. What have I gotten myself into?

“I will take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” he said, and I definitely did not blush. Nor did he see me do it.

But before I could make a snarky remark and put him in his place, he spoke again.

"There's a small town not too far from here. We should get there by nightfall. We can spend the night there. I know a good place.”

I didn't miss that double meaning, and with each passing second, I found myself more and more dumbfounded at this guy's sheer audacity.

"I don't have money on me,” I licked my lips in frustration, “Or any of my belongings for that matter. You kidnapped me, remember? How do you expect me to pay for a room?”

He looked at me funny, like what I said was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

"Money isn’t an issue. What kind of man would I be to let you pay? Don't worry about anything, princess.”

"And you expect me to? Just take it? You’re out of your mind if you think I’m falling for that. And I’m not your princess.”

"Well," he began, tone probing and fucking disrespectful, “I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me.”

“In your dreams. Actually, scratch that. You’re out of your mind. I’m sleeping in the woods. Alone.”

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think it’s cute. You actually think I care about what you have to say, huh.”

“Screw you!”

“Changed your mind already?” he chuckled beneath that damn mask.

“Ugh! Let’s just go.”

He just laughed at me, as usual. I didn't know why, but Toby had apparently made it his life goal to do everything in his power to rile me up, as I had regrettably become a source of entertainment for this man who, not a full day ago, slashed through bodies and trunks alike without breaking a sweat.

Despite my efforts to reject anything and everything related to Toby, his seemingly childish side drew me in—the way he joked about scandalous topics, the way he laughed as though the most scandalous of all was my reaction to it all.

"By the way, make sure to get some guards posted at all times when you get back," he said, breaking me out of thought, “You’re not safe.”

My, my, could he actually be worried about me?

Him, an actual member of the Uchiha Clan? He must be joking!

would have gotten a kick out of this if he had heard that Uchiha had come to care about someone from Konoha.

"I’ll keep that in mind, thanks. Why do you care?”

More importantly, why did I care that he cared?

“I don't.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

He laughed again. “Would be a pity. Losing such beauty, I mean. The world would suffer.”

There he goes again with his antics. I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure.”

He winks, and my body heats up at the sight of this.

And yet, I couldn't help but blush.

Of course, he's not serious; I need to stop thinking and giving myself high expectations about this man, Rin.

I despise Toby for causing me to feel this way. Who does this man think he is, honestly?

As we emerged from the forest and reached the small-town Toby had mentioned, I asked him, "What town is this, Toby?" He replied, "Rin, there are a few things we need to discuss before we continue through the town."

He continued, "This town is called Saint Bellenau, and it is named after a very famous Jashinist." I sought clarification, "So, this is a Jashinist town, then?” Understood him correctly.

"Listen to me and listen well, don’t think of doing anything stupid or try to run away. Don’t ask them any questions. This town is very extremist and follows the Jashinist ideology. We need to be cautious and avoid drawing too much attention. Extremist Jashinists are known to kill innocent people in the name of their beliefs."

Toby shocks me with this information and adds, "First, cover your ripped pants, as it could be seen as disrespectful and might provoke an attack. Second, if questioned, you are to say you are my wife. Unmarried couples traveling alone are not well-regarded by the Jashinists. Third, always stay by my side or within my sight, as it is illegal for a woman to walk alone without a chaperone. We’re outsiders, so avoid appearing too anxious. I have visited this place alone before. We’ll leave at sunrise."

Toby furrowed his brow, looking concerned. "Do you understand, Rin?" I nodded in response. He must have seen the sheer horror on my face.

"Just follow my lead; we'll make it through the night. We’ll be fine as long as you don’t do anything rash or stupid."

How dare he think so little of me. After whatever he just told me, he still thinks I’m going to jeopardize our safety, screw him, MY SAFETY!

“I’m not stupid, Toby, don't talk to me like I am.”

My anger rushed over me.

“Didn’t say you were Princess.”

He said as he held out his hand for me to take. Does he seriously think I’m going to hold his hand?

“Now you’re definitely dreaming that I’m going to hold your hand.”

Toby didn’t say anything, but I could tell he was annoyed.

“Stop being a fucking brat Rin and take this situation fucking seriously for once. I’m not going to repeat myself again.” His words were harsh, and his crimson eyes burned through mine.

I rolled my eyes at him, nodded, and held his hand.

Gods, my small hand got lost in his massive one.

"There is this small inn; we'll spend the night there," Toby says.

"Why there and not another inn?" I asked.

"The innkeeper is very respectable. In this extremist religious town, there are many scoundrels and dishonest people who take advantage of outsiders."

"Oh, how unfortunate and ironic."

"Yes, very ironic," Toby agreed.

We finally arrived at the inn he had mentioned. A young boy approached us.

"Excuse me, sir, may I take your horse for you?" the boy asked Toby.

"Yes, thank you." Toby handed over Nightmares' reins, and the boy led the horse to the stables.

The boy's eyes shined, and he bowed and led Nightmare to the stable near the inn.

We then entered the inn and were welcomed by a middle-aged man.

He greeted us with a genuine smile and acknowledged both of us behind the desk.

"Welcome, my good sir and lady; I welcome you both," the man said with a genuine smile.

We both offered a bow.

"My wife and I need a room for the night, my good man," Toby told the man.

"Let me see what I can offer you, sir," he said as he looked through the guest book. "You're in luck; we have one room available. Unfortunately, it is not one of the best rooms we usually offer. It's smaller and has a small bed, and of course, it comes with a small private washroom. Would you like to take it?"

Toby accepted the offer and handed the man his heavy coin purse.

Gods,

Toby is rich!

Ruen doesn't even carry that much gold in his coin purse. Toby's Akatsuki coin purse had a crown in the middle of it, and the man's eyes widened, and his tone changed right away when he saw it.

"Oh, your eminence, please do forgive me, sire," his voice is nervous. "Please let me get you the finest rooms we have, I insist, your Lordship."

"No," Toby interrupted the man, his presence commanding respect. "We'll take the first room. I also require two of the best guards you can find to always stand by the door until morning."

Toby's demands were met with a deferential tone. "Yes, your eminence. Anything else you request?"

"A warm meal and new clothing for my wife."

"Yes, sir, right away," the man snapped his fingers, and a woman approached the desk.

"My dear, please take Hindi to our Ermance room with the finest clothing she can gather. Only the best for the Princess," they both offered me a smile.

"Yes, my lord and lady, right away," she offered a deep bow. I returned a nod with a smile of my own. Princess, ha, that's rich, I thought to myself.

"My apologies, Your Grace. We did not hear about your recent nuptials. Please forgive us for our ignorance."

I have never seen anyone quaking the way this man was over Toby.

Your GRACE?

I swallowed a laugh that was bubbling through me.

If I knew I would get royal treatment everywhere I go, I'd take Toby.

"It was a private event," Toby says.

Now I really wanted to laugh.

Toby said, "Let's keep our stay here private. If word gets out, I'll know who to hold accountable."

He gave the poor man a deathly stare. The man then bowed and said, "You have my word, my lord."

Toby mentioned that he had stayed at this inn before when he would come across this part of town.

Did he always receive this treatment before, or was it because I was with him?

He doesn't seem like the showing-off type. Was he showing off his wealthy Uchiha power because I was with him?

What a show-off. That jerk!

But it was impressive, I must admit.

I didn't know he had so much power that he made grown men shit their pants.

The man didn't lie about the room size; it was tiny! There was a small desk with a chair near the door.

Luckily, the room did have a fireplace. The bed was so small that two people couldn't sleep on it. The good part was that it was behind the wall near the fireplace, and there was also a red wing chair by the fireplace.

Toby and I stared at each other.

My cheeks flushed pink, and anxiety rushed through me. Are we both going to share the bed……...together?

“Do not get any ideas; I am not sleeping in the same bed with you,” I demanded.

“Bratty girls are not my type, but if you want me to sleep with you lamb, just say so." 

"Eww not even if you were the last man on earth Toby!" 

Toby laugh, "We'll see about that babe, but but for now you take the bed; I'll sleep on the floor," Toby reassured me as if he could read my thoughts on my face.

"Besides, I'm not bratty?" I snap back at him.

"My point is proven, princess, unless YOU want to sleep on the floor?" I didn't say anything, but it's obvious that I prefer not to.

"For once, stop arguing and take the bed."

"Are-are you sure?" I asked nervously.

"Are you offering me your bed, princess, and threatening me with a good time? I thought you didn’t want to sleep in the same bed with me?" He glares at me up and down.

"Of course not! The floor seems comfortable for you." I snap back at him, and he laughs.

At that moment, someone knocked at the door. Toby pushed me aside and opened the door. The woman at the front desk entered the room, followed by six different ladies.

They all offered us a bow.

"My lord and lady, we are at your service. Hilda has brought many beautiful gowns for the Princess. The other ladies are here to fulfill any needs you may have."

Then, a man who looked like the inn's chef wheeled in a tray of delicious-smelling covered food. He bowed and left with the inn lady, leaving us with the six women.

Another knock on the door, and Toby opened it again.

The two guards bowed and made their presence known to us as they took their places.

"Don't forget, my Princess, ask for whatever you desire from your ladies in waiting. I'm going to take care of business. I won't be late," Toby said, winking before closing the door behind him.

These women are my ladies in waiting? I should have known. I felt a surge of determination.

Usually, Sakura and I are the ladies waiting for Princess Himari, and she's a handful.

Granted, she is an actual princess and should act accordingly.

But I won't mistreat these ladies and make them think I’ll of me or ruin Toby's good name as his "wife."

Toby's wife. The sound and thought made me want to burst out laughing.

"My lady," one of the ladies-in-waiting asks, "Would you like to take a bath before your meal? We can prepare one for you if you'd like."

"Please go ahead, but I can manage it myself," she said. The women were taken aback.

"No, Your Highness, we insist on helping you." Toby's words echoed in my mind: remember, they think you're a princess, Rin. So, I nod and thank them for their help.

“Please don’t call me Highness,” I tell them.

The three girls nod and immediately enter the washroom, get the warm water running, and start preparing my wash.

" My name is Hindi Highness, and if you please, my lady, please sit and let us show you the dresses we bought for your Highness," Hindi says.

"Rin, please call me Rin, Hindi," Hindi smiles and nods.

"As you wish, my lady Rin."

Then, she guides the other two women to show them the dresses they brought. There are so many beautiful dresses in various colors and designs that it is difficult to choose just one from the twelve they have shown me.

One dress that caught my eye was a maroon off-the-shoulder dress. It's simple yet has a very princess-like feel to it.

I wonder if Toby would approve.

Why do I suddenly care about his opinion about the dress? Right, he did pay for it. Nonetheless, if I like it, that's all that should matter. Just one more day, and I can finally get rid of him once and for all.

"I like this dress," I say, pointing to the maroon dress.

"Excellent choice, Lady Rin. And what about the others? What other dresses did you like as well?" Hindi asks. "Oh, that one will do just fine, thank you," I reassure her. The women were surprised. "Are you sure, my lady? If you'd like, you can take all twelve of them. Please, I insist," Hindi said.

"Thank you, but that one will do. We should be approaching home in one day. The one dress will suffice."
Hindi and the ladies nodded and bowed.

"As you wish, my lady." They made me try on the dress for proper measurements before I was escorted to the washroom.

"I'll call upon you if I need any more assistance," I told the women, giving them a hint to leave.

"Yes, ma'am. There are new nightgowns for you and his lordship on the edge of the bed, my lady. Please call us at any time."

They took their final bow and left the room.

The bath was like heaven to me. My tired body was immersed in the warm water, and the sweet scent of lemon-lavender enveloped me. I washed my long hair with the rose silk shampoo that was provided.

The scents were delightful. This bath was my sanctuary, and I exhaled deep inner peace.

After my much-needed bath, I put on the cream silk off-the-shoulder nightgown they left on the bed.

The dress was not see-through, but it accentuated my breast's shape. I hope Toby doesn't walk in and see me like this.

If he ever saw me in this gown, the thought of Toby's face made my body heat up, and my cheeks blush.

I was hanging Toby's black jacket over the chair by the desk when something fell out of one of the pockets. I noticed a small silver necklace.

It looked like a Sharingan necklace, but it had a unique design. This one seemed to be a mutated form, and the pattern almost looked deformed.

Although it was supposed to be a Sharingan, the design had a different eye pattern. I wondered what it meant.

I put the silver necklace back into the jacket pocket, but all the pockets had big and small holes. No wonder the necklace fell out; Toby was lucky not to lose it.

So, I put his necklace in my medical bag. I'll give it back to him when we arrive in Konoha.

My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that I was starving. The last thing I had eaten was the apples Toby had taken from the tree.

The food smelled amazing, and the inn's chef prepared a lavish dinner for us, including chicken pies with chunky carrots, peas, bacon, and mushrooms, venison chops sauced in honey, garlic, and lemon, skewers of pork and rice, savory beef, sweet sticky honey buns, and a variety of fruits.

To top it all off, the inn also provided two bottles of wine, and I couldn't help myself with a glass. There was so much food that even two people couldn't finish all the dishes—truly a royal feast.

I picked up my glass and settled into the wing chair beside the fireplace for warmth. The fire's comforting embrace filled the small room, casting a warm glow and banishing the cold of the night.

The crackling of the flames provided a soothing soundtrack, like a lullaby sung by the fire god himself.

As the fire burned brighter, casting shades of red, it reminded me of Toby's crimson sharingan.

Speaking of that guy, he's taking forever.

What is he up to? He's so immature and annoying. I can't wait to be rid of him...

At least the bed had two pillows. He's going to need one to get comfortable on the hardwood floors. The food was absolutely delicious.

Hopefully, Toby will return soon; I bet he's hungry too.

I can't wait for Toby to take off his mask. Is he even comfortable wearing that thing all day and night?

He must be used to it by now. I'm so curious to finally see what he looks like. I wonder if he's cute.

They say most Uchiha men are good-looking with raven hair and black eyes. I started thinking about my family; excitement filled my heart, and in just two days, I would reunite with them again.

Then my mind drifted, and curiosity made me think of Toby's family, wondering if his brothers are just as tall as he is?

His family must greatly influence all around the world for him to get this type of treatment.

My eyes grew heavy from the overwhelming calm effects of the fire's radiant heat, and I fell asleep on the wing chair.

Chapter 6: Obito

After leaving Rin back at the inn I realized that maybe she needed some time to relax and have a proper meal. Not like she’s used to this type of life, anyway.

On the run, constantly looking over her shoulder–doesn’t suit her good girl persona at all.

She’s too princessy for her own good, but then again, what the fuck do I know?

I have to take her back to her family, and fast.

She’s…confusing. Very distracting.

She’s a distraction that I can’t afford at the moment, not now at least.

I heard rumors that the Konoha Princess is a spoiled brat, even though I have never met her before.

I swear I would think Rin is that Princess.

Being ungrateful brat ever since I rescued her.

I can't deny the fact that she's very pretty.

Or better, she’s beautiful.

Whatever.

Like I said, she is positively, infuriatingly distracting.

Fuck.

For some unfathomable reason, I can't seem to shake this sudden ache in my heart. This unfamiliar but tingly feeling, wrapping right and around me and making it harder to breathe.

Shit, is this it?

I’m never seeing her again, am I?

Godsdammit!

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I need to focus on my goddamn mission, and I can’t fucking do that with her big-doe eyes looking at me as though she’d never seen a man before in her life.

This doesn’t look good.

This has disaster written all over it, and I have to get my shit together before I do something incredibly stupid.

Knowing my dumb ass which exactly I’m going to do.

Sure. I could have easily taken a shortcut back to Konoha, and that would have only taken us two days instead of three, but I fucked up.

Apparently, I am psychotic first and Uchiha second, choosing the ladder just to be able to spend more time with a strange and obnoxious girl I’d met only a few days ago. My Clan would definitely be proud of me.

It's funny, even though Sait Bellanu is extremist religious town, ironically is known for murderers and misfits.

Naturally it does, admittedly, have its…advantages. One such advantage is a fucker named Jericho, mercenary, good gambler and better alcoholic.

I fucking believe that bastard Jericho is reincarnated God Yenki himself, the God of mischief and wisdom. Although I don’t entirely trust the guy, he always has my back when it comes to sensitive information, rumors, and dangerous secrets. All for the right price, of course.

Every piece of intel I've received from him has been accurately reliable so far, and he knows better by now than to lie to me. The Drunken Deity Tavern, that’s what they call it. Stupid fucking name by any standard, I’m sure, but I guess that doesn’t really matter as long as the liquor hits where it has to. Jericho pretty much lives there, drowning himself in cheap booze and whores and that’s where I’ll find him.

The Drunken Deity Tavern is just your regular gathering place. It draws out the whores, merchants and mercenaries looking to make a pretty penny.

The place to be for cheap drinks and good times. Owned and operated by a husband and wife, hardcore Jashinists, which is fucking ironic considering they have no qualms letting their daughter’s whore themselves away to greedy, hungry customers of all shapes and sizes.

As I entered the tavern through the large metal door, the thick layer of smoke in the air, combined with the mixture of food and nasty bodily odors, made for an overpowering stench. Fucking disgusting.

After a thorough look around, I finally see Jericho at the far end of the tavern sitting in a booth with a woman on his lap. Why am not I surprised?

“Look what the gods dragged in.” Jericho welcomes me with a hug, pushing away the girl.

"Straight to you.” I said as I sat at the table. "The gods always know where I can find you” He laughs and it’s earthy, throwing half his drink back in one swift movement.

It wasn’t long before the waitress brought in another two wooden mugs, filled to the brink with golden swirling liquid and alabaster foam on top of it. Jericho handed her a gold coin before she took off to her next order.

"Now tell me, Your Highness,” the man says coyly, not stammering his words as you’d expect from someone who’d been drinking the entire night. Then again, he’d been drinking all his life, so a bit of resistance to alcohol was only to be expected.

“What is Uchiha royalty doing in a place like this?”

"Got anything for me?" I said, removing my mask and ruffling my hair after hiding for several days.

“Depends, my old friend. Which rumors are you interested in? It would help if you were specific, my dearest Obito. Did you know Prince Asuma Saratobi's tying the knot? There are so many rumors and so little time; I'm afraid my memory has been a little hazy lately. You know, too many whores-"

Before he could finish his annoying fucking ramble, I sighed and simply dropped a bag of coins on the table. Thought so. Jericho smirked, grabbed it and hid it in his pocket.

"Ah, yes! You wanted the know about the recent Uchiha Soldiers attacking different countries and villages, right?" His mischievous, cocky smile told me told me he had the information I needed. I was right to come see this fucker, after all.

I raised an eyebrow at him and took a sip of my beer.

“What my little birdies have been telling’ me is that not your regular hit and run jobs, that your family is good at hiding under the rug, it’s more…different. What I’ve been told is that the Uchiha Clan is after certain types of unique people…. jinchuriki’s. The attacks were ordered by King Fugaku, apparently, ‘cause he wants to get his hands on all of ‘em and bring ‘em into Akatsuki Land. To be really honest with you, old friend, I’m not buyin’ it. Can't say for the others. But I bet all these fucking coins they ain’t your men.”

"And what would my father even want with them?"

This is getting interesting.

"There is an ancient folk tale popular among priests and priestesses, very popular it seems, but very taboo.” Jericho laughs and I pinch the space between my brows. I didn’t come here for this. He seems to understand as much, because it doesn’t take long before he starts talking again.

“They say there’s an old temple in the Underground Oasis. According to old tale, if one were to capture all nine of ‘em and bring ‘em there, then sacrifice simultaneously to the Gods, especially to Goddess Kagura, she would grant them any wish. Y’know how it goes, don’t ya? Genie in a bottle. Stupid stories for stupid fuckin’ kids parents tell before bedtime.”

Sacrifice? That's exactly what those wooden shits said about Rin when I encountered them at Deadton Forest. They called her that. Rage flowed through me like molten lava, my heart beating fast. Did they want to kill her? If they're planning to slaughter all the Jinchuriki, that also includes Naruto. And that explains all the attacks.

"How many of them are missing already?"

"Not sure, honestly,”

“What about a rebellion? Hear anything about that?”

“Not ever since Itachi made an example out of the Hayashi Clan.”

I scoff. I wish I could say it’s regrettable what happened to them, but they sealed their fate when they attempted a coup, kidnapped Izumi, and thought they could escape unscathed. They thought they could play with fire and leave unscathed. That’s what they deserved, death trying to fuck with my Clan.

“And how is Prince Gaara faring after his failed kidnapping?" Jericho asks spitefully, taking a sip of his beer. Of course he would know about the kidnapping.

"Since when have you had empathy for your enemies?" I hold my chuckle.

"I was just disappointed; whoever those mercenaries were couldn't hack the job. They should have hired me instead." I couldn't stop laughing. No one hates the Sunagakure Royals more than Jericho does.

"So, who's behind the attacks?" Jericho asked.

"Don’t know. Fought some a few days ago. They turned to wood after I killed them.”

I never seen Jericho stunned before.

"Wooden men-creature things? Fuck, what are you on about, Majesty? Fuck, what is that exactly?”

"I wish I knew, believe me. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I was hoping you might know about it, but I’m guessing my luck’s out for the night. All I know is they kept talking about their master, and how I was ruining some grand fucking plan.”

"Fuck, what a nightmare.” He takes a sip of beer. “What’s your next move? Do you know what you are planning to do?"

I sigh, looking out of the window. The sky is unusually clear tonight. Just like before a storm. "I have to speak to my father. But you're right, Jericho. They’re not my men."

 

                                      *********************************************************************************************************

 

We left Saint Bellanu at nine in the morning after purchasing enough provisions to last the journey back to Konoha.

Spending the night at the inn did her good. Rin looked better, more rested. And I don’t know why, but that puts my mind at ease a little bit. There’s also this new dress she's wearing, it highlights her curves, and that color is bright against her skin.

And I can't take my eyes off her.

Shit.

She’s still wearing my black jacket over herself and the sight of her with something of mine on makes me swallow. With the wind blowing through her hair, I can't take my eyes off her. Thank fuck for this mask.

“Something the matter?”

I pause.

Well, nothing wrong with being a gentleman, right?

Mother didn’t raise an ass, after all.

“Nice dress, looks beautiful on you.” I said, because it’s true.

Oh, is that a blush?

“Yeah, thanks. I didn’t have the chance to thank you for it. And for yesterday.”

This fucking girl.

"Don't mention it.”

Some time passed before she speaks again.

"Are you religious, Toby?"

What a way to break the silence and what’s up with this strange question. I didn't answer; I just looked at her curiously. "What do you believe in?" I countered.

"I believe that all of us are born with an angel on one shoulder and a demon on the other," she laughs and my heart clenches. She’s so fucking pretty. "They're supposed to balance us out, or that’s what they say, at least. But it makes sense, don’t you think?”

"Well, lamb, I'm deaf in both ears then. I don't take orders. I barely take suggestions, shouldn’t you know that by now?”

Rin rolls her eyes at me. I’ve got to hand it to her, she’s fun to tease. Good company too, all that witty humor and fiery temper. Just my type of spunk.

"Your parents raised a fool," she sneered. I couldn't help but chuckle. Had anyone else said that to me, they’d be bleeding out on the ground by now. No one calls me a fool and lives to tell the tale, but this was different.

Because she’s the one who said it.

I looked at her then, and a slow, sadistic, devilish smile spread across my lips.

"Oh lamb, my parents didn't raise a fool, a killer and psycho maybe, but never a fool.”

“Always so arrogant," she huffs.

"Nah babe, I prefer confident," I licked my lips. "Try not to confuse the two next time, lamb."

I stopped dead in my tracks, turned around to face her, and said:

"We all have demons; I just choose to feed mine. Besides, I’m the one in control and they know that I am their leader. Instead of letting people see my fears and being afraid, I became something to be feared, a deadly weapon. Cried all my fucking tears and turned them into power. The moment I accepted all my flaws, I took the ammunition away from people so they couldn't use it against me anymore. So don’t you fucking lecture me about good and evil like you know anything, alright?”

Rin didn't answer. Reality struck like lightning, because how in the world did, I manage to say all of that to her? A wave of vulnerability suddenly washed over me. Goddamn this girl and her pretty brown eyes. I open my mouth again, as if entranced by unfamiliar forces much more powerful than I could ever understand.

“And someone who ACTUALLY has a demon in her or have you forgotten? Wake up to reality. Stop fucking hiding behind kanji and sealing symbols. You should start accepting it and learn to understand them and join forces. You have no idea of how many people would have killed to be born a jinchuriki. You’re supposed to be powerful, aren’t you? Has it ever crossed your funny little mind that maybe your tailed beast isn’t a curse at all? Or maybe your beast is trying to get your attention? Because they are as much you as you are them. Learn to be as one before the beast decides to take over you. You’re so goddamn naive, I wonder how you made it this far.”

My words are harsh but true all the same.

Witnessing Naruto's struggles with his tailed beast, the Nine-Tailed Fox, I knew that out of all of them, he had the hardest time to keep it under control.

I don't think anyone has ever been that honest about this. She was going through all sorts of emotions. Everyone probably sheltered her and refused to talk about it, especially to her face.

I didn't mean to hurt her feelings, but I won't sugarcoat the truth like everyone has done for her the entire time. Lies are deadly, but I’m more than determined to not let her die, not yet.

And I’ll protect her, even if that means I have to break her heart by doing it.

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she turned and continued to walk ahead. I just followed her.

"What, no comeback from the feisty princess?"

"I told you to stop calling me that! Stop calling me cute little nicknames! We’re not friends, so don’t get so familiar with me. I don't call you anything outside of your name, TOBY!"

"Why don't you give it a try, princess," I told her mockingly.

"You’re such a jerk,” she turns her face away, perhaps to hide her anger or perhaps to hide that furious blush on her cheeks.

"See, I knew you had it in you.” I laugh, “Besides, I've been called worse. I've also been called a handsome bastard and most recently a cocky Uchiha Bastard."

She smirks and I forget how to breathe for a second, "I wouldn't know the first thing about it with you hiding your face behind that mask all the time. Or maybe you’re just ugly and doing the world a favor. I guess we’ll never know, won’t we?”

Now I’m the one laughing, quite the comedian, isn’t she?

"Still didn't answer my question.”

"I gotta hide my identity. You know, enemies, war, all that. Everyone wears a mask when we step outside of Akatsuki Land, and that includes the royal family."

I don't know what the fuck I’m doing telling her all of this. She is supposed to be my enemy, for fucks sake. She turns and marches towards me. Uh-uh. Steady there, heart.

"Take it off.”

Look at her trying to boss me around; how cute.

What is this feeling? What is she doing to me?

"It's going to cost you, lamb."

Rin rolls her eyes.

"You know I don't have any money on me, Toby. So, what is it you could possibly want from me?”

I grabbed her hand and yanked her close, leaning to her face and closing the space between us.

"A kiss. It's going to cost you a kiss, babe."

Say yes.

Gods, say yes.

But she merely stared at me.

Then at my lips.

"You're unbelievable," she said, her voice shaking with anger as she jerked away, causing my hand to fall from her arm.

"So, I've been told," I replied, running my hand through my hair as I looked at her.

"I will never kiss you. Not even in your wildest dreams," she tells me, although I caught something, a glimmer of sorts, shining in those eyes of hers.

I inched closer to her. She didn't move at all as she watched me.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that, princess. I always get what I want. One thing you should know about me is that I'm not a good man, Rin. I'm a selfish bastard. I take what I want, who I want, and when I want it. I don't do the right thing. I do terrible things and am very good at doing it."

Rin tilted her head up and looked at me, as if studying my every expression

Her chest heaved as I closed the space between us. My gaze darkened as I leaned forward and ran my mask along the shell of her ear.

"If you'd let me, I could tear you apart, sweetheart."

"I fucking hate you…" Her lips grazed along my ear. This girl has been a thorn in my side these past few days, yet I can't look away from her.

"So, you'd said, lamb."

My fingers find her chin, I’m tugging her face so I can look deep in her eyes. My thumb gently ran along her bottom lip. I felt Rin’s hand on my face, like she was about to slowly pull my mask out. I didn’t stop her, if that meant I was going to get my kiss.

"Who's going to let you?" she asked.

"Who's going to stop me?"

Before she could answer, we heard a voice. I pushed Rin to my side as I drew my sword.

"There you are, sister! We've been searching all over for you!" a man said as he stepped out of the shadows.

"Ruen!" Rin said with shock and excitement. Oh, it’s her brother. Or not. I grabbed hold of her hand and stopped her from reaching forward.

"That's not your brother, Rin. That's not who you think it is, get behind me. Now.”

"What?" She looked at me, puzzled.

"What are you talking about, of course I'm her brother! Who even are you?" ‘Ruen’ screams out, taking slow and calculated steps toward us.

"That’s my last warning. One more step and you die." My blade is ready to attack.

Rin yanks her hand away from me. "Stop it! Don’t hurt him!”

I walked closer, grabbed her arm, and said, "Let’s get one thing straight, love. You can hate me all you want, I don’t fucking care, but trust me when I tell you that this bastard, whatever he is, he’s not your fucking brother. My Sharingan doesn't lie, Rin.”

She looks away, but I grit my teeth. “It’s a fucking trap, can’t you see?”

"Come, sister, let's go home. Everyone is waiting for you. Sakura’s injured. She needs you, Rin."

"Sakura is…injured?" she said, her voice shaking with panic and worry.

Ruen shakes his head and offers her his hand. Rin starts walking towards him.

"Don't, Rin!”

"My brother is not going to kill me," Rin snaps back at me with anger, then takes Ruen's hand.

"You should have listened to him, little sacrifice," Ruen says.

"S-Sacrifice?"

I could see the sheer panic in her eyes when she heard that word spoken to her by the slain kidnappers.

The unidentified man wastes no time and takes out a knife from his sheath, ready to attack; Rin falls to the ground as I push her out of the way. The knife grazes my face, breaking the left side of my mask.

Shit.

Close call.

Closer than I would've ever liked.

Of course nobody fucking listens to me around here.

I swing my sword at him, but the fake jumps ten feet away before it could cut him.

I help Rin off the ground, immediately checking for any potential damage.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, but I should've listened, I'm so sor-"

Another Uchiha soldier pretender comes out of the shadows, jumps on Nightmare, and rides him off before I can catch his reins.

"Oh fuck no."

In an instant, more than two dozen figures emerged from the shadows, and suddenly we were surrounded. They even made sure to bring reinforcements this time.

"Stay put," I demanded of her, my voice steady despite the overwhelming odds. Rin drew two daggers and stood by my side, her courage matching mine. I looked over and noticed that the diamond on her forehead had been released, and a black mark spread across her face as if it was also wrapped around her entire body.

I admire her courage to fight and defend herself, but by how she stands her ground and holds her daggers, I could immediately tell she doesn’t have much experience. At least in actual fucking fights with people ready to kill you.

Gods this woman.

Without hesitation, I threw five of my knives near Rin and another five at her other side.

“I can protect myself just fine!” Rin yells, annoyance in her voice, like she’s straight up offended that I’m saving her life.

Gods this fucking woman. Can’t fucking catch a break with her.

“I didn’t say you can’t. We don’t have time for that now, just do as I say; besides, with your horrible stand, I don’t think you’d be able to do much fending.”

“Fuck you!”

“Later, love. Now pay attention.” I winked.

“Get fucked, asshole.”

“Someone is a horny little lamb. I bet you can’t wait to know how my fingers feel –”

“ENOUGH! Hurry, kill the royal prick and get the sacrifice back!” The fake Ruen ordered the rest of his minions with the eerie voice I’m used to hearing from their kind.

One of them charged directly at Rin, screaming at the top of his lungs.

His movement is a very rapid shuffling motion of the feet, and he draws the sword up over his head and snaps it down towards her.

I push Rin to my right and slightly behind and bring my own sword to match, rotating it around sideways so that the handle is up high above his face. The asshole side steps but his timing is terribly off, so blade slashes straight through him in a second.

Rin manages to get up as others charge her way.

“I’m not going to kill you, don't worry. You’re too precious. Master needs you.”

Rin tries her best to hold off the sword with her dagger but falls to the ground when one of my daggers hits him in the face.

“You, okay?” I asked her, our backs facing each other.

“A little warning next time, please?”

"Sorry, babe, don’t have the time for that.”

Two of them try another straightforward attack on me. I parry it, then grab my other hidden small sword from the side and slice one's throat, then slice the others with the same blade.

As soon as they’re down, they turn into white and black wooden figures.

The imposter grabs Rin and laughs, "Oh, you’re coming with me, sister."

Rin stabs the impostor in the hand that was holding her and jabs another at his chest. Then she runs to me as I finish with the rest of them.

"Who's your master?" I demand, aiming my sword at him with Rin by my side.

The imposter took out Rin's daggers and threw them on the ground.

He smiled, "There's no hiding from us, little beast. The master will get a hold of you sooner rather or later. No Uchiha can ever protect you. Not for long."

He turned and tried to run off back into the bushes. I grabbed one of Rin's daggers and threw it back at his head. He fell and turned into another white and black wooden figure.

I could feel her hand shaking as she held my arm tightly.

Even though that might have been her fake brother, seeing him get hit in the back of the head with one of her daggers probably freaked her out.

I could understand how she felt because I would have felt the same way if the situation were reversed.

However, growing up, Father ensured we all received the rigorous and proper training we needed in order to survive, to kill if we must.

I turn to her, my fingers tugging her chin side to side, examining to see if she's hurt.

Then I tug my hand behind her head so she can look me in the eye.

"I'm fine, Toby," she says as her hands grab me tightly.

"Your mask," she says, seeing a small portion of my face, and widening her eyes.

"Forget my fucking mask. Are you hurt love?" She shakes her head, never breaking her gaze from mine.

A gurgling croak sound came from up above us; it was one of Itachi’s ravens. We both let loose of our holds, and I stick my arm out for the raven to land, and it does.

There’s a letter tied unto on its legs. I untie it, the raven makes another gurgling croak and flies away.

“What was that all about?” Rin asked.

“It’s a letter from my brother. The raven is one of his messenger birds. He’s probably looking for me.”

Brother,
I hope this message reaches you quickly. The recent attacks by imposter Uchiha members have become increasingly frequent and severe. They have abducted a young woman from Konoha, and the Queen is seeking answers from our father. Konoha is preparing for battle. If the young woman is not returned, a confrontation will occur in Onyx Forest. You must pivot your journey there. I pray to the Gods you’ll have the information we need to stop unnecessary bloodshed.

Fuck.

This is worse than I anticipated.

Shit, shit, shit.

We are one day away from Konoha, but that might be too late.

Itachi stated that they’re at Onyx Forest preparing for battle already, and Onyx Forest is on the other side three days from here. It would be too late; we won’t make it on time. Not unless I use my Susanno powers.

It will pretty much use up all my strength and I won’t have enough power left if we do end up fighting, though. What should I do?

"What did he say?" Rin asked, her eyebrows pinched with anxiety and nervousness.

"Our countries are on the brink of war because of you," I told her bluntly. Rin looked shocked, blaming herself for the imminent battle.

"M-me?" she exclaimed.

"Yes, and if we don't reach Onyx Forest in time...let's just say it won't be pretty.”

"Onyx Forest? But that's too far! Oh no…won't make it on time." I can tell fear is rushing through her. “And–and they ran off with Nightmare on top of everything! What are we going to do, Toby? This is so bad!”

She is correct, and things will go south if I don't figure something out. I have no choice but to summon my Susanoo and fly there. We should be getting there within a couple of hours. I approach the corpse of the imposter and put him on my left shoulder. Rin walks up to me and says,

"What are you doing? Are you trying to take that thing with us?"

"Do you think I would have told them the truth about what happened to me and all of this?" she asked, looking offended.

"We need solid evidence to support our story so that the queen and king of our countries will believe us. I know that MY king would believe me; it's your queen I'm concerned about," I told her.

"And just how are you planning to get us there?" Rin said sarcastically.

“Yes, we’ll fly, of course.” I smile.

That confused look on her face was too adorable.

“Excuse me? And how are you planning to grow wings? or do you already have wings, and you're just hiding them from me? Quit teasing me! This is serious!”

"Actually, I am." I grabbed her tightly, activated my Mangekyou Sharingan, and summoned my Susanoo. Immense waves of blue energy towered towards the sky, carrying us to the center of my Susanoo.

She yelped.

                                                                         

                                             ******************************************************************************

 

With my complete Susanno, we are two hundred feet high, flying over to Onyx Forest to end this unnecessary battle that we are about to face. Whoever is behind all these attacks, impersonating my clan members and wanting this battle to happen, seeks to continue the bloodshed between the Uchiha and the Senju Clan.

But for what reasons?

Could this 'master' be behind it all?

I may have to visit the Underground Oasis once this debacle is settled.

Rin is holding onto me tightly, if a little scared.

"I've got you, don't worry.”

"If you could do this, you should have taken me home sooner! We could've easily avoided all of this! What the hell were you thinking?”

“It's not that simple.”

"Seems simple enough to me!” she said, looking at me furiously. "What happened to your eyes? Your sharingan looks different."

"Like I said, it's not that simple. I’ll tell you about it after that kiss you owe me."

She scoffed, "Nevermind, I don't wanna know.”

Touché.

A few hours later, we finally arrived at Onyx Forest. Shit wasn't looking too good; both sides have brought their armies, and both armies are at the preparatory command. We descend and are greeted by my younger brother Sasuke.

"About time. We thought you might not have received Itachi's letter," Sasuke tells me. "Who's this?" He points at Rin. "And what's that on your shoulder?"

"The problem and the answer to the problem. Where's Father?"

"All of them are in the tent discussing terms. I was assigned to greet you and take you there."

We nod and follow Sasuke to the tent. Inside, a massive table is surrounded by generals, commanders, advisers, and individuals from Konoha whom I don't know. Naruto, Itachi, and Shisui stand by father’s throne on one side while Queen Tsunade and her aides sit across from them.

Our sudden entrance causes everyone inside the tent to turn and face us with shock, intensifying the tension in the air.

"What is the meaning of this?" Queen Tsunade yells from her side. I drop the wooden impostor right in the center of the table. A pink-haired girl runs and hugs Rin.

"Thank the gods you’re safe!” the pink-haired girl says, as Rin asks if she is alright.

"What are you talking about Rin? I’m fine. Who told you that?"

"Sister!" The real Ruen gives Rin a welcoming hug.

"Ruen." I could hear Rin's voice break into a cry. Rin stands by the other side of the table with her brother and cousin, and I stand on the other side with Sasuke.

"There’s your answer," I explained to everyone. "On my way back from visiting the Sunagakure Clan, I encountered a group of imposters Uchiha who had captured Rin in Deadton Woods. After defeating them, they transformed into wooden figures, as you clearly tell." I gestured toward the table with the imposters, "I freed Rin and tried to bring her back to Konoha. However, during our journey, we were attacked by these entities again, and this time, they ambushed us with reinforcements. I don't know what these things are, but they can imitate people, like the one who pretended to be her brother.”

“What would be the reason for this ‘Master’ to coordinate and pretend to be part of the Uchiha Clan? Did this source of yours tell you anything else?” Queen Tsunade asked reluctantly.

“No, he—”

“He’s not lying, Your Majesty! It’s true.” Rin cuts me off suddenly. “If it wasn’t for Toby, I wouldn’t have made it back alive.”

“You expect us to believe this funny little made-up story that this Uchiha soldier tells us-”

Shisui cut off the silver-haired men. "Be careful of how you speak about my brother and the crown prince of Akatsuki Land." His voice was like cold death; Shusui's Sharingan blazed with fury, causing a collective shiver down their spines.

All eyes turned to me, particularly Rin's, in a state of shock.

Our gazes locked, and the world around us faded, leaving only her in my vision. The hurt and betrayal etched on her face shattered my heart, and any other emotions she might have felt seemed to dissipate. The realization of all the hints she might have overlooked was written on her face, with anger simmering beneath the ghost of tears in her eyes.

Usually, women's tears don't affect me, but seeing her get emotional like this fills my heart with disdain. I didn't tell her the truth about me for her own good, so why can't she see and understand that?

"Enough," my father said as he rose from his seat. "I do not appreciate my son being accused of being a liar, especially since he went out of his way to rescue this young lady and ensure her well-being was taken care of under his wing. If the tables were turned, I highly doubt that my people would have received the same treatment or respect. Since the young woman is returned to you, what do you intend to do, Tsunade?"

"Your Majesties, if I may," Lord Minato interrupted, bowing respectfully. “Now that the truth has been revealed about the innocence of my kingdom in these unexpected attacks, we are closer to uncovering the truth. With the knowledge that there is manipulation behind these attacks and kidnappings, may I suggest that our countries set aside our differences and feuds to unite, fight, and expose this common enemy?"
There was immense tension in the room as neither party responded to him.

Rin’s and I maintained unbroken eye contact.

"We don't have to come to a full agreement today, but perhaps Lord Shikaku and I can come together on behalf of our king and queen to create a peace treaty," Lord Minato proposed. I presume Lord Shikaku is Queen Tsunade's advisor.
The queen nodded in agreement and stated, "We are finished here for today. I expect you to keep your word, Fugaku, as trust is the foundation of any treaty." She stood up and left, followed by the rest of the party. Rin, her cousin, and her brother were the last to leave the tent.

Not long after, I spotted Rin talking to the pink-haired girl and her cousin. She noticed me but turned away. Ruen walked towards me and bowed.

"Your Highness, I would like to thank you personally on behalf of my family for rescuing and bringing my sister back. We are in your debt."
I didn't care what he had to say. I wanted to talk to Rin. Ruen handed me the black jacket I had let Rin wear throughout our journey.

"Thank you again, Prince," Ruen said.

I took my jacket back, but my gaze remained on Rin. Even though she was far away, she tried to ignore me, but her eyes met mine. After Ruen took another bow and walked back to them, they took their leave.

My heart ached as I realized this was the last time I would see her. I didn't get the chance to talk to her and tell her the truth.

Why does my heart make me feel this way?

Why does she have so much power over me?

I need to control myself; this is getting out of hand.

Shit, she’s leaving.

Fuck.

I'm not going to see her again.

Before taking my leave, she looked at me one last time.

Chapter 7

The Holy City in Akatsuki Land is located outskirts from the Capital. According to the late Priestess Kushina, the Holy Red Temple is the reflection of the Gods worshipped by humans, and the Priest and Priestess are the embodiments of the Gods in the world.

The Holy Red Temple is smaller than other Holy Temples worldwide. It is led by the new Head Priestess, Karin Uzumaki, a cousin of Naruto Uzumaki, the jinchuriki of Akatsuki Land.

A day later, Obito arrived at the Holy City. He dismounted from his horse, Nightmare, which had been returned to him after imposter Uchiha soldiers attempted to steal him. He walked through the temple entrance and was greeted by Vera, the shrine shaman, and two other shrine maidens.

"Your Majesty, welcome back. It is an honor to see you again," Vera and the shrine maidens offered a deep bow to the prince.

“Lady Vera, I would like an audience with Priestess Karin, it’s a matter of urgency and it cannot wait.” Obito says to woman.

“Yes, Your Highness, you will find the Priestess in the courtyard. She is expecting your arrival.”

“Thank you.”

The Temple Courtyard Garden was unique; the flowers bloomed all year round, and Obito found Priestess Karin sitting by the koi pond.

"Ah, Your Majesty, welcome," Priestess Karin bowed to the prince.

"Thank you for seeing me on short notice."

"I'll be honest, my lord, I was surprised to receive your letter. For a moment, I thought Sasuke had written to me."

While training as a shrine maiden to become a Priestess, she had a crush on the youngest Uchiha Prince. As Naruto's cousin, she frequently visited him at the palace and tried to capture the young prince's attention and love, but Sasuke never showed any interest in her.

"Have you found any information about the Underground Oasis or the folktale I mentioned in my letter?" They both began to walk around the garden. "There isn't much information available about the Underground Oasis. What we do know about the Sunkaru Kingdom is that its people were the original religious devotees of the Gods. They used to sacrifice their virgins every solstice in hopes of new harvests and beginnings. It's quite unfortunate that so many young girls were sacrificed. Eventually, unforeseen climate change and other unknown factors led to the downfall of that mighty kingdom. Some priests and priestesses believe that their downfall was due to the bad harvests." Karin tells Obito.

“Waist of virgins if you’d ask me.” Obito says, “And what about the folktale?”

"I haven't heard any folktales about sacrificing jinchuriki to the gods in exchange for a wish or desire. I had to ask other priests and priestesses about that knowledge. I don't know who told you it was common knowledge among us holy folks, but it's not."

Obito was disappointed, and he hoped Karin could provide the rest of the answers he was looking for. Damn it this is not good. How was he supposed to put an end to this to continues attacks and try to save Rin at the same time? If Akatsuki Priestess didn’t have the answers, that means Obito had to travel to Underground Oasis himself to look for them.

“Before you go, Your Highness, how’s Sasuke doing? Can you tell him to come visit me please?”

"Karin, Sasuke is doing well and currently on a mission near Konoha. I doubt he will visit you. You should already know about Sasuke's feelings and where he stands. Don't continue to hurt yourself by longing for him." Despite the truth of Obito's words, there was a hint of tears in
Karin's eyes, as she was well aware of the reality herself.

Riding on Nightmare, Obito hurried back to the Palace to accompany his father, King Fugaku, to the Land and Kingdom of Fire. They received news of another Uchiha imposter's attack and the kidnapping of a little boy in a small village in the Land and Kingdom of Fire. King Fugaku wants to speak to King Hiruzen to assure him that his men are not responsible for these attacks and kidnappings, and Obito is joining him.

The Land and Kingdom and of Fire share a border between Akatsuki Land and the Land of Konoha.

King Hiruzen remained neutral during the Cold War for years and maintained good relationships between the two kingdoms. Since Obito and Prince Asuma are the same age, they visit each other’s kingdom often. Asuma is also the oldest and the crown prince, so they both attend gatherings and meetings with their fathers and advisors.

"I hope the meeting with King Hiruzen goes well." Obito thought to himself. After the recent incident, Obito wants to visit Konoha to see Rin again.

It's been over three months since he last saw her at the Onyx Forest.

Since then, he hasn't been able to stop thinking about her, no matter what he does. Obito has been keeping himself busy with new investigations, missions, and royal meetings during the day, but it's a different story at night. Even reading doesn't help - all he can think about is her. The thought of Rin keeps him up at night, worrying about her safety.

Obito asked Sasuke to keep an eye on Rin from the shadows, to keep a low profile, and to ensure her safety from potential kidnapping attempts. To Obito's surprise, Sasuke agreed without any argument.

Typically, Sasuke avoids visiting the Konoha Kingdom, but he didn't refuse this time. In some way, he kind of volunteered.

When the meeting occurred at Onyx Forest a few months ago, Obito noticed that Sasuke kept looking at Rin's younger cousin, the pink-haired girl.

"I think her name was Sakura if I'm not mistaken," Obito thought.

"Could she be the reason why he practically jumped to volunteer and left the next day?"

Obito laughed at the thought of his younger brother having a crush.

It's a side of Sasuke he hasn't seen often.

What are the odds of his little crush being related to Rin?

The gods do have a sick sense of humor.

 

                                  ***************************************************************************

 

Great Cities are only as strong as their citizens allow them to be, and to ensure a thriving community, trust, loyalty, and unity must be built within the population. Centuries ago, Underground Oasis was a once-thriving city, considered to be the first and the oldest in the world.

Now unabandoned and their citizens died centuries ago, Now abandoned, their citizens died centuries ago, and to this day, their sudden death remains unknown to the world, and till this day, their sudden death is unknown to the world.

In the city, very few buildings or houses have survived, with the exception of a Ruined Temple.

This temple has managed to stay intact, as if it were being protected by the Gods themselves. It features beautiful stained-glass windows and an ornately carved archway with ancient writing inscribed on it.

During its prime, the temple was beautiful and mysterious. It was smaller than the newer temples that were built, but underneath it, there was a hidden twenty-by-twenty-foot dungeon.

The air was filled with the smell of ancient dust.

The dungeon walls are lined with burning torches in iron sconces.

Shallow water dripping from the ceiling covers the entire first floor. The uneven floor makes movement difficult, and the water is just deep enough to cover the soles of the feet. Tiny algae and plants sprout from the floor.

The floor has collapsed on the far side of the dungeon, revealing a second floor below. Across from the first floor, there is a cell concealed behind locked gates.

This particular cell contains nine rooms. Thick cobwebs fill the corners of the cell, with wisps of webbing hanging from the ceiling, giving the dungeon a sour smell.

Akari Sato, a nineteen-year-old from the Kingdom of Wing, was kidnapped from her house in the middle of the night.

Her captors wouldn't tell her why she was abducted, only that it was because she was a jinchuriki who possessed the second-tailed beast.

She has been imprisoned in this cell for just over six months since she was kidnapped, and each day, she loses hope of ever escaping. She doesn't know where she was taken; the one thing she is sure of is that her kidnappers are Uchiha men from the Akatsuki Land.

She hates them for kidnapping her.

The gates opened only twice a day. A young boy with a hunchback would bring breakfast early in the morning, along with water, and then dinner at nighttime. The young boy hardly spoke to her, no matter how much she begged him to answer her questions.

It was late afternoon when Akari heard the gate door open. The rats inside the cells shrieked when they heard the doors open and then scattered in all different directions. Two Uchiha men entered, opened the cell, threw in a young boy, and locked the door without acknowledging her.

“Are you hurt?” Akari asked the little boy.

“No, but I wanna go home, please let me go!” The little boy says, tears falling like river from his eyes.

“I’m so sorry they this to you.” Akari trying to hold back her own tears. “Damn, he must be a jinchuriki as well if they brought him here. He’s so young.” Akari thought to herself.

“What’s your name?” Akira asked the little boy.

“Sabo.”

“I’m Akari, Sabo, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I wanna go home Akari! Can you help me please.”

Akari couldn't hold back tears when Sabo asked her what she wanted. She wanted to escape this hell and run back home to her family. She couldn't fathom how scared Sabo was and what he was going through.

"I promise, we'll escape from here together. But you must promise me to be strong Sabo. I'll find a way for us to escape. You have to promise me."

Cleaning his tears with his hands, Sabo says, "I promise."

The young hunchbacked boy knocks on the metal door and enters. "Master, I have some news. The Oasians have brought a new jinchuriki. I hope this pleases you, Master," the young boy says as he puts two trays of fruits and wine on the table and serves it to the Master.

“It does please me.” A deep harsh man’s voice says.

Rusting spikes line the walls, and the chamber's ceiling was once marbled. Nine different tapestry designs of each Tailed Beast decorate the walls of this chamber. The floor is strewn with the smashed remains of rotting furniture, which might have once held a bed.

This is the Master's private chamber, where he brought in a new table and chairs. Unfortunately, the chamber isn't inviting at all.

"If that Uchiha hadn't interfered, I could have had three jinchuriki in my possession."

"Should I order the Oasians to go after her again, Master?" the young boy asked, sitting across from his master.

"No, we need to be cautious now. I wouldn't want my plans to come to an end so early. We have to wait. The perfect opportunity will show itself again."

"I'm sorry to hear about this, master."

"Patience, my dear boy. All good things come to those who wait," the man said as he sipped his wine.

 

                                    ********************************************************************************************

 

The night was still and uncanny in the Land and Kingdom of Fire, with the wind rustling through the trees. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a soft, silvery light upon the world. The night was silent as if it had been put to sleep by the gentle light.

The shadows stretched out across the ground, but the moon’s luminous touch softened them.

The air was cool and crisp, and the breeze rustled quietly in the trees.

The stars were twinkling like tiny diamonds in the sky.

King Fugaku's right-hand man, Lord Minato Uzumaki, entered the Lion's Den Tavern with six Uchiha soldiers behind him.

The tavern was empty, as usual, for his meetings with Lord Shikaku Nara, the right-hand man of Queen Tsunade of The Land of Konoha. Lord Shikaku was sitting at the far side of the tavern, with his men standing behind him.

"Thank you for your patience, Lord Nara," said Lord Minato as they shook hands. Lord Minato sat before Lord Shikaku, who greeted him with a friendly smile.

"Fashionably late as always, Minato," Lord Nara said with a smile.

The waitress brought two silver mugs filled with golden swirling liquid and alabaster foam. Both men cheered before taking a sip of the fine beer.

“How is your family?” Lord Minato asked.

“They are quite well, thank you for asking. And how is Naruto doing?”

“His doing good as well.” Minato bowed. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“Yes, indeed," Lord Shikaku responded. "I heard that the imposter attacks are still continuing, and a young boy has been kidnapped from this kingdom."

"Yes, unfortunately, the attacks are still ongoing. King Fugaku and Prince Obito are in the kingdom as we speak to discuss terms with His Highness."

“And what about finding the kidnapped boy?”

“We send our men with the soldiers of The Land and Kingdom of Fire for a rescue mission. We shall continue to pray to the Gods for his safe return.”

“May the Gods prevail.”

“And how is Rin Nohora doing? Have there been sightings of the imposters?”

“No thank the Gods. We have assigned two soldiers with Kakashi Hatake overlooking the young woman’s safety.”

“Sakumo’s son?”

“Yes, our general’s son was suited best for keeping her safe.”

“I see” Minato says, as he takes a sip of his beer.

"Minato, over the years of our service to our kingdoms, I have come to consider you a trustworthy friend. However, my queen and several members of my court do not believe that the recent attacks are being carried out by an imposter Uchiha, despite Prince Obito bringing forward the imposter as proof."

"What more proof do they need?" Minato asked.

"The queen believes that the imposter was fabricated, and that Rin's supposed kidnapping and subsequent rescue by the prince was all a staged performance."

"That's ridiculous," Minato retorted, feeling anger flash through him. He managed to restrain himself from showing it, though. Despite his collaboration with Shikaku to halt the Cold War and maintain peace between their nations, Minato still couldn't afford to reveal his anger—after all, Shikaku remained his adversary.

“And what kind of evidence do you suggest we provide for her Majesty?”

“Do you have anything particular in mind?”

"My friend, there isn't much I can say at the moment, but I can assure you that my King and everyone at court are trying to uncover whoever is behind all this and bring all the kidnapped people safely back home. What we can offer to the Land of Konoha is a dozen soldiers to train and help distinguish the impostors."

"Will any of the soldiers be assigned to watch over Rin Nohora as well?"

"No, Prince Obito suggests that the young girl come to Akatsuki Land for the time being so he can keep a watchful eye on her. Plus, our Priestess Karin could help the young girl with getting her jinchuriki under control.”

"Interesting, but I do not think the Nohora family would agree with this suggestion, Minato. Why can't you assign a soldier or two as guards for her?"

"We believe it would be best for Rin to come to Akatsuki Land. Obito and Rin are already acquainted, and she would be under multiple watchful eyes, besides the prince. Additionally, as you may know, my own son is a jinchuriki himself, so she would benefit from his advice and help.”

"It would be more beneficial for Rin to come to us rather than sending the entire army to Konoha."

“You do raise a valid point. I will pass this suggestion to the Nohora family and advise the Queen for her approval on this matter. When will you be sending the dozen soldiers?”

“The soldiers will arrive in seven days.”

 

                      ****************************************************************************************

 

As the harsh winter gives way to spring, the world emerges from its slumber, filled with the cheerful birdsongs of the season. Gentle breezes carry the earthy scent of cherry blossoms, painting the landscapes.

Spring was Sakura's favorite time of the year. It was a time when the world was young, lush, and bountiful again.

Neither daylight nor moonlight could match the cunning of the dawn chorus, and spears of dawn light drenched the farthest meadows with golden magic.

The sky was filled with stars, creating a pale glow, and the air was mild with a cool breeze. The stars adorned the dark blue night sky, and the moon illuminated the rivers. It was a mesmerizing and timeless sight.

On such nights, Sakura enjoyed sneaking out of her uncle's home to swim in the river. It was a peaceful time that helped heal her mind and soul, allowing her to connect with Mother Nature.

The water was her sanctuary. In the heat of summer nights, Sakura and Rin would secretly sneak out of the house and head to the lake to cool off.

These nights were precious to Sakura, as Rin was the only family she had left after her parent's tragic death.

Her uncle was kind enough to take her and treated her like part of the family.

Sakura took off her clothes, wearing her two-piece swimsuit and dove headfirst into the river.

She felt like she could swim forever and stay underwater forever. If she had the choice, she would want to be born as a mermaid in her next life.

With each movement, she could feel the water flowing around and through her body, and the coldness caused goosebumps to form all over her body. Sakura came up for air, gasped loudly, and then dived into the deep water, blowing bubbles.

After her prolonged swim, Sakura gathered her things and was ready to return home when she sensed something behind the bushes.

She grabbed and threw her dagger in that direction, but nothing jumped out of the bushes. Maybe it was just her imagination.

As the sun rose and illuminated the blue sky, Sakura realized she needed to hurry home before they found out she had snuck out again.

Just as she was about to grab her remaining belongings, she accidentally bumped into a man's chest. Startled, she reached for another dagger from her sheath.

"How did I not notice he was there?" she thought. Sasuke tugged Sakura’s arm gently.

“Did you have a nice swim, little mouse?” Sasuke chuckled softly. The sound of his chuckle felt like a warning.

"Who are you? Let me go!" Sakura demanded as she forced herself out of his hold. She looked up and down at him and realized he was wearing all black leather, daggers strapped all over his body with a kusanagi sword on his side, a black colored half-mask, and red Sharingan eyes glaring at her.

"Uchiha, of course," she growled. "Are you trying to kidnap Rin again? Because I won't let you." Sakura takes a stand, ready to strike. Sasuke doesn't respond and continues to stare her up and down. Sasuke’s gaze dropped to the swell of her breast, watching the curves of Sakura’s body.

“Wait a minute, I know you!” Sakura’s eyes widened as she realized who was in front of her. “You were there at the Onyx Forest with the others, you’re Prince Sasuke.”

His gaze darkened, and a smile danced along his lips as he looked down at her. “You’re a clever little mouse aren’t you Sakura Haruno.”

Hearing her name brought shivers to her spine. Sakura looked away from him as her stomach hardened, but he lifted his hand and quickly brought her gaze to his.

"Tell me, little mouse, do you often sneak out of the house in the middle of the night to…...swim?"

"And why not?" She tilted her head up to look at him.

Sasuke smirked underneath his mask, and she could almost see through it.

"Maybe next time I'll join you when I'm off duty."

Sakura jerked away from his grasp.

"What do you mean, off duty?"

Sasuke didn't take his gaze away from her and didn't respond to her.

"Are you spying on Konoha? On us?"

"Keep a watchful eye on the jinchuriki."

Sakura's eyes widened, and fear rushed over her body. He was spying on Rin, but for what? her thoughts went rapid.

"I knew it, you're planning to kidnap Rin after all."

"You're a clever mouse, think about it. If I needed to kidnap Rin, I would have done it sooner. I don't need an entire army to kidnap one woman."

He is right. The Uchiha’s are more than capable of kidnapping or murdering themselves; they don't need help with that. If he's not here to kidnap Rin, then why is he keeping an eye on her? Is he being her guard in the shadows?" Sakura thought to herself.

"Did the King send you to keep her safe?"

"No."

"So, you decided to watch my cousin out of the goodness of your heart?"

"I have better things to do with my time than to keep watch on two women, one who doesn't pay attention to her surroundings and the other one sneaking out in the middle of the night to swim."

"Then who?"

"My brother, Obito, assigned me to keep an watchful eye on your cousin, since your queen and everyone else didn't take her kidnapping and all these attacks that are happening all over seriously. Since the attacks have been continuous by these imposter Uchiha’s, I'm here to make sure Rin doesn't get kidnapped again."

"Then why did you send me instead of Prince Obito himself to watch her?"

"Because he's busy trying to discover who's behind all these attacks with my father. Believe me, he rather be here instead of me."

Sakura remained silent as she processed the information she had just received. The idea of assigning someone to monitor Rin made Sakura's heart skip a beat. Despite doubling the number of guards in the palace and town, they still felt they needed to be more. Kakashi and Ruen had been spending more time with them, training Rin so that she could become better at fighting, especially with her daggers.

But something didn't sit well with Sakura.

The prince claimed he was keeping an eye on both her and her cousin. It made sense for him to watch over Rin, as she was a jinchuriki and needed to be kept safe, especially after the recent events.

But why was he keeping an eye on her?

What was the reason?

Sakura wasn't a jinchuriki, so why spy on her?

"Does anyone at the palace know that you're here, hiding in the shadows?"

"No, and I prefer it that way. It would be our little secret, little mouse."

Sakura nodded.

"Stop calling me a little mouse, Prince. I guess it's an Uchiha brother thing to give unwanted nicknames to women they kidnapped or are spying on."

Rin told Sakura about everything that happened to her on her journey with Prince Obito. She hated it when he would call her "lamb" or "princess," even when she asked him not to call her anything other than her name.

Sakura thinks that Rin secretly liked the little nicknames Prince Obito gave her and that they grew on her over time, even when she would deny that they did. Sakura knows Rin better than she gives her credit for.

After all, Rin is like an older sister to her that she didn't have. And both developed a very close relationship as they grew up. Rin was much closer to her than she was to her own biological brother, Ruen.

"Tell me, Prince, why are you keeping tabs on me? I understand the importance of watching over Rin, but why also keep an eye on me?"

Sasuke didn't respond. He turned on his heel to disappear into the shadows again and said, "The sun is up, little mouse. Run back home before they realize you sneaked out of the house again."

Sakura cursed underneath her breath as she took her leave.

“I’ll see you around little mouse.”

Chapter 8: Obito/Rin

                                                                                  OBITO

 

"Absolutely fucking not, out of the question!" Ruen exclaimed as he rose from his seat indignantly.

I had never seen anyone this flustered before over their sibling's safety.

"Sit down Nohora," Lord Nara demanded, as even the queen's advisor grew annoyed.

I can't blame him; at this point, I am running out of reasons not to stab Ruen.

"His Majesty the Prince and Lord Minato didn't come all this way to be disrespected by likes of you. So don't forget your place."

Flustered, Ruen said nothing as he sat back next to Lord Nara.

We maintained eye contact.

Who does this insect think he is, trying to intimidate me with his lack of respect?

I didn't have to be at this meeting. Minato could have handled it, but I wanted to deliver the news and witness Ruen's ugly reaction myself.

"Ruen, please understand that Lord Minato and Prince Obito's proposal is in the best interest of your sister, Rin. She would be under the watch of not only the Uchiha soldiers but also the prince's guard. Until we can bring those involved in these crimes to justice, sending Rin to the Akatsuki Land is the best option."

"I don't trust the Uchiha's. Who knows what they're going to do with her? How do I know they won't hand her to whoever is in charge?" Ruen tells us.

This idiot can't be serious.

After rescuing his own sister and bringing her back to them, he still thinks I'm going to fucking hand Rin to these assholes who wanted to harm her?

"I would advise you to watch your tongue, Nohora, or you might end up losing it," I warned him. I have no tolerance for ignorance, especially from a low-life like Ruen Nohora.

I should cut off his tongue for the insults, but Rin's sake, I'll let her idiot brother keep it…. for now. I gazed at him with intensity, my dark eyes fixed on him. His eyebrows furrowed as he clenched his jaw, and a heavy silence enveloped us as he seemed to grapple with whether to trust what Lord Nora had told him.

"Then I'm coming too," Ruen exclaimed abruptly.

The audacity of this fucker. Now I could see where Rin gets it from.

Gods.

"Absolutely fucking not," I spat back before any advisors could speak. "Rin could bring her cousin for company if she wishes, the girl with the pink hair."

"Do you mean Lady Sakura Haruno?" Lord Nora asked.

"Yes, Lady Haruno can come and keep her company for the time being.” Sasuke would appreciate it more than Rin at this point.

"No, I'm going with her."

"Are you fucking deaf, Nohora?"

At this rate, I don't know how long I can control my anger.

"As Lord Nara said, Rin will be in WONDERFUL hands. If you were genuinely concerned for Rin, instead of pretending to care for her safety and not play as her bodyguard - which you've failed to do since she came back after I RESCUED her - why don't you try to join Kakashi Hatake's mission to uncover the truth? Maybe you might be useful to him, you know, instead of wasting my time."

If another stupid word comes out of this moron, I am definitely going to run out of reasons to stab Ruen at this point. Not even Rin's sake is going to be enough to stop me.

"Let me give you a piece of my mind, Uchiha Prince--" I interrupted Ruen before he could finish speaking. "I couldn't possibly take the last piece, SOLDIER," I responded sarcastically, my sharingan glaring, reminding him who I was.

The room was filled with immense tension, and you could cut the air with a knife. Ruen broke the silence in the room and said, "And what if I refuse the prince's offer?"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Nohora, you do not have a say in this matter," Minato continued. "As you can see, Queen Tsunade has already approved this matter. We were trying to inform you of her decision until you decided to share your opinion with us."

"Shit," Ruen muttered as he gripped his fist. He truly believed that his decision would override the queen's.

Everything about Ruen was dry humping my last surviving nerve. Why can't this moron understand everything that we just told him was for his own fucking sisters' safety? I never wanted to kill anyone as badly as I wanted to kill him. Do every one of us the fucking favor.

But fuck, as much of a piece of dog shit, he was, I couldn't. Looking at Ruen, all I could see and think about was her……

I wanted his sister.

In my bed.

Her screaming my name.

Against the wall.

Her ass up.

On her knees.

My dick in her mouth.

My warm cum dripping down from her vet pussy.

I wanted to fuck her.

Fuck.

I wanted Rin.

Holy fuck.

I…. I love her.

Gods.

I'm fucking in love with her.

The harsh truth hit me like a tsunami, and I couldn't longer deny it.

She captivated me in ways no one had before, and I found it hard to focus. I can't afford this distraction now, especially with this looming dilemma.

Yet, I can't stop thinking about her day and night.

She's always on my mind, even in my dreams.

If only she knew how much control and chokehold, she had over me. She has messed with my head too many times already. Few things are certain in my life, but one thing is clear—if I don't have Rin Nohara soon, I going to fucking die. The gods made her just for me, yet she might be my downfall.

She is the embodiment of danger and desire. She is death herself, came into my life to steal my heart and soul. And that’s exactly what she’s doing to me. She is my deity.

Mine.

Fuck.

I wanted to marry her.

No other woman has ever captivated my entire being like she has, making me have all these new emotions and feelings that I have never experienced before. I had envisioned her as my equal, ruling alongside me as the Queen of Akatsuki Land and becoming the mother of my children. I am determined to make that dream a reality, even if her idiot brother tries to interfere.

I just have to kill him.

"Is it decided then? In one week, Prince Sasuke will lead forty of our soldiers to escort Lady Rin and Lady Sakura to Akatsuki Land," Lord Minato announced.

"And where is Rin right now?" I asked. Ruen refused to answer, giving me an annoyed stare. "Ruen?" Lord Nara reminded him who was in front of him with his glare.

“She’s gone to the villages with Sakura to do their monthly check-in routine. She should be back shortly." The meeting with Ruen and Lord Nara couldn't have ended any sooner. Thank the gods for that. If it had lasted much longer, Ruen would have been a dead man in the end.

Lord Minato and I couldn't wait to leave the Nohora Home. "That went well if I say so myself, my dear Obito.” I couldn't tell if Minato was being sarcastic or if he genuinely thought that the meeting went well.

"Why didn't Lord Nohora join us today? We wouldn't waist that much time if he was there instead of his shit of a son?"

"I believe Lord Nohora and his Majesty Jiraiya had prior engagement, and that's why he couldn't be here for our meeting." At this point, it didn't matter if it was her father or brother. They received the news and need to prepare for Rin's arrival at Akatsuki Land.

My stomach tightened at the thought of Rin coming to my country.

She was coming, and I was determined to do everything I could to make her fall in love with me.

"Take Nightmare back with you, Minato," I said as Minato mounted his horse. I wished I could tell if he was surprised, but I knew my father's best friend and adviser well.

"You're breaking my heart, Obito. I didn't know I was bad company to you," he said humorously.

I rolled my eyes at him, something I picked up from my dear little lamb.

"And what could be so important that you will not join me, sir?"

"I have a little lamb to hunt."

                                                     

                        *****************************************************************************

                                                                                                  RIN

 

It was late afternoon when I returned home from my weekly visit to the villages near our town. Sakura usually accompanies my father and me on the visits to care for our people and ensure everyone has the needed medications.

Today, I found myself alone.

My father was occupied at the palace with His Majesty Jiraiya, and Sakura had plans to meet someone else.

I wondered who this mysterious person could be.

It was unusual for Sakura to keep secrets from me, but I trusted her, so whatever she wasn't telling me must be very significant.

Perhaps she has a new boyfriend and feels embarrassed about it?

Gods.

Could she have finally given in and started dating Rock Lee?

Is that why she's reluctant to tell me?

I couldn't help but giggle at the idea of them being a couple… a cute couple, of course.

During our conversation, Sakura mentioned that there was someone I didn't know.

She promised to tell me the truth about this person soon.

On my way back, I felt the need to take the longer path instead of the shorter one to clear my head, so I did. There's nothing to worry about, right? Sakura even reassured me that I was safe.

She said that even if something were to happen, my guardian angel would take care of it.

I scoff.

Where was my guardian angel when I was stuck with Toby, I mean Prince Obito, for those days?

Taking the long way is going to be okay.

I'm confident I will take the wooded path, especially since I have three daggers on each side of my leg and one hidden in my left boot.

Since returning home from being kidnapped, Kakashi and Ruen have been pushing me hard during training. Kakashi says that my fighting skills have significantly improved and that I am much more capable of holding my own in a fight.

It's been a little over three months since the whole debacle with the Uchiha Clan.

Three months have passed since I last saw or heard from Toby, or should I say Obito. Since that jerk didn't tell me his real name, I can't believe that he didn't tell me the truth.

What an asshole!

I can't believe he didn't tell me that he was a prince.

How could I have been so blind and not noticed the signs around me? I should have known he was royalty when the man at the inn kept calling him "Your Eminence," they kept calling me "Your Highness" and freaked out about everything.

Gods.

At least I don't have to deal with him anymore.

The forest is alive with activity.

A delightful, whimsical breeze blows through the thick and lush foliage. The leaves rustle as squirrel’s scurries about, searching for food under chunks of wispy moss.

The birds chirp and sing, filling the air with the scent of blooming flowers, offering a welcome respite from the chaos clouding my mind. The lone songbird is soon joined by its feathered companions, creating a symphony of song.

The blissful melody is like an elixir for my soul. As I continue to stroll through the tranquil forest, my mind wanders. I immerse myself in the beauty surrounding me and let my thoughts drift away freely for the first time in a long time.

"I thought I told you to always have guards with you, Princess," a familiar voice echoed throughout the forest, breaking my concentration.

I froze dead in my tracks, my eyes widening with shock.

Obito Uchiha leaned against a tree, his shoulder pressed into the wood, and his legs crossed at the ankles. A few feet away, it seemed he had been there the whole time, silently watching me without me even sensing his presence. To tell the truth, I almost didn't recognize him. Obito was wearing all black with the red Akatsuki Cloud insignia in front. This time, his mask was also different – a red demon mask that didn't fit his Sharingan eyes.

"I told you not to call me Princess, remember, PRINCE," I said as I stepped back, the leaves cracking softly beneath my feet. But neither Obito nor I looked away. I disliked the way he looked at me and how it made me feel.

"Where is your bodyguard?" Obito scanned the forest as if searching for someone, appearing annoyed.

"What bodyguard? Besides, I don't need one; I can protect myself," I replied.

"I thought your cousin Sakura was supposed to be with you. How come she didn't join you?" He spoke.

How did he know that Sakura was supposed to be with me?

Was he spying on me?

I didn't respond and didn't want to give him any information he might not know.

Besides, it's none of his business anyway.

"There was another jinchuriki kidnapping three nights ago."

Fear rushed through me.

They managed to kidnap another jinchuriki?

How is that possible?

Obito told me that jinchuriki have markings on their bodies, and my purple markings gave me away that I was one.

What kind of markings did that person have?

I hope whoever it is, they're safe.

"This isn't the time for fun and games, Rin," Obito warns coldly, leaving no room for argument as he pushes off the tree. I let out a nervous, annoyed laugh.

Who does he think he is?

No matter how good he looks, I don't care if he's a prince or a deity.

"And you came all this way to tell me this, Prince?"

I took a few steps back as he stepped in closer.

He didn't answer, but nonetheless, his gaze darkened.

My heart skips a beat. I forgot how my body warms up at the sight of him. His presence sometimes makes my stomach turn.

I choose not to acknowledge these emotions right now, so I bury them deep inside and lock them with a key.

Obito was closing the gap between us when I took out my daggers and took a stance.

"Like I said, PRINCE, I can handle my own."

"Is that right? And with that stance?"

He was mocking me.

The nerve of him.

Fuck him.

Anger flushed through me, and I launched a dagger straight at him.

Of course, the jerk catches it.

"Daggers, princess? Are you flirting with me?" His sharingan twinkles with amusement.

"Did that scare you?" I asked mockingly, knowing it didn't—not when he caught my dagger like a toy.

"Yes, it terrifies me." His voice mocking as he handed me back my dagger. "Good, because I cannot wait to scare you more." Pointing both daggers at him.

"Two daggers? Now I know you're flirting with me."

I roll my eyes, gripping both daggers, ready to throw at him to prove that I am not someone he can mess with.

Not anymore.

His face turned smug, and I watched a faint smile curve his lips underneath his mask.

"Oh, my dear lamb, if you promise me, then I can't wait," he chuckles.

"You don't think that I won't be able to take you on?"

"Oh, you could take me on, however you want, love. I'd prefer you on top of me."

"Do you always have a dirty mind, or were you not taught manners, prince?"

Obito leaned in closer while my daggers pointed at his chest.

To him, my daggers were nothing but toys; it didn't matter to him if they could stab him in the chest, even with the black armor he was wearing.

"When I'm around you, my mind is always dirty and right now my beautiful lamb, you are running naked. The thought of you naked…." His eyes widened, "My mind can't leave your body alone, and I can't stop the craving of you on top of me." His eyes darkened, staring into my eyes with desperate intensity. "Or me on top of you," he whispered hoarsely. His voice was raw, filled with a longing that left me breathless.

My heart skips a bit as my body warms up, a reminder of how this man makes me feel—feelings I don't want, especially from him.

Pull it together, Rin!

“That’s never going to happen!”

"I want to write poems on your neck, your breast, your pussy, all over your body with my lips, princess."

My mind went spiral as I imagined his lips all over my body. My cheeks flushed with want and need and anger towards myself for letting this one man get to me in ways that no one has ever had.

“Never….” I whisper.

The sharp tips of the daggers hit his chest armor. The metal of his armor is impeccable. If he pushes any deeper, it might break the tips of my daggers. His fingers find my chin and tug my face back in his direction. Our gazes meet, my lips so close to his, and I open my mouth to say anything to make him stop, hoping it would stop the deep ache that began in my lower stomach.

"Get away from me," I said in warning, but it came out as a plea. Obito said nothing, but his Sharingan was darkened and crinkled with amusement.

"You're nothing but my enemy!"

"Enemies do make the best lovers, though; don't you agree, sweetheart?"

"You're an ass," I said, my voice shaking with anger. Unfazed, he yanked one of my daggers and, as before, guided it back to its sheath. Taking a few steps back, I held onto my other dagger, like my life depended on it. "So, you mentioned once or twice," he said. His gaze darkened, and I found myself breathing hard as I stepped back.

He closed the distance between us. 

"You're just a violent man, especially if you don't know how to take a hint and back off."

"I am not a violent man, lamb, but I am comfortable with violence."

"Yes, you are, a very violent man, Toby." I said, pointing the dagger at him.

"Toby…huh," he chuckled at the sound of the name he had given me, the fake name. He growled at me, and my heart raced even faster.

I swallowed hard as I took in his words. I didn't realize my back had hit the nearest tree. He took my other dagger and returned it to its sheath. He advanced towards me, pressing his hands against the tree on either side of my head. He leaned down, forcing me to look at him.

"What?" I asked, my voice filled with nervousness and need. He shrugged, a smile spreading across his lips, almost visible under his mask. "I just love hearing my name coming from your luscious lips," he said, glancing back and forth between my lips and eyes. His words made me shut my eyes, clearing my suddenly dry throat. I hated the way this one man made me feel.

"Well, PRINCE, Toby isn't your real name, now, is it?" I had the upper hand, and he ran right into it.

He smiled with his crimson eyes, and his gaze was intense. It was as if he was daring me to say his name—no, not daring, wanting me to say it. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Instead, I opened my mouth and said, "You lied to me." Obito fell silent, his expression turning serious as he studied my face.

I had anticipated a defensive reaction from him, but he appraised me slowly instead before locking eyes with me again.

"When did I lie?" My grip on the tree tightened as I stood up, feeling furious.

Was he for real?

The nerve of this guy.

"When you failed to mention that you're a prince."

"So what?" He tilted his head. "If I had told you I was a prince, would you have knelt before me and shown me your… loyalty? Lamb?"

My chest heaved as he closed the space between us. I shook my head.

"I would never kneel for you." His crimson eyes crinkled with amusement as if he envisioned me kneeling before him.

The nerve of this jerk.

"You lied to me about your name, your real name."

That only made him smile even harder, daring me to say his full name.

He leaned forward, ran his mask along the shell of my ear, and said, "Say my name, lamb."

I shuddered as he spoke, feeling a sudden ache between my thighs.

I imagined what lay beneath his masks, I cup his face. He didn't flinch or stop me as I slowly removed his red mask. He was even more handsome than I had imagined.

He has a straight nose and a diagonal scar that bisects his lips and marks the corner of his bottom lip, which makes him more dangerous.

A smirk stretches across his face, "Say my name, lamb."

His voice was slow and seductive, and my breath rushed out of me as my stomach tightened with his voice.

And apparently, I wanted to say his name "Obito…." I whisper, his gaze never leaving mine.

Silence.

And then------

His mouth was on top of mine.

He KISSED ME!

My first kiss...... and it was with Obito Uchiha.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he wasn't finished. His hand lowered, and I don't know why my body so quickly allowed him to tug my hips forward until they met his. I was lost in the kiss and the way his body felt against mine. I didn't have the power to stop him even if I wanted to. He kissed me like he hungered for nothing else in the world, and my body fueled him with every swipe of his tongue.

As much as I hate to admit it, I felt that way too.

"A kiss. It's going to cost you a kiss, babe, remember?" I stepped out of his touch before I could get lost in him again. He chuckled softly yet deafeningly, and I blinked, realizing what had just happened, and stepped away from him further. "How dare you?" I said, catching my breath.

Obito chuckled.

We both snapped back to reality when we heard a branch break. Obito and I turned to see Sakura standing by a nearby tree. Shit, how long had she been standing there? Did she see us kiss? The shock on her face said it all... or did it? Oh Gods. How am I supposed to explain myself and get out of this situation?

"Oh, my apologies. I didn't mean to intrude," Sakura said as she dipped into a deep bow. Obito looked up at the trees, looking for something or expecting someone to be hidden there.

"No, you didn't," I said, giving him an attitude with my head held up high. "Prince Obito was just leaving."

"Of course," Obito smirked and bowed deeper. I wondered what such a powerful man would look like on his knees for me. Shit, I'm letting my mind wander again with dangerous thoughts that I don't have the right to entertain. Pull yourself together, woman! "Don't forget to pack that maroon dress I got you." I don't know what was more annoying, his smirk or the wink. Obito's Sharingan transformed into a different design, which he used to summon a massive blue creature that transported us to Onyx Forest. But was he summoning that creature again?

Suddenly, his right eye spun, and he said, "I'll see you next week, lamb," before disappearing into the void.

Next week?

There's no way I'll see him, not even in my wildest fantasies.

That's not going to happen.

This move caught both Sakura and me off guard. It was something I had never seen or experienced before. It showcased how extraordinary and terrifying the Sharingan can be. "Wow…." Those were the only words Sakura could muster up.

"Where were you? You were supposed to be with me. If you were here, none of this would have happened!" I growled, walking towards her. "I-I told you, I had to meet someone…" Sakura says nervously. "What happened?" She continues to ask.

Fuck, I can't bring myself to tell her that Obito just kissed me. I'm not even sure if she saw us kiss. I don't know how she'll react – she might be furious, or maybe she'll be happy for me. I'm not ready to face that yet, not right now anyway.

I'm so mad at myself for letting Obito take advantage of me like that. He stole my first kiss, and I can't believe it. I always thought Kakashi would be my first kiss, my first everything. Now...... I don't know how I feel about that. Unlike with that insufferable Obito, my body never warms up or skips a beat like when I see Kakashi.

My mind can't think straight while my heart is running a marathon.

"Who did you go see?"

"I can't tell you right now but give me time. I will. Please don't force me to say it," Sakura pleaded, her tone making me nervous for her.

"I better not find out you're seeing an Uchiha secretly, Sakura," I said, my voice carrying a weight of suspicion. Her eyes widened with shock, as if I had just discovered her deep, dark secret.

My brows furrowed deeper. I opened my mouth to question her further when Kakashi appeared.

"There you are, girls; I've been looking for both of you," Kakashi said.

"Is everything alright?" Sakura and I asked simultaneously.

"Yes, Rin, your father needs to speak with both of you."

 

                                           *******************************************************************************

                                                                                              OBITO

 

I teleported back to the palace gardens moments later after leaving Rin and Sakura in the forest. They should be fine since Sasuke bothered showing up. That bastard. He spends a little too much time with Sakura instead of doing his job.

Ah, my little brothers have always been such a pain in my ass. My face couldn't stop grinning at the fact that I finally kissed Rin. Is this how people feel when they're in love?

I felt like a fool in love; maybe I am a fool... and in love.

"My, my, my, I don't think I have ever seen my son this happy before," When I turned around, my mother's voice brought me back to reality. I saw my two sisters-in-law, Tsubaki, and a very pregnant Izumi, and my mother standing in the middle of them.

"Or in love," Tsubaki blurts out. My mother is smiling, and Izumi is chuckling. "And who is this woman that has you smiling to the stars, my son?" My mother asks softly. Before I could answer, my little nephew Yuri ran to me and jumped into my arms. "Uncle, uncle, you're back!"

Gods, I love my nephew. He looks like the spitting image of Itachi. I warmly kiss him and say, "Where's your daddy at, Yuri?" Avoiding my mother's question. Little Yuri shrugs his shoulders.

"He's at the gym with the rest of the boys," Izumi replied. "Weren't you supposed to arrive with Minato?" my mother continued to ask.

"I decided to take a little detour; he should be arriving shortly," I answered my mother.

"A little detour? For what?" This time, Izumi asked the question.

Fuck, why are they interrogating me all of a sudden? They usually aren't this curious about my whereabouts or what I do. All three of them look at me, waiting for my answer as if it will be the breaking point of their curiosity.

"Hunting," I lied.

"Hunting?" All three of them said at the same time. It was unsettling how much time the three of them were spending together. "Yes, hunting," I continued, perpetuating my lie. "What exactly are you hunting for?" Mother asked, her tone filled with curiosity as if she knew the answer.

"He went hunting for a lamb..." Tsubaki interrupted me before I could continue with my lie. An evil smirk spread across her face, and her Sharingan glared at me, indicating that she had caught me lying and knew about my little lamb. But how? I haven't told any of my brothers about the nickname I gave Rin. How the fuck did she find out?

Shisui is right in giving her "little devil" or "little demon" as a nickname.

She is one.

Her father is one of our Generals, and she was one of his personal assassins before she married Shisui.

I have no doubt that she holds a lot of top secrets and knowledge, but no one knew this information. When Izumi was kidnapped, Tsubaki was the one who tortured and got the information out of that Hayashi rebel about the whereabouts of where they were holding Izumi.

Only the Gods know what she did in that room or how she got that information from him.

To this day, none of us Uchiha brothers dare to ask her. My own sharingan glared back at her with a warning, that made her smile even harder.

My mother shook her head and Izumi continued to chuckle as if they were satisfied of finding out about my lamb, but they don’t know who it might be. I wouldn’t pass Tsubaki though.

“Here, go to your mamma.” I hand little Yuri back to Izumi.

“Ladies…...” I dipped into a deep bow and turned my heel and walked towards the palace, before they decided to interrogate me more and Tsubaki magically giving the answers away.

It's been four hours, and I'm still getting beaten by Shisui. Itachi, Naruto, and Sai sit on the bench, watching Shisui and me in a boxing match. I usually dominate, but today, I'm struggling to keep up. "This is not like you, Obito," Shisui says as he throws a punch, and I block the movement.

I said, "Well, my head's somewhere else," as it was my turn to punch, but Shisui blocked me.

"Did the meeting not go as planned?" Shisui continued. I tried blocking his punch, but he managed to hit my shoulder.

"No, everything went according to plan," I replied. Shisui and I circled around each other.

Shisui shifted back too late. My hook smashed into his cheek, sending him stumbling backward. My head might not be in the game, but it doesn't hurt to remind him who he's fighting against. Shisui spat blood out and wiped it from his mouth before smirking.

"About time you threw a good punch, Obito," Naruto yells from the sides, still recovering his own bruises that both he and Sai managed to give each other.

"Shut up, Naruto." I bite back.

"And what did Rin have to say about this?" Itachi asked.

Concentrated on the fight, I opened my mouth to respond to my brother, but Sai cut me off, "She's probably revolted by Obito, and I wouldn't be surprised if she refuses to come."I lowered my fists and was in utter shock at what that moron Sai had just said.

I knew he had no filter and said whatever was on his mind, but this was harsh. Shisui took advantage of me for not paying attention to him. He pulled his fists closer to his face, inched forward, feinted a punch, and landed a solid blow to my face. I fell like a tree, and the boys stood there in shock.

Fuck.

It's been a while since anyone could throw a punch like Shisui just did. I managed to haul myself onto my feet. Blood trickled down my face from the cut on my eye.

"Shit, I'm sorry, brother. I meant to do that," Shisui came to help me and handed me a towel. I pushed him after taking the towel away, and Shisui laughed.

"Good one, Shisui, I'm almost proud." I said as I sat on the bench next to the boys.

"Almost, huh? Next time, I'll make sure to knock you out." Shisui says, drinking his water.

A while later, I informed them about the meeting with Ruen and the plans for Rin and Sakura's arrival. Ensure they understand their assignments, especially Sai, to keep far, FAR away from Rin. The last thing I need is for this idiot to insult her or say something inappropriate to her.

I don't want to kill the poor kid, not yet…….at least. Before leaving the gym to return to my room for a nice bath and relaxation, I turn back to Shisui and say,

“Oh, and Shisui, make sure to tell your demon wife to stay out of my business.”

Chapter 9: Sakura

Knock…...knock….

"Rin, are you awake?" I whispered by her door, but she didn't answer. I slowly crept open her door and saw Rin sitting on her bed, holding her knees together and looking through the window.

"I didn't mean to wake you," I told her, closing the door behind me, but she didn't look my way.

"You didn't. I've been up," Rin said. I sat by her side on the bed, seeing different emotions, mostly sorrow, written on her face as she gave me a small smile, pretending to be happy, but I could see the sadness in her eyes.

"How long have you been up?" I asked her.

"I kept tossing and turning all night long, couldn't sleep. Been up since... thinking," Rin told me.

"Why didn't you come to me?" I asked, my brows narrowing with worry in my voice.

"I didn't want to wake you," she told me.

"What's bothering you?" She finally looked at me, choking on her own tears, trying not to let me know that she wanted to cry or continue crying. I pulled her in close for the biggest hug I could give; hot tears streamed down her face, tears she could no longer hold in. I dislike seeing Rin distressed. She usually doesn't like anyone seeing her in this state of mind, and no one does.

She steps away from the hug.

"Obito once told me that some people wish they could have been born a jinchuriki, but I can't understand why they would wish such a horrible curse upon themselves?"

Obito? Sasuke has mentioned how much his older brother inspires, motivates, and means to him and his other brothers. In some strange way, I am nervous about meeting them.

"Everything is going to be all right, my dear sister. You'll see," I said, trying to comfort her.

"Well, YOU'RE not the one being hunted down like an animal, forced to leave your home to go to your enemies. Forced to deal with Obito's…." She sniffs, thinking carefully about what she will say, "Ugh, he's so annoying."

Sasuke wouldn't admit that his older brother has a thing for Rin.

Especially when I caught them kissing in the forest with Sasuke. We both were so stunned that I accidentally stepped on a branch, revealing myself to them, but Sasuke had already disappeared into the trees.

Rin hasn’t opened up or said anything about the kiss and I didn’t want to mention anything to her.

“Come, I made you a bath. Sa-Prince Sasuke will arrive soon, we need to be ready by then. Ruen told me that Kakashi will be joining us.” That caught Rin off guard, “Is he allowed to? Do the Uchiha’s know about this?”

“No,” I respond. I wonder how Sasuke is going to take the news, or if his going to allow Kakashi to travel with us.

“This is going to be interesting though.” I spoke.

                                                                                                                   **************

"You look beautiful, my dear," my Aunt Mei said, tucking the last white sakura flower into my braid. "Thank you, Aunt Mei," I thanked my uncle's wife. Aunt Mei has always been sweet and kind; she never treated me any differently.

She always said I was her other daughter, one she never had.

Gods, that woman is like an angel.

Rin was in her room, ensuring she packed everything we needed for this long, miserable trip.

There was one knock on my bedroom door, and my uncle walked in, "They're here." We all went downstairs. I was so nervous; it felt like the anticipation was a knot in my stomach.

Was Sasuke going the one who knocked on the door? He told me that he and the Uchiha Army captain would escort us to Akatsuki Land.

Finally, my uncle opened the door. Uchiha royal guard stopped directly in front of us.

The guard stepped aside, and a tall man wearing all black leather and a traditional raven helmet stepped in directly before us.

"May we come in?" he asks.

My uncle nodded, and the men entered the house. Sasuke walked behind him, wearing all black leather and his favorite red mask.

We all took a deep bow before them. Rin swallowed her disgust as I stared at Sasuke, a slight blush creeping on my cheeks when he met my eyes.

The tall man bowed his head and said, "I am Reed Azaka, the captain of the Royal Uchiha Army.

We are ready to leave, Lady Rin Nohora, Lady Sakura Haruno." His gruff voice sounded like he had spent far too many years with a pipe in his mouth.

Rin and I nodded our heads once but didn't speak.

"We are expected to arrive in Akatasuki Land by nightfall."

"How long is the trip?" Rin tried not to allow them to sense her fears.

"Several hours," Sasuke responds.

"You both should say your goodbyes." We nodded, and they both stepped out of the house. Sasuke's words felt like a dagger to Rin's chest; I shouldn't have been surprised.

"Be intelligent, girls, especially you Rin. Remember, this change is temporary; it's only for now until this situation resolves, and we can end this senseless Cold War." My uncle reached out for both of us and gripped our hands in his trembling hands. "Listen to your father, dears. As unbelievable as it sounds, they wish to help you. Do what is expected of you." I know Aunt Mei meant well, but I understand Rin better than her parents and brother.

Emotions choked her as she stared at her parents.

Rin scoffs.

We didn't want to say goodbye.

But it was time for us to take our leave.

We entered the carriage and took a deep breath as the door closed. The interior was more luxurious than anything I had ever seen in my entire life. The seats were made of supple black leather with satin red pillows against the wooden backrest. I leaned against them before looking back out the open window.

Sasuke and Kakashi stood a little further away from the carriage, and it seemed they were arguing. I didn't need to be a mind reader to know what they argued about.

The invitations stated that only Rin and I would go on this trip. Sasuke crumpled the piece of paper that Kakashi gave him and walked away, tucking it into his pocket.

Kakashi mounted his horse and stood there waiting for our departure.

I guess Kakashi is joining us.

Fun.

It began to move once the guards had finished loading our small trunks onto the carriage. Rin and I waved one last goodbye to our families with panicked eyes.

Sasuke was honest when he said the trip would take several hours. Only the moon was shining high in the sky, providing little light. We were still close to the forest's edge and saw no signs of Akatsuki Land.

Nightfall brought a chill with it.

"Where are we?" I asked Sasuke. He had been riding near our carriage the entire trip.

"We are about an hour outside of the main capital, Sakura," Sasuke replied with a wink behind his mask and half a smile formed on my lips.

After stopping briefly to give the horses water, we continued our journey.

                                         *******************************

“Welcome to Akatsuki Land,” Sasuke exclaimed by my window before riding ahead of the carriage.

Rin and I hurried to the side of the carriage to glimpse the country we had heard so much about since we were children.

The cobblestones reverberated beneath the carriage wheels as we traversed the city streets.

Despite the late hour, the city was alive with bright lanterns hanging from the townhouses we passed, and almost every doorstep was adorned with candlelight.

The capital city's residents stood at their doorsteps and along the streets, watching our carriage pass. Some waved and bowed as if we were royalty.

Their reaction shocked both Rin and me.

We didn't expect such a welcome from the people of Akatsuki Land.

The carriage slowed as we approached the black iron gate. Our ears raced as the loud grating of metal rang out around us. We watched as the gates slowly opened to allow us through. It was only this morning when they came to bring us here. The gate door closed behind us with a loud clang.

Although we didn't admit it, we were uncertain about what to expect.

Anxiety was getting the best of us. Rin and I held each other's hand, trying to comfort each other's nerves. "I can't believe we're finally here, that this is happening," Rin said in almost a whisper, hoping the Uchiha guards didn't hear them. I squeezed her hand tightly.

"It's going to be all right, Rin. I have a good feeling, just have faith," I said reassuringly.

Rin closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I'll try, for both our sakes," she replied softly.

We didn't expect the palace grounds to be so grand and beautiful. The dark stones rose high into the sky, but the glass windows were intricately woven into the structure in a way that made it feel dazzling in the lantern light.

The dark stones matched the color of the palace. The stone exterior was weathered with age and covered in mossy patches and climbing vines that bore vibrant flowers. It was breathtaking.

The carriage stopped before a set of grand stairs that led up to the even more imposing set of doors. The Captain of the Royal Army opened the carriage door, and held his hand out to help us. 

"Welcome to Uchiha palace, my ladies," The Captain said as he bowed.

Kakashi joined us, and Rin asked with relief, "Kakashi, I'm so glad you came with us."

"Yes, Queen Tsunade granted Ruen's last request to allow me to join you."

"Granted or begged?" Rin said.

"We're glad that you could make it with us," I said, with a slight smile on our faces. Kakashi nodded in agreement.

The heavy palace doors creaked open, revealing two men and two women. One of the men was dressed in a royal blue servant's outfit, and the other wore all-black leather, much like Sasuke. He even looked like Sasuke. Two young women with messy brunette curls quickly descended the stairs and knelt before us.

Sasuke stood beside the man with sleek raven hair tied back, whispering something in his ear. Rin looked around, hoping that Prince Obito might also show up, but he was nowhere to be found. Kakashi took notice of Rin, as if he exactly knew who she was looking for.

"Welcome, Lady Nohora, Lady Haruno, and Lord Hatake, to my humble home. I am Prince Itachi Uchiha, and this is our castle steward, Alfred. He and every servant at our home are at your service. Please make yourselves at home." Itachi and Sasuke nod and walk back to the palace.

That's THE Prince Itachi Uchiha. The clan killer we all heard so much about.

Sasuke told me the story about his older brothers and how Itachi earned that nickname, but he didn't seem like a hostile man to me.

He had kind eyes and a gentle smile. He was nothing like what I expected him to be from the stories we were told.

"Dear ladies and gentlemen, as His Majesty mentioned, my name is Alfred and it's my honor to serve you. I would like to take this opportunity to welcome you all. These two young ladies, Ella and Jasmine, will be your ladies-in-waiting. You must be tired from your trip. I had the girls prepare your rooms, where you can rest until dinner is ready."

"Nice to meet you, ladies," Ella and Jasmine said as they motioned up the stairs, and we quickly followed them.

"Your trunks will be taken to your rooms. Sir Hatake, I will show you to your room, sir. Please follow me," Alfred said to Kakashi.

"Thank you, Alfred."

Our rooms.

As if this were to become our new home, I knew reality wasn't the truth, but it felt like the closest thing to it. Ella and Jasmine watched our every step, but they didn't speak. As we walked through the large doors, the palace became even grander. "Your rooms are in the north wing," Ella nodded in the direction, and we followed behind her.

Everything we passed was gilded in gold, marble, or beautiful aged stone. I had never seen anything like this before in my entire life. The Senju Palace was another beauty, but I hate to admit it. The Uchiha Palace was another level of beauty.

"How old is the Uchiha Palace?" I asked, my voice echoing throughout the empty hall.

"It is said that the palace was built by the first Uchiha king. King Ares Uchiha built this palace for his wife a centuries ago," Rin absently ran her fingers along the wall as we passed.

"Centuries?" Rin's voice echoed in shock.

“Yes, my lady.” Gods. There was no way that could be right. We finally reached the north wing and stopped by a grand double door.

"This is your room, Lady Nohora," Ella said as she opened the door, standing aside to allow her through.

Rin turned and looked at me and said, "I'll see you at dinner," as she hesitantly entered her room. "Your room is right next to Lady Rin's," Jasmine said as she guided me to my room.

It might have been next to Rin's, but it felt like a mile away.

Jasmine opened the double doors of my room and stood aside as I hesitantly entered. I was instantly hit with the heat from a small hearth at the edge of the room, and a small fire danced inside, warming the space.

A large bed sat across the fire, covered with rich fabrics that draped to the floor in the softest shade of pink.

Even if we combined mine and Rin's beds, this bed was much larger, and my muscles begged me to lie against it and feel as if it was as welcoming as it appeared. A small desk stood next to the single window in the room. It was filled with blank parchment, ink, and a gold mirror that spanned the width of the dark wood.

"The washroom is this way, my lady," said Jasmine, standing near the only other door. I quickly followed her inside. A sigh escaped my lips as I spotted the large copper tub that took up most of the space. Jasmine smiled.

"I'll prepare a bath for you and get you ready for dinner. The Royal family will call upon you ladies within the next couple of hours."

"Thank you," I said, nodding my head.

                                                                         ********************************

Four hours later, Alfred guided Rin, Kakashi, and me to a small dining room where the royal family awaited us for dinner.

Alfred nodded to the guards standing nearby, ordering them to push open the looming grand double doors. He led us to what he considered a "small" dining room, and I was instantly hit with the heat of a large hearth at the base of the room. The fire was roaring inside as the heat warmed the room.

The dining room that Alfred considered minor was the size of my uncle's house. If this room is considered small, I can't imagine how big the royal dining room is. In the dining room, only two women sat around a long, wooden table in the center of the marble floor. One of the women was wearing a long, dark green dress highlighting her curvy figure.

The other woman, who was heavily pregnant and looked like she was due any day now, was wearing a navy-blue dress. Both ladies had their raven hair down.

Both ladies got up and walked towards us.

"Your Majesties, please allow me to introduce Lady Rin Nohora, Lady Sakura Haruno, and Lord Kakashi Hatake of the Land of Konoha," Alfred said to the two women.

"This is Princess Tsubaki, the wife of Prince Shisui, and this is Princess Izumi, the wife of Prince Itachi." We bowed deeply, and the two women nodded their heads.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Princesses," Rin says.

"The pleasure is all ours. Please come join us for dinner," Izumi tells us, and we all walk towards the long wooden table.

The servants push our seats closer to the table, and the smell of delicious food hits our noses. Princess Izumi sits next to the empty head of the table chair. Princess Tsubaki sits in front of her. Rin sits next to Tsubaki, I sit next to Rin, and Kakashi sits next to me.

The servants served delicious roast beef with mashed potatoes and vegetables while the others served wine.

"Your Majesties, if I may ask, when will His Majesty the king and queen join us?" Kakashi asked the two princesses.

"The king and queen will not be joining us tonight, but you will get the chance to meet them tomorrow evening," Princess Izumi explained.

"Are the princes joining us as well?" Kakashi asked.

"Prince Obito and my husband are on a mission together and will arrive in two days. The other boys should be joining us soon," Princess Tsubaki replied. I looked at Rin, noticing a mix of emotions on her face. Was she relieved that Prince Obito wasn't there, or was she sad? "Rin, are you ready for our training?" Tsubaki asked.

"Training? What training? I wasn't told about any training," Rin replied.

"Obito asked me to train you while you're here. Don't worry, I'll start off easy and we'll progress as we go on."

"Oh, you don't have to, Princess Tsubaki-"

"Call me Tsubaki. We'll start our training tomorrow morning. I was thinking around nine, ten at the latest."

"Why so late?" Izumi asked. "Well, I'm assuming she would be tired from today's journey. With a good night's rest, she should have her energy restored for training. Don't get used to training that late in the mornings though."

Rin nodded. "Thank you, Tsubaki."

The double doors opened, and Sasuke, Prince Itachi, and two other young men walked in. One young man had spiky blond hair, and the other had raven hair like the Uchihas.

Prince Itachi sat at the head of the table, Sasuke sat next to Izumi, and the other two men sat next to Sasuke. As our eyes locked, the corner of Sasuke's mouth twitched with a ghost of a smile, showing his Sharingan eyes.

"May I introduce Naruto Uzumaki and Sai Azaka," Itachi said, introducing the two young men.

They nodded to us.

"Naruto is Lord Minato's son, and Sai is the son of the Captain of our Army," Itachi continued.

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Rin," Naruto said to Rin. "It's nice to have another jinchuriki around here."

"Another jinchuriki?" Rin asked.

"Yes, Naruto is our Akatasuki Land jinchuriki," Sasuke explained.

"Tell me, Miss Rin, how many tails does your beast have?" Sai asked.

"I don't know. I never got the chance to find out," Rin replied.

"That explains the sealing symbols hanging from your hair," Naruto said.

"Don't worry, I'll help you with everything I can in taming your tailed beast. I went through it myself for years."

"And if you don't mind me asking, Lord Uzumaki-"

"Please call me Naruto, if I may call you Rin?"

"Please, I'd prefer it. I was going to ask you, Naruto, how many tails does your tailed beast have?"

"My tailed beast's name is Kurama, and he has nine tails. He's also known as the Nine-Tailed Fox."

"Nine tails? And he has a name?" Rin asked in shock.

We were all shocked by this new information.

"Yes, and hopefully soon you can find out about your tailed beast as well."

Sasuke's intense gaze scanned every inch of me, leaving little to the imagination. I swallowed hard as I looked up at him, feeling exposed.

This time, Rin noticed.

                                                                   *************************************

Knock…. Knock…Knock……

I woke up from a deep sleep. It was past midnight. I got out of my comfortable bed to open my bedroom door. It's probably Rin; maybe she's having trouble falling asleep in this castle. I had that problem earlier. I turned on some lights in the room so it's not too dark. Rin probably wants to discuss today and what she's going through.

Can't say I blame her.

I cautiously opened the door and saw that it wasn't Rin standing there but Sasuke.

He was wearing only a black, long-sleeve shirt that was partially unbuttoned, along with black leather trousers. It struck me how I had never seen him out of all-black attire before.

"Sasuke?" I whispered, trying not to wake up the entire floor.

"I couldn't sleep knowing my little mouse was right in front of my bedroom door." I stepped aside and let him into my room, aware we might get in trouble if anyone found out. I closed my bedroom door, making sure no one was there.

Sasuke's gaze darkened as he leaned forward and ran his nose along the shell of my ear. I shuddered against him.

"Sakura…"

He said my name in warning, but it came out as a plea. He breathed me in slowly before his lips met mine.

The kiss was intense enough to make my breathing heavy.

A chill ran down my spine.

"Sasuke?" I whispered, trying not to wake up the entire floor.

"Sakura,"

"Sasuke, it's late…

"Let me sleep next to you tonight." His words were like whispers over my skin, captivating me. I would be a fool to deny the thrill that ran through me with his touch. It was unlike anything I had ever sensed before.

"Fuck, Sakura," he hissed my name.

Sasuke carried me back to my bed and laid me down gently. It hit me then that Sasuke was in my room, in front of me, and I was in nothing but my silk nightgown and undergarments. He took the opportunity to pull me closer to the edge of the bed against him.

He slowly lifted his hand and moved my hair over my shoulder before letting his fingers fall against my neck.

This brought a grin to Sasuke's face.

He said, ''Are you going to sleep with me tonight?'"

"No," I said, lacking authority. His grin widened as his hand pressed against my neck, fingers digging into my hip.

"You're a terrible liar, little mouse. You deny me, but your body language gives you away," he said as he leaned in and pressed his mouth against my jawline.

A small whimper escaped from my lips.

"You don't need to be ashamed of wanting me, little mouse," he said.

I swallowed hard as I took in his words. His hands tightened further as if he were trying to control himself.

"You belong to me, Sakura," his teeth grazed over the sensitive skin of my neck. I inhaled deeply as I reached out and grasped onto his forearms for support. My chest heaved against his, and I could feel his heart racing.

"Sasuke," I whispered his name, but it sounded more like I was pleading with him to do exactly what I wanted.

"You drive me crazy every time my name escapes your lips." His mouth met mine.

"I've been dreaming about you since the first moment I saw you, my little mouse."

My stomach tightened, and I felt moisture gathering between my legs.

"Well, what if I don't want you?" I asked. He chuckled softly.

"I can smell how much you want me right now, little mouse."

Another small whimper escaped from my mouth.

He knew I was lying to him, lying to myself. My back arched, and a deep ache began between my thighs, an ache I hadn't been able to shake since meeting him.

We kissed passionately as if he was fighting to maintain control and not take things further in my bed. He groaned as our tongues met, and I could taste a hint of wine on his tongue.

Sasuke ran his fingers down my belly in a small circular motion. He pulled my silk gown slightly up, his hand grazed over my undergarments in a whisper of a touch.

I jolted when he pressed firmly against my sex, and I heard his soft laugh behind me.

"Fuck, little mouse, you're so ready for me. Aren't you?" Sasuke slowly dipped his fingers inside me. "So, fucking wet." I clamped my eyes closed as he gathered my moisture with his fingers.

I winded my legs to give him better access to my body, and he pressed a gentle kiss on the back of my neck.

"Tell me you belong to me, Sakura. Tell me you're mine…"

"I belong to you, only you," I whispered and reached behind me to touch him. I ran my fingers along the back of his neck and felt the way his soft raven hair was. Sasuke pulled his fingers from my pussy and brought it to his lips to taste me, "Fuck, you taste even sweeter than I imagined." Then he put his fingers back into me, and I wasn't prepared for what he was doing to me.

"That's right little mouse. You're mine."

"Sasuke, please." I felt pleasure coursed through my body.

“Oh gods," I tightened my hand in his hair.

"That's it Sakura, come for me baby." His fingers move faster against me as his mouth continues to lick, suck and graze over my skin. He pushed two fingers inside me, and I whimpered. His palm continued to work against my sex, begging for him, only him. My legs trembled beneath me, and there was a deep ache building and building in my lower stomach, and I felt like I was about to lose myself in him.

“Let go, little mouse,” he growled against me before his two fingers curled inside me and his teeth scraped over my collarbone. My hand tightened against him, and I clamped my thighs down around his hand.

I was thrown over the edge, pleasure unlike anything I had ever known surging through me, and I fell apart against Sasuke. It took me a long moment to catch my breath and realize what we had just done. Sasuke slid his hand away from my body and licked his two fingers. He pressed a gentle kiss against my cheek, and I tensed beneath his touch.

Sasuke wrapped his arm around my middle and tugged me into him until my back pressed against his chest. The warmth of his chest seeped into me. He pushed his knee forward between my thighs and ran his nose along the back of my neck as if he were breathing me in.

“Sleep my little mouse.”

He gave me one last good night kiss on my lips.

My eyes fluttered closed, and I slept more deeply than I ever have before. 

Chapter 10: Obito/Rin/Sakura

                                                                                      OBITO

It felt like years when Shisui and I arrived in Saint Bellanu from the Land of Iwagakure.

We had gone to Iwagakure to meet with King Ōnoki and discuss the recent attacks by the imposter Uchiha and the kidnappings of jinchuriki’s, as his youngest granddaughter is a jinchuriki herself. The old man assured us that his granddaughter was guarded day and night.

At least this kingdom has some common sense.

When we were there, I received a message from Jericho asking to meet him at The Drunken Deity Tavern. He mentioned that he had some important news for me. Five days later, Shisui and I arrived at Saint Bellanu.

The last time I was in this city was with my lamb when she pretended to be my wife.

One day, she will be my actual wife.

The anticipation of what Jericho had to say was palpable. Jericho wasn't there when we arrived at The Drunken Deity Tavern, but I'm sure one of his informants would let him know we were there.

We just had to wait.

We both sat at a corner table, and it wasn't long before the waitress brought us two wooden mugs filled to the brim with a golden swirling liquid and alabaster foam on top.

"I need to ask you a favor, Shisui," I said, putting my mug down.

"What did you have in mind?" Shisui asked, taking a sip of his beer.

"I don't want to stay at the inn tonight; I'd rather ride all night to get home."

"All night? What's the rush? Why does it matter if arriving a day or two later doesn't make a difference. Rin is already at the palace. Plus, the Crimson Love Festival is not for another a week.”

“It does matter, to me it does.”

“Damn, you got it bad, brother.”

I looked at him confused about what he said.

“What do you mean I got it bad?” “I knew you that you had a crush on her, but I didn’t realize that you were in love with her this deeply.”

“I think about her all the time, and it hurts. My entire body physically hurts, and I don’t know what hurts more knowing she’s at my house, being far away from her….”

“Or?”

“Or…...not be able to tell her that I’m in love with her, without being rejected. I want to fuck her out of my system, I’m dreaming of what she tastes like between her thighs. So yeah, I do have it bad.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll do it, but you owe me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet, in time I’ll let you know.” Shisui gave an evil smirk.

Before I could agree, Jericho walked in.

"About time you arrived, Obito. I was starting to think you didn't get my message," Jericho said as he sat across from me. "Good to see you lads," he added, shaking our hands. Not long after, the waitress brought another wooden mug for Jericho.

After the waitress left, I dropped a bag of coins on the table.

"Consistency is what I admire about you, Uchiha Princes, going straight to business." Jericho smirked, grabbed it, and hid it in his pocket.

Shisui and I raised an eyebrow at him and sipped our beer.

"My little birdies tell me that there's someone in your lands selling top secrets and is working with a man who calls himself 'father.'"

"Like a priest?" Shisui asks.

"Maybe, or maybe that's his secret codename, who knows" Jericho said.

"Do you know the man who's been working with this 'father'?" I asked.

"A woman," Jericho corrected me. Our brows furrowed as we looked at Jericho.

"Who is this woman?" I asked.

"She says she works for a Patreon, but she doesn't even know who they are. She claims her Patreon is closely connected to the king and the royal family, and she has provided proof to support these claims."

"What kind of proof?" Shisui inquired.

"The Uchiha Royal Patch."

"That could be anyone who lives at the palace - from the servants, guards, generals, advisors, soldiers..." Shisui continued.

My blood was boiling. Rage was slowly consuming my thoughts, and I needed to think clearly.

"Do you know what information they have been selling to this man who calls himself 'father'?" I asked.

“The last time you were here, my old friend you asked me if I have any information about who might be behind these attacks. Well, I have a feeling this “father” might be it. Because this man wanted information about the jinchuriki you’re hosting at the palace.”

My jaw pulsed; anger heated my blood. My fist clenched. They wanted my Rin. Even her being in my palace wasn't safe for her. I have to tell Itachi to double the guards around the castle and around her.

"Where can we find this woman?" I asked, keeping my movements controlled and calm.

"I have one of my men keeping an eye out for her. I'll send word when we capture her. I give you my word, my friend."

"See that you do, Jericho, if you want to receive a double payment."

 

                                                                     *****************************************

We rode through the ancient forests, night and day, with towering trees spreading their branches across the sky. The forest was teeming with life, the ground thick with ferns and brambles. Every massive tree we passed wasn't fast enough to reach my little lamb.

The only time we stopped was to give our horses Nightmare and Nyx food and water.

Rin was in my castle, and I couldn't wait to reach her. Even though it's been a week since I last saw her and we shared our first kiss, I wanted more - I needed more of her. My heart is restless, filled with constant trepidation.

Someone is after my woman, and there is a traitor in my palace.

Once I find out who that traitor is, not even the Raven Queen, the goddess of death, will show them mercy.

By the time we reached the palace, it was past the third hour of morning.

The stone towers rose like sentinels in the dark, torchlight flickering across the battlements.

I felt the weight of the journey in my shoulders, in the grit under my fingernails.

I was soaked with travel, aching from the saddle—but none of that mattered.

Not yet.

We couldn't wait to get to bed. A warm bath would have to wait until morning.

Shisui and I dismounted, handing off the reins to the stable hands. We were halfway up the grand staircase when a voice called after us.

"Highnesses—Obito, Shisui. Glad you made it home safely."

Alfred. Loyal, ever-serious Alfred, dressed crisply even at this ungodly hour.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Shisui said, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked half-dead from fatigue. “We’re exhausted. We’ll catch up in the—”

“Your father is awake,” Alfred interrupted grimly. “He’s waiting for you both in his study.”

Of course he was.

Maybe Shisui was right; we should not have rushed coming back home.

"Ah, my sons," King Fugaku greeted us. "Welcome home. We didn’t expect you until tomorrow."

Shisui and I dropped to one knee, heads bowed.

"We rushed home, father," I responded.

"Well, I'm glad that you are back home. Tell me, how did the meeting go with Ōnoki?"

"Luckily, the old man heard about the latest attacks and the jinchuriki kidnappings. He doubled his guards around his granddaughter and offered his soldiers in case war happened with this unknown foe," I continued, explaining everything about our journey and informing him about the latest findings that Jericho told us.

My father was always better at hiding his anger and frustration, but I could see the fire burning in his piercing sharingan eyes—the same way mine burned when anger consumed me. All I knew was the beast inside.

“Well done, both of you,” he finally said, his voice deep with approval.

“Thank you, Father,” we said in unison.

"Go get some rest, you have a busy day in the morning."

Shisui’s head snapped up. “A busy day?”

What did he mean by that? We just got here, and the only thing on our minds is a long sleep.

"Yes, don't forget tomorrow is the last day of 'The Court of Appeals.' Your mother, Itachi, and I attended on behalf of both of you since you were out of town. And now, since you both are back, you can finish it."

"Ah, fuck," Shisui and I whispered underneath our breaths, but Shisui gave me an "I'm going to fucking kill you" and "I fucking hate you" glare. I was too exhausted to even laugh.

We both longed for bed, but we didn’t have a choice.

"Go, the Appeals start in four hours. You need all the rest you can get."

He waved us off with a final nod, already turning back toward his desk.

We left the room in silence.

I was already halfway to her.

                                                                   

                                      ***********************************************************

                                                                                             RIN

 

I woke with a gasp, heart racing—lungs burning like I’d surfaced from drowning. It took a moment for the shadows to settle, for the ceiling above me to register as real, as safe. Silk sheets tangled around my legs, the scent of cedarwood and lavender still clinging faintly to the room.

Not my home.

The palace.

Ella was already in the room, quiet as a ghost, arranging something on the small desk by the window.

She turned immediately, her expression shifting from calm focus to gentle worry. "Are you alright, my lady?"

"Yes," I said quickly, voice a little hoarse. I sat up and pushed my hair from my face, trying to shake the dream—no, memory—that had clawed its way to the surface.

"Forgive me. I… forgot where I was for a moment."

Ella didn’t pry, but her concern remained etched in her kind eyes. I looked away before it could anchor too deeply in me.

“I’ve laid out your new fighting leathers, my lady,” she said instead, gesturing to a sleek set folded neatly over the high-backed chair. “Princess Tsubaki requests your presence in the east gardens once you’ve eaten.”

She lifted the silver tray from the table and set it gently before me. Warm aromas filled the space—flaky pastries still steaming, a bowl of glistening berries, creamy goat cheese, and a tall glass of chilled citrus juice beaded with condensation. My stomach let out a very undignified growl, and Ella smiled softly.

“Thank you, Ella,” I murmured, embarrassed but grateful.

She helped me dress, her hands practiced and efficient as she tightened the leather cords at my waist and shoulders. The fighting leathers felt snug but flexible—tailored for movement, protection, and elegance all at once. A far cry from the hand-me-downs I used to wear in Konoha.

Ella tied my hair up with swift, sure fingers, weaving a dark red ribbon through the braid. She didn’t speak much, but her attentiveness was calming. A quiet kind of comfort.

After breakfast, she guided me through the labyrinthine halls of the palace.

Each corridor was adorned with arching stone windows and tapestries that told the long, brutal history of Akatsuki Land. She narrated as we walked, pointing out each room, each statue, each portrait of the past monarchs with names I could hardly pronounce.

But one corridor halted me in my tracks.

A long line of people stretched from the base of a set of tall, burnished oak doors. Men, women, and children. Old and young. Rich silks beside coarse wool. Nobles and commoners alike.

"This is the throne room," Ella said quietly.

"Why are there so many people waiting?" I asked, watching as a toddler clung to his mother’s skirts while an elderly man leaned heavily on a cane behind her.

"Today is the final session of the Court of Appeals, my lady. You arrived late last night, so you’ve not seen it yet."

“Court of Appeals?” I repeated, furrowing my brows.

“Three times a month,” she explained, “the king and queen open their court to the people. Citizens from all corners of the kingdom are permitted an audience to voice concerns, make requests, share information—sometimes it’s trivial, sometimes vital.”

My curiosity sparked. “And they listen to everyone?”

Ella nodded. “Everyone. That is why the line is long. Some wait hours. Days, even.”

There was something humbling about that. For all the power the royal family wielded, they still listened—to farmers and merchants, to bakers and beggars. It was a duty I had never witnessed before in any palace, certainly not in Konoha.

I hesitated. Then, gently, I asked, “Can we… look?”

Ella blinked, clearly uncertain. “My lady, I shouldn’t—”

“Just a peek,” I said softly. “I won’t make a sound.”

She hesitated, but finally relented. “Very well. Through the side servants’ entrance. Only for a moment.”

She led me to a narrow door carved discreetly into the stone. From this angle, we were hidden from the main audience but could still glimpse the throne dais.

Ella cracked the door open.

My breath caught.

The Throne Room was massive, with marble floors and walls. Uchiha Clan banners hung from the ceiling. At the end of the room were two massive thrones made of black oak, engraved with thrones and ravens across the black armrests, and of course the Uchiha Clan symbol on the back of it. It was beautiful.

I was captivated by the Uchiha Throne's designs and intercuts, which were vastly different from the Senju throne I've seen. Its mere presence was a breathtaking spectacle, leaving me in awe.

I couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to wield the power that comes with such a majestic throne. Towards the wall near the throne stood two royal servants. One was reading the names of the people waiting in line to be seen, and the other held a paper and quill, writing down the conversations or request, couldn’t tell from where we stood.

As I was lost in admiration, I failed to notice the presence of three royals.

Queen Mikoto sat gracefully upon one of the towering thrones, cloaked in an elegant gown of deep forest green that shimmered like wet jade beneath the morning light. A golden crown, delicate yet commanding, rested upon her brow—its surface encrusted with glinting emeralds and rubies that caught the sun like flame and moss. Her poise was effortless, every inch a queen born to rule.

Standing beside her was Lord Minato, composed and dignified, his hands clasped neatly behind his back as his keen eyes swept across the room with quiet intelligence.

To the right of the dais stood Prince Shisui, tall and proud despite the faint exhaustion lingering beneath his eyes. He wore a royal uniform tailored in the same rich shade as the queen’s gown—dark green with intricate gold thread curling along the seams in ancestral patterns.

A crimson cape was fastened at his shoulders with two burnished clasps, falling in perfect folds down his back. His boots were polished to a mirror shine, the leather gleaming as if untouched by travel, yet the tension in his shoulders betrayed a man recently returned from the road.

And then, seated on the central throne beside his mother, was Obito.

The prince was a vision of control and power, clothed in a royal ensemble that mirrored Shisui’s but carried more weight—more presence.

Ancient gold embroidery traced the hem of his black tunic in the shapes of ravens and fire. His leather belt cinched his waist with effortless precision, emphasizing the powerful lines of his torso beneath layers of armor and fine fabric. Like his brother, a red cape cascaded from his shoulders—but Obito’s draped heavier, the material richer, woven with subtle patterns that shimmered like shifting ink in the sunlight.

Every movement of that cape—every flicker of gold thread along the seams—caught the light streaming in from the high windows, setting his silhouette ablaze. His jaw was set, his gaze focused, and though he sat still, he radiated tension. It was the kind of tension that whispered of battlefields and burdens, of choices made in silence.

He looked every bit the heir to a kingdom on the brink of something unseen.

He sat straight and held the infamous Uchiha Clan's cherished Gunbai weapon. His crown, however, differed from the queen's. It was black with long spikes and adorned with gems all around. He appeared majestic as if he were meant to rule from that throne, and it seemed like he knew it.

I found it hard to believe my eyes; such was my respect and admiration for him. I drew in shaky breaths, never entirely filling my lungs, when a voice brought my attention back.

"Handsome, aren't they?" Tsubaki said, standing next to me.

I have yet to notice how she got there.

Ella excused herself and left us.

“Y-yes, very. What are you doing here?” I asked her.

"I should ask you the same. You didn't show up to our training like I asked you to, so I went and looked for you. One of the servants told me you were here, and here I am."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just lost track of time, didn't mean to," I said. Tsubaki smirked as she looked towards the royals. "Shisui hates these 'Court of Appeals' days."

"Why, if you don't mind me asking. Can you explain to me why Prince Obito and Prince Shisui are here instead of the king or the other princes?"

"The Court of Appeals day is a very important day, not just for the people, but for us as well. It usually starts early in the morning and doesn't end until they've seen the last person in line," Tsubaki explained. "Do the royal family have to be present for this event? Why not have the king's advisors or generals take part?" I asked.

"It's really rare for just Lord Minato to attend and hear the people out. The king and queen need to be part of the event to show their people that all their voices are heard and that they do matter to them. The people need to know that they all matter not just to their king and queen, but they matter to the future heir too."

"Even though Prince Obito is the future king, why isn't the king here then? And why is Prince Shisui here?"

"The king has stopped attending events ever since Prince Obito took over at the age of fifteen. There are times when Obito might be out of town for missions or events, and that's when the king would attend in his place. Since Obito is not married, the queen continues to attend. Once Obito gets married, the new queen will take over the Queen Mother's position. Also, since Obito doesn't have an heir of his own yet, the next in line is my husband. So, they all must attend during 'Court of Appeals' day." Tsubaki continues, "Since both Obito and Shisui were unavailable, Itachi filled in for Shisui for two days. Since Obito was five years old, he used to stand there instead of Shisui.”

"I thought the princes weren't coming back until tomorrow."

"Their mission ended a day early, so they rushed back home. They didn't get home until four in the morning, and the Court of Appeals started at seven. My poor Shisui only had three hours of sleep."

"Why can't they take a nap during their breaks?" "They don't take breaks, not even for a meal. If the people of Akatsuki Land could stand in line for hours without meals or breaks, so can their King and Queen."

"Gods, that's barbaric!"

"It's patriotism, that's what the king says. It's been like that for generations."

"I don't blame the king for asking Obito to take his place."

"The king did not. When Obito was fifteen, he asked his father for more kingly responsibilities and inquired about taking over the 'Court of Appeals,' to which the king agreed."

Remarkably, Obito took on such a massive responsibility at a young age. He must have been eager to prove to his father that he was worthy of the crown.

Tsubaki informed me, "Obito will soon be crowned as king."

I turned my head towards her so quickly that I thought it might snap. "What?" I exclaimed. "But the king is still alive." As the realization hit me, I gasped, "Oh, gods, is the king dying?"

Tsubaki chuckled, "No, silly. The king is perfectly healthy. Here in Akatsuki Land, the current king has the right to decide to retire and pass the crown to his heir. It's an honor for the king to crown his son as the next king of the land. And that's what King Father wants to do."

"Do you know when that will happen?"

"We don't, not yet at least. Father King hasn't given the time yet, but he says soon. That's why Obito has been very busy. He's been in and out of the country nonstop. I can't remember when he was in the palace for more than one day."

My heart sank to my stomach. If Obito is going to be busy while I'm here, I might not be able to see or spend time with him.

Gods!

What is wrong with me? Why am I thinking such horrific thoughts?

I should thank the gods for keeping him busy, so I don't have to deal with his annoying behavior. Who knows what kind of awful thoughts and plans he might have mind.

"Come on, let's go. We need to practice," Tsubaki yanked my arm, and we left the throne room behind.

 

                                                                                 *******************************************

It has been several days since I last saw Obito presiding over the Court of Appeals. Tsubaki was right; I rarely saw him.

Obito was absent so often that, at times, I worried I might miss him. He would come and go from the palace without saying much to me, only offering a brief greeting with "Lamb."

Tsubaki informed me that, in addition to his regular duties, the country was getting ready for a festival called the Crimson Love Festival. I hope Obito can make it to the festival.

I tried to ask Tsubaki or Izumi where Obito spent his days, and all they said was "kingly business." It makes sense since he's about to be crowned king. During a practice, Tsubaki had the nerve to ask me if I missed Obito often. That motivated me to shove her on her side with my foot, which was the only time I had the advantage of her.

Even though Sakura is strong, she can still defeat her like a true assassin.

"One thing for sure, Rin, Obito was right; your stance is horrible," Tsubaki told me.

"You need to work on it better if you don't want to fall on your ass all the time," Tsubaki tells me.

"I can't believe he told you that. That jerk. I'm either going to kick his ass or give him a piece of my mind of what I think of him." I say.

"I'm pretty sure he'd prefer you kicking his ass," Tsubaki says, chuckling.

"I'm surprised you haven't run into him, especially since his bedroom door is right across from yours, Rin," Izumi tells me.

I was shocked and horrified.

"What do you mean his bedroom is right in front of mine?" I ask.

"Which part didn't you understand, Rin?" Tsubaki asked, looking confused.

"Obito arranged for your room to be here, in the front, so he can protect you better," she smirked.

"Why would he move to the guest wing?" I asked. Both girls chuckled. "The north wing is where all the royals stay. Kakashi is the one staying at the guest wing. He wasn't special enough." Tsubaki says with a wink. 

Our rooms were right across each other, yet we had yet to cross paths. Despite living so close, I had never seen Obito leaving or entering his bedroom. It felt like he was both close and far away.

It's been days since Tsubaki took over my training. The way she dresses in her fighting leathers, with daggers and weapons of different sizes all around her, makes her seem ready for war or on her way to one.

She is formidable. Despite Sakura's strength, Tsubaki still outperforms her like a true assassin.

She told me she used to be part of a secret guild known as the "Dark Ravens." But ever since she married to Prince Shisui she had to leave the guild. The Dark Ravens work in the shadows as spies, guardians, and, most importantly, assassins if necessary. Prince Itachi is the master of the Dark Ravens, and Sai's older brother, Shin, is his right-hand man. Tsubaki's brother-in-law, Prince Sasuke, Naruto, and Sai, are among the well-known assassins in the Dark Ravens.

This explains why Obito asked her to train me.

Tsubaki also informed me that when I arrived home after being taken, Obito asked Sasuke to keep a watchful eye on me until I reached Akatsuki Land. Sakura said my guardian angel would protect me if anything happened to me.

How did she know?

Or did she know about this?

She has been acting rather strangely since we arrived here. I haven't had the chance to speak to her about my suspicions, but my gut tells me something is going on between those two. I even noticed there were more guards around the castle.

The captain ordered two Uchiha soldiers to constantly guard my bedroom door, and two other Uchiha soldiers always followed me around. It was getting quite annoying.

I met Queen Mikato for the first time after the Court of Appeals when the king, queen, and three princes joined Sakura, Kakashi, and me for dinner. Sakura and I dined only with Queen Mikato, Tsubaki, and Izumi some days. The men sometimes dined with their generals and commanders, and even Kakashi would join them. To our surprise, Kakashi has been busy keeping company with Itachi and sometimes going on missions with Prince Shisui.

Kakashi offered many times to join Obito, but he refused.

"I don't have time to babysit Kakashi," he said before taking off on Nightmare. Truthfully, I didn't expect the king and queen of Akatsuki Land to be kind and welcoming, as we were told they were horrid and scary.

However, they were not like that toward us.

During our first dinner with Queen Mikato, she made a comment that didn't sit well with me and left me pondering. "So, these are the beautiful women who have captured my son's heart," she said, smiling at Sakura and me.

That's when I began to suspect something between Sakura and Prince Sasuke.

"Giving up already, lamb?" Tsubaki taunted me, wearing a vicious grin as she threw me onto my back on the training mat. My stomach churned.

"Did Obito tell you he calls me by that god's awful name?" I exclaimed when Tsubaki offered me a hand, which I eagerly accepted.

"No, Obito is a very private person. You should have seen his face when he found out about your little nickname," she chuckled almost evilly.

"And how did you find out about it?" I asked, raising my brow.

"A girl never tells her secrets, darling, don't you know?"

I could hear Sakura chuckling behind me as she sat beside Izumi on the benches. Even though she's pregnant, Izumi likes to sit and watch us train. Tsubaki and Izumi's fathers are Commanders and Generals of the Royal Uchiha Army. They both grew up in the palace or near the palace. Izumi told us about her life and how she and Tsubaki trained with all the royal princes and the other boys.

Even at a young age, they considered Obito an older brother and how protective he was over his brothers and them. She also told us about that one night, how she got kidnapped and was almost killed until Itachi came to rescue her. I recall Obito telling me their story that night in the cave, but I always wanted to hear it from Izumi.

It was heartwarming.

Even when I was young, Obito was possessive and protective, like when he rescued me. No one has shown me that kind of kindness, especially considering he was my enemy.

As we returned to the palace, two women around my age crossed our paths. They were glaring at me with hostility, seemingly disregarding the two princesses. Tsubaki and Izumi noticed, and they both glared back with their Sharingan eyes. "Your Majesties," the women said, quickly dropping into a perfect curtsy.

"Mira, Jun," the princess said without breaking her gaze. The air felt stiff and uncomfortable. It was clear that Tsubaki and Izumi didn't like these two women, and they made sure the two women understood that. However, the two women didn't seem bothered by it.

"What are you two doing here?" Tsubaki spoke with venom in her tone.

"We are getting ready for the Crimson Love Festival, of course," Jun said with a wicked smile. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you," Jun turned her head towards me.

I smiled, even though I had no interest in meeting these women. With long brown hair, Jun came before me, smiled, and said, "It's an honor to meet you, jinchuriki. We have heard so much about you."

"Yes, indeed," the one with honey hair said, but her eyes were only on me. I hated how they called me jinchuriki like that's all I was. I opened my mouth to speak, but the other woman caught me off. "We have heard many tales of what happened to you and why you are here."

"Yes, Lady Rin and Lady Sakura are guests of the Royal Family. Any disrespect towards them is disrespect to the crown. So, be careful how you speak and treat them," Izumi said with a warning. I haven't seen this side of Izumi before. Even though she's pregnant, she's not afraid of showing her claws to the enemy.

Both ladies nodded their heads with a smile before studying me. "Of course, my princess, we wouldn't dare to insult the royal family," Mira said. "We were just passing through and wanted to meet the jinchuriki," Jun said.

"I have a name, and I believe the princess just told you. So, I'd prefer you call me by my name, not jinchuriki."

"Do I need to remind you again of your place? I thought you were just leaving," Tsubaki said, eyeing the women.

"Yes, my princess," Jun replied, nodding with a smile as though Tsubaki hadn't bothered her.

The two women bowed and turned on their heels. Before leaving, Jun turned her head to me and said, "I know the crown prince better than most women, so if you have any questions about Prince Obito, feel free to ask me. I can help you with the prince and his needs and likes." With a wink, they left.

Tsubaki scoffed.

I was taken aback by her words, feeling a surge of nausea. Was she one of Obito's lovers?

How she carried herself and spoke about Obito suggested she was his favorite. Chill broke across my skin. I didn't like that girl. It wasn't because of the way she acted or the fact that she made it clear that Obito fucked her, but I couldn't stop imagining the ways she had touched, kissed, licked, and made passionate love to Obito.

“Who are those women?” Sakura asked.

“They’re the whores of the palace, don’t mind them.” Tsubaki said, “Their father is a noble man who used to be close to the king and his advisors. But because of his greed and gamboling issues, he was kicked out and banished from the palace and lost his connections with the king. And now his doing everything in his power to get to the king’s good graces.”

“Even whoring his own daughters?” Sakura asked, disgusted by the idea that a father could allow himself to whore his own daughters out to anyone.

“No, that’s on them. Jun is hungry for power, and she’ll do everything and anything to achieve it. Including sleeping with any of the princes who would look to her way.” Izumi said.

I felt nauseous. I couldn't comprehend why I suddenly felt jealous of Obito. Why did I even care about who he fucks and how or even how he likes it. I needed to get to my room and quickly.

                                                                                                        *************************************

Hours later, I found myself back at the Uchiha library. Frustrated, I slammed my book closed and walked back to the shelf to grab another.

I didn't know what to look for as my hand trailed over the leather spines. I just needed something, anything, to distract me from him. My mind was spiraling about the meeting with Jun and Mir, and I couldn't stop thinking about what she said about Obito.

I just need a book, any book, before my mind goes off the rails and I go crazy.

I asked the two guards who had escorted me to the library to wait outside so that I could have some privacy. I didn't want them to witness me losing it in the library.

My hand paused beside a solid black book without writing on the shelf. I pulled it from the bookshelf, and the front stared at me. There was no title or marking anywhere on the leather. I returned the book to my seat, glanced around the doorway, and sat down on a red love seat. My fingers traced over the black leather, feeling the supple fabric that had to be much older than me before I slowly opened the cover. The book had yellow pages with black handwritten notes.

Gods...... This wasn't just any book; this was a sexually explicit book.

I flipped through the pages as I scanned over the writing and sketched sexual positions, oral sex, and masturbation.

There were written instructions and recommendations regarding various sexual positions and techniques for self-pleasure and guidance for oral sex for both males and females. I flipped past those quickly and stopped again when I noticed the page of a woman's masturbation.

There was a sketch of a woman's vagina with details of how one can find her pleasure point and how to use her or their hands. The unique movements and techniques can give a woman multiple orgasm.

And advice on how also the tongue can be used to pleasure a woman's clit. I felt my cheeks flush and heat travel down my spine, but I couldn't help but continue scanning the pages for more information. I eagerly turned to the next page, devouring the information and searching for more.

I abruptly closed the book and stood as the library door opened, revealing Sakura and Prince Sasuke. They were both surprised to see me standing there.

Hurriedly, I concealed the book under my satin jacket.

"Sakura, Prince Sasuke, what are you both doing here?"

"I was showing Sakura my favorite part of the palace," Sasuke said.

"Prince Sasuke was about to show me one of his favorite books."

"Oh, I see. You two have been spending a lot of time together, I noticed, Sakura." Sakura blushed. "I happen to enjoy Lady Sakura's company. We have a lot in common, Lady Rin," Sasuke said, his Sharingan glaring at me.

If my body wasn't flushed and if I wasn't feeling hot, I would have questioned them more, but I will get to speak to Sakura alone tomorrow.

My suspicions have been confirmed.

"Excuse me, if you don't mind, I will be going back to my room," I said as I bowed to the prince and left the library.

The two guards escorted me to my room to ensure my safety. One of the guards by my bedroom door opened it for me. As I was about to enter, I glanced at the bedroom door opposite mine — his door. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into my room.

                                                                           

                                                                      *************************************************

                                                                                     SAKURA

 

"Gods, I think Rin already knows about us," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, laced with guilt. The truth gnawed at me—I should’ve told her. My best friend, my cousin. The one person who deserved honesty more than anyone. But how could I, when even Sasuke kept it secret from his parents?

His brothers knew. That much he told me. But King Fugaku and Queen Mikoto remained in the dark.

For now.

Sasuke kissed me, and I found my back hitting the bookshelf. Sasuke proclaimed his love for me the first night we arrived at the palace. That first night when he spends the night with me, pleasuring me with his fingers. Making me feel things I never thought I could. Since Obito and Shisui returned, they doubled the guards around the palace and added two guards to guard Rin's and my bedroom doors. I understand the need for guards on Rin's door, but I didn't need them. Sasuke always wanted guards by my door.

He told me that you never know what the enemy could plot.

But since the guards have been there by my door, Sasuke hasn't been coming to my room anymore. We spend as much time together whenever he has time.

Being part of the Black Ravens, Sasuke often goes on top-secret missions with Naruto and Sai, sometimes alone. I miss the nights when he came home late from his missions, came to my room, and cuddled with me.

"In time, you’ll tell her," Sasuke murmured as his hand found my throat, firm but reverent.

The calloused pad of his thumb traced the line of my pulse, and my breath hitched.

"And in time, she’ll accept that you’re going to be the third princess of Akatsuki Land."

A shiver ran through me.

"Sasuke, we don't need to do this," I whispered. "Ah, my little mouse, but I do. I missed your scent…."

"Please…." His mouth came down against mine, rough and claiming, and I didn't stop him. I kissed him back just as harshly. His hands were frantic as they touched every part of my body, my skin as they could reach.

Sasuke wrapped his hands around the backs of my thighs and lifted me against him. I didn't hesitate to wrap my legs around him as he pushed off the bookshelf and carried me, and he gently put me down on a red loveseat against the wall.

"Sasuke what are you doing?"

His mouth silenced the rest. One hand pushed my skirt aside, the other parting the lace of my undergarments.

"I'm going to devour you," he whispered against my thigh, his breath scorching. "Now spread your legs for me, little mouse. Be good... let me have what's mine."

And I did.

I watched him as he kissed the top of my pussy, as a grin slid across his perfect lips.

"You belong to me, little mouse."

He held my gaze, dark eyes locked on mine.

"Eyes on me, Sakura. I want to see you fall apart on my tongue."

I couldn’t look away if I tried.

It was impossible not to listen to him.

"So ready for me, aren’t you?" he murmured, collecting my arousal with his fingers before sliding them inside me. I gasped, my thighs falling further open as he leaned in and he pressed a gentle kiss on my sex.

"Fuck, baby, I missed your taste," he groaned. "I’ve been dying to touch you again… but those fucking guards—"

"Sasuke… please..."

My plea barely escaped before his mouth was on me, tongue stroking slow, then fast, then slow again. Every flick, every swirl unraveled me. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

"Shhh, my little mouse," he teased. "We are in a library." One corner of his lip curled.

He sucked, licked, teased—driving me closer to the edge with every stroke. Then, as if he needed to completely destroy me, he curled his fingers inside me just right, while his mouth worked harder against my clit.

I cried out, clutching at his soft, raven hair, my hips lifting to meet every movement. He anchored me with his free hand, never stopping.

This man—this prince—was worshipping me like I was the altar and he the devoted.

"Your pleasure is mine… and mine alone."

Everything inside me felt like a volcano was about to erupt, and I knew I would snap before I could stop myself.

"Sasuke, please." On Sasuke's orders, those were the only words I could say besides my moans and yells as reasonably as I tried to be.

"That's little mouse, scream my name and only my name."

"Only you," I said as I finally fell apart with a cry; I rode his face until every drop of pleasure coursed through my body. I came on his tongue with a cry, trying desperately to stay quiet. But he heard me. He felt all of it.

He pressed soft kisses to the inside of my thighs. My chest heaved as I looked down at him, still on his knees, worshipful and unrepentant.

He was still on his knees before me as I looked upon him. I could see my moisture coating his lips.

Sasuke lowered my shirt, straightening it back to where it belonged, before he stood in front of me. He leaned in forward and pressed his mouth to mine. He groaned as I sucked his tongue and chased the taste of my moisture.

A few moments later, we left the library and walked down the hallway where it all started. Sasuke pushed me against the wall and gave me a soft kiss on the lips.

"I must go and attend a meeting with my father, love. I don't want to, but I have to," he growled before stepping away. 

Will I see you tonight at dinner? Or will you dine with your generals again?" A small, wicked smile appeared on his face.

"Try not to miss me too much, I'll see you at dinner little mouse." He winked and walked away.

Notes:

Thank you for taking the time and reading my fan fiction. I hope you enjoyed my story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter 11: Rin/Obito

                                                                                                      RIN

 

"Rin, you finally made it!" Izumi smiled before picking a grape from her platter and eating it.

"After our training this morning at the sparring circle, I thought you wouldn't have made it," Tsubaki grinned, slowly buttering a piece of bread before dipping it in honey.

"Everything hurts," I said through gritted teeth.

A faint chuckle escaped my lips as I tried not to think about my soreness. Tsubaki's lips curved slightly with pride, and her crinkled, amused eyes smiled.

"You should be used to it by now, lamb." I hated it when she called me that, and I hate it even more when Obito calls me that, too. Tsubaki knew this, and she would intentionally call me her lamb during training to piss me off even more, I'm sure.

"Soreness is not an excuse," Izumi says.

"I do miss training and going on missions, though."

"Me too!" Tsubaki says, sipping her tea, "Ah, the good old days."

On the other hand, I felt like I couldn't walk when Sakura led me away from the training area.

Since arriving at Akatsuki Land, Tsubaki has been training Sakura and me from early morning until noon.

The first two days, my body was aching; I thought my bones would crack and never recover.

Ruen and Kakashi's training didn't leave me breathless like Tsubaki's. She told me she went easy on me, but she congratulated me on my stance on improving.

"The good old days?" Sakura asked.

"Yes, the good old days when we were badasses. Now, we are just princesses," Izumi said. Tsubaki scoffed.

If it were up to her, she would have been both an assassin and a princess, but she couldn't because that would have been against their laws. Besides, giving birth to heirs would bring more danger if they were on missions and the enemy knew their identity. If things went wrong, the enemy would use the princess as a hostage, just like they did with Izumi.

"At this point, I think you're enjoying torturing me with your training," I said as I sat down next to Sakura, who had already started her lunch. An array of food and wine covered every inch of the table.

The servant quickly jumped into action, pouring me a glass of wine. I choose Danya Ale instead.

"Trust me, you'd know if I was torturing you, you'd known. Believe me that's you're the one torturing me, making me go easy on you on the trainings."

"Yes, well, thank you," I said as I reached for a piece of freshly baked honey sticky buns. After my morning training, the food tasted like heaven.

"I hope you girls brought red dresses with you, for tomorrow’s festival." Izumi asked Sakura and me.

"No, I haven't. Have you?" Sakura turned her head towards me.

"I can't say I have. What's the red dress for?"

"For the Crimson Love Festival. It's not mandatory to wear a red dress, but it has become a tradition to wear any shade of red dress for the festival," Izumi explained. "I'll be more than happy to lend you some of the red gowns I wore in previous years. Or we can ask Alfred to see if he can find you one."

"Thank you," I said with a smile, although I wasn't sure about borrowing one of the princess dresses. Sakura nods to the princess. I was worried about spilling wine on it or, worse, ripping it. Looking at Sakura, she seemed to feel the same.

"Thank you, Izumi, but we wouldn't want to intrude. I'm pretty sure we can find something acceptable," I said, trying not to sound ungrateful. There was a smile on her face as she understood where I was coming from and what it meant.

"What is the Crimson Love Festival?" Sakura asked the princess. I was grateful to her for trying to change the subject before it got awkward quickly.

"A wild red flower blooms once a year near a volcano. Once a year, people harvest the flower and make a rich wine out of it. The festival is to celebrate the flower and pay homage to the Goddess of Love, beauty and birth, Sarita," Izumi explained. "At the festival, there's nothing but music, dancing, food, and people on the streets celebrating. It's nothing but a good time. However, you must be careful when drinking too much wine because the flower has a potent elixir that amplifies your desires, wants, and needs."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, confused. I had never heard of a flower that could have such an effect on someone.

"It means if you drink too much of it, it will make you horny, and it would make you want to fuck all night long. Just ask Izumi about one festival she got super hammered at, and nine months later, Yuri was born." Tsubaki says, chuckling. Izumi smiled and dropped her shoulders.

"It was a fun festival, though." She says.

We all smiled and chuckled away.

                                                                  ************************************

After brunch with the ladies, I strolled to the Uchiha Palace.

Sakura had plans to meet with Prince Sasuke, who promised to take her to the city to find a gown for tomorrow's festival. She invited me to come along, but I declined, not wanting to interfere with their time together. Instead, I chose to stay back in my room and read the new book I had discovered at the library yesterday. The two guards followed not too far behind me as I walked past, I mentally charted each turn and room until I arrived at a lengthy, portraits-filled hallway.

Upon closer inspection, I realized these were all portraits of Obito's ancestors.

The walls were adorned with portraits of past Uchiha monarchs, each bearing witness to the weight of history and tradition.

Their stern visages suggested they had ruled the nation with an iron grip. Instead of the typical Sharingan eyes I was accustomed to, each painting featured a unique Sharingan design.

Beneath every portrait, a small brass plaque displayed the monarch's name, year of birth, and year of death, ensuring their enduring legacy was not forgotten. Names like King Indra Uchiha, who passed his crown to his daughter, and Queen Megumi, who passed her crown to her son, King Tajima. He then passed his crown to his son, King Madara, Obito's grandfather. I came across the portrait of the current king of Akatsuki Land and realized that soon they'll have Obito's portrait hanging there when he's crowned king. The thought of the future king of Akatsuki Land's portrait overwhelmed me with excitement and nervousness.

What kind of king would he be?

What changes would his reign bring?

I couldn't help but think that Obito would make a handsome king—there was no denying it. However, my opinion changed when I saw him sitting on the throne, ruling over his people. He seemed to be born for royalty, and this thoroughly impressed me. Obito was nothing like I had imagined.

I wondered about the kind of woman he would marry to stand by him as his queen and equal.

"This is the Hall of Kings and Queens," his voice said, bringing me back from my wandering thoughts and forcing me to face him.

When did he get here?

How long was he standing there and watching me?

The future king of Akatsuki Land, Obito Uchiha, leaned against the wall behind me, his legs crossed at the ankles. It seemed like he had just arrived; this was the first time we had interacted since coming here. Even Sakura spends more time with Prince Sasuke. Obito startled me when I turned around and faced him. He was handsome as always, with his raven hair ruffled.

Obito, as usual, was wearing his regular black leather and white mask with circles around it hanging from his side.

He gave a faint smile.

His smile should fill my head with annoyance and hatred towards him. I hate that he made me leave my home, leave my family behind, and come to live at his house, his PALACE, for Gods knows how long.

I wanted to hate him, but I couldn't look away. I couldn't help but notice the dimple on his cheek when he half-smiled, revealing the scar on his lip.

His intense gaze seemed to roam my body with hunger, even without his Sharingan. It felt like he was sizing me, like a predator assessing its prey.

"Your Majesty," I greeted him with a slight bow, "I haven't seen you around." I don't know what possessed me to say that to him.

He didn't say anything. Despite his silence, the man even looked amused, sporting a smirk on his scarred lip. He cocked his head to the side as he pushed off the wall, and my chest heaved as he closed the space between us.

A horribly beautiful bastard.

As his thumb traced my lips, he asked, "Did you miss as much as I've missed you, love?"

I scoffed and stepped away, trying to conceal his touch's effect on me. This seemed to darken his eyes even more.

"Not even in your dreams," I said, hating how my voice cracked when I lied, and he knew it too. Obito stepped into my space and reached forward, slipping a piece of my hair between his fingers before slowly twisting it in his hold.

"You're a terrible liar, lamb," he whispered, his other thumb brushing my cheek.

"I do love it when you try to lie to me, love." I didn't pull away from his touch. I merely held my gaze. We fell into a long silence, long enough for me to break eye contact. I took a step back.

"I heard that you're going to be crowned king in the upcoming months. And soon, your portrait as king will hang right next to your father's."

"Eh… It's whatever," he shrugged, seeming utterly unbothered as he looked at his father's portrait.

"Aren't you excited at least?"

"I suppose."

"You suppose?" I arched a brow.

Historians have written books about how brothers and sisters have poisoned each other or murdered the sitting king or queen just because they were next in line. There were so many reasons and betrayals. And for Obito to become king, he was so nonchalant about it. Did he not fear such betrayal from his own brothers?

"Be careful of how you speak about my brother and the crown prince of Akatsuki Land." I will never forget Prince Shisui's cold, deathly tone in the Onyx Forest. It felt like it was just yesterday. How fast time flies. Tsubaki mentioned that she and Izumi grew up around the four princes and looked up to Obito as an older brother, even at a young age. I doubt any of them would commit treachery or betrayal.

"Doesn't that interest you, Prince?"

"What interests me more is taking you to see the city. You haven't stepped outside of the palace yet," Obito said. "To the city? I didn't think I was allowed to go outside the palace," I said, lifting my chin.

"I thought I was meant to stay at the palace as your prisoner."

His brows pinched. "You're not my prisoner, and I need the names of those who ever said that to you. They shouldn't be allowed to live any longer for their treasons." His voice shifted into something cold. A new shadow darkened his eyes, anger coursing through his veins.

"No one said that I did," a muscle pulsed in Obito's jaw.

"Tell that to the two guards standing right there who keep following me everywhere I go. Not to mention the two other guards always standing by my bedroom door. If that's not what they do to a prisoner, I don't know what is."

Obito didn't say anything, not even flinch. His face was unreadable, but there was pity in his eyes—no, not pity…. concern.

"Let me make it up to you, lamb," he whispered, leaning in slowly. Obito Uchiha, the crown prince of his country, held his breath as if my answer would make or break him.

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, trembling.

He smiled and let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Meet me at the grand entrance in an hour."

                                                                                             ************************************

I quickly returned to my room and changed into the maroon dress Obito had bought me in Saint Bellanu. I then put on a black silk cape and matching black gloves, even though they wouldn't provide much warmth in the chilly air.

I approached the grand entrance of the palace and did my best to avoid looking at Obito, who was standing by the door. Obito was wearing a different black outfit; unlike before, he had only a few weapons strapped to his body. "Are you ready, lamb?" Obito asked. I finally looked at his handsome face. Obito reached for the door, pushed it open, and motioned for me to pass, which I did. The sun beamed down against my skin, and I basked in its warmth.

"You look beautiful," Obito said, moving closer to me as we passed through the gate onto the busy streets of Akatsuki Land. A blush rushed to my cheeks.

"Thank you, highness."

"Call me Obito, Rin." He hardly calls me by my name; he usually calls me lamb. He hardly calls me princess anymore, and now, if he could cease calling me lamb, I might like him a little more; I smiled and nodded.

"And where are you exactly taking me, Obito?" He grinned and said, "Well, as of right now, the city, then we'll see." I chuckled and replied, "Alright."

The people of Akatsuki Land were bustling around the palace and through the streets. Red flowers were tied and hung from posts and throughout the streets. People decorated their shops and homes for tomorrow's festival. Children were running and playing, and laughter filled the streets. People noticed us and were looking at him. I watched as they watched him. His people looked upon him with an air of respect. Many nodded their heads in his direction, and some bowed.

"Do your people know who you are, Obito?" I whispered as we passed.

"Of course, they do," he chuckled.

"Then why don't they all bow to you?" I asked as I walked through the cobblestone street.

"Like you said, lamb, these are my people. I treat them with respect, so they don't feel as if they are beneath me." Even the princes and princesses back home must have guards whenever they need to stroll in the city, but Obito was walking like one of his own people. His people didn't glare at or fear him just because he was their Prince and soon to be their king. Obito, again, is nonchalant about it.

"Does it feel like a burden at times? You know, being the crown prince, and one day becoming king?"

"Maybe it did when I was young. At times, I envied my younger brothers. Even though they have their own burdens, their heads are not to wear the crown."

"You carry this burden well, Prince, but that doesn't mean it's not heavy. Who is going to help you carry your burden?"

"My burdens are mine and mine alone, love."

"You know, Obito, you are not as evil as people think or say you are."

"Oh, lamb, no. I'm much, much worse."

"It's not what I see. Your people love you, Obito."

"Not everyone gets the same version of me, Rin. One person might tell you that I am an amazing lover, and another person might say that I am a cold-hearted dick. Believe them both, little lamb. I act accordingly." As if Obito wanted to change the subject, he said, "The whole county is getting ready for The Crimson Love Festival. I'm excited that you'll be here for tomorrow's festival."

"I might not attend the festival," I teased, but Obito stopped and gripped my wrist.

"Why not?" he hissed. I gave a faint smile. He let go of my wrist. His calloused thumb brushed my cheek and said, "If you don't come to the festival, I'll just have to bring the festival to your room then."

"You wouldn't dare!" His lips curled; his eyes sent a chill down my spine.

"There's only one way to find out, love." He gave me a challenging look. I hoped he was joking, but the look in his eyes said he wasn't bluffing. The man doesn't even know what the word 'bluffing' means. I'd take his word for it.

We passed many small shops, including a weaver shop, a butcher shop, and a bakery. When we reached the tailor's, I was captivated. In the window, a stunning red dress was displayed on a mannequin. The dress had a sweetheart neckline, and the sleeves of the shoulders (my favorite) were short and split into two. The corset was adorned with crystals and jewels in varying shades of red, creating a dazzling effect. The way the corset sparkled was genuinely spectacular, leaving Obito speechless.

"That's so beautiful," My voice was hardly about a whisper.

Next to the mannequin, there was a small stand with a piece of paper that looked like a handwritten price tag. My eyebrows rose at the sheer amount of the dress's price—more than what my father and mother made combined. Gods. I couldn't understand why a dress would cost so much. I didn't dare go inside the shop and ask the shopkeeper because I didn't want to embarrass myself, especially in front of Obito.

"Do you want it?" Obito asked, his gaze never leaving mine as I examined the dress.

"Oh no,” I shook my head.

"I'll buy it for you." I turned my head to him and met his gaze.

"No, please don't. I-I don't want it. Honestly." Obito didn't say anything; he just raised a brow.

Before he did something silly, like go inside the shop and buy it for me, I cleared my throat and walked away.

"I would like you to take me somewhere," I asked, changing the subject.

"Anywhere, love. Just name it."

"Take me somewhere you go that no one knows," I said.

His mouth tightened. "Maybe some other day, lamb. It's a little further out of the city." I flickered my gaze back to his.

"All right, I'll hold you to it."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

We strolled through the city, passing by beautiful lakes and gardens until sundown. On our way back to the palace, Obito took a different route. The streets were bustling with vendors selling various goods, from spices to flowers. As we walked past a pastry vendor, the aroma made my stomach growl in hunger.

"Which one do you want?" Obito asked, pulling out a coin and gesturing toward the pastry cart.

"Oh, I'm fine," I replied, stepping back. But Obito quickly caught my arm and insisted, "Please Rin, let me buy you a pastry," as he handed the coin to the older woman running the cart.

"Obito, you already bought me these flowers. There's no need to get me pastries too," I said. He narrowed his Sharingan eyes at me and said, "Now tell this lovely lady which pastry you want before I fucking decide for you." I narrowed my eyes at him, but he wasn't budging.

"The strawberry, please." The old lady nodded before wiping her hands on her flour-covered apron. She wrapped my pastry in a small cloth before handing it to me. The smell of strawberries and sugar hit me the moment it was in my hand.

"Thank you." I wasted no time biting into it. A small moan slipped from my lips as the flavor hit my tongue.

"Is that good?" I looked up at Obito; he watched me intently as I licked the strawberry glaze from my lips.

"Would you like to try it?"

"I'd love to." I held the pastry out to him, but instead of taking it from me, he gripped my wrist before bringing it to his mouth. He didn't even take his Sharingan eyes off me as he bit into it, and I couldn't force myself to look away. I felt like my world had faded away, and he was all I could see, and all I could think about was the trace of sugar that clung to his lips and how desperately I wanted to lean forward and see if it tasted different on his lips.

"It's almost time for dinner; let's head back." He wiped his mouth with his thumb.

"Yes," I said, pulling my pastry back to me.

                                                                                       

                                                                              *******************************************

                                                                                                          OBITO

 

I can't remember the last time I had a great time with anyone. I recently got to know Rin on a more personal level. She shared more about her family, likes, fears, and dreams; I hope to be a part of her dreams one day.

After returning to the palace with Rin, I decided to have dinner in my room.

There was still much work to be done before the festival, and I wanted to finish it quickly. I finished my dinner early and then walked to my washroom to bathe before starting work. I undressed quickly and turned on the faucet, allowing the warm water to fill my bathtub.

The soothing water cascaded over me as I leaned forward, resting my forearm on the tub's rim, trying to relax and clear my mind of the piles of paperwork waiting for me on the desk. I closed my eyes tightly, but all I could see was her. Her bedroom was right in front of mine, so I ensured it. I wondered what she was doing and if she was having a great time. I let myself imagine she was here with me in the tub, with my fingers tracing the curve of her body and waist. The water cascaded down her body, feeling her soft, warm skin. The air was filled with various pleasant aromas that I enjoyed.

I daydreamed about her desiring me as much as I desired her.

My mind raced as I envisioned every aspect of her body.

I imagined her touch, picturing her delicate fingers wrapped around me.

The water cascaded down my body, and its soothing touch only increased my longing. I wrapped my hand around myself; I was so hard.

My imagination went wild with the thoughts of her. Her lips, her smile, the softness of her skin, and I pumped my cock in my hand, and my breathing became heavier.

She consumed my thoughts; I yearned for her, burning for her touch.

I needed to be inside her.

I imagined how the feel of the tightness of her pussy, the wetness of her, would feel as I squeezed myself harder as I thrust into it.

The memory of her moaning when she took a bite of the pasty, her licking her lips, I stroked harder, harder, brought me closer to the edge as the release built inside me.

"Fuck," I squeezed harder and pumped faster, imagining her luscious lips on my cock. Rin was mine. She was mine. I didn't care whether she knew it or even agreed to it. She was going to marry me, even if she wouldn't agree to it in the beginning. Her name slipped from my lips, louder than I should have allowed, but I couldn't stop it as I came, my body convulsing with pleasure. After a few moments, I straightened up and turned off the water.

I reached for the towel on the rack and wiped the water from my face and skin. I quickly dried off and headed to the walk-in closet next to my washroom. When I returned to my bedroom, I changed into a brand-new pair of leather trousers and dried my damp clothes with a towel. I froze in my tracks when I saw her. I couldn't calm the anger and disgust in my pulse when I saw Jun sitting on my desk chair, her legs crossed, helping herself to my wine.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I thought you could use some company, my lord," Jun said, getting up from my chair and walking towards me.

"I've missed you, my dear Obito."

"I am not your Obito, nor am I your dear." She smirked as Jun tried to play with my damp hair. I grabbed her wrist and yanked it away.

"You know you don't have the right to be here again, Jun. Why are you here?"

"It's been a very long time since I shared your bed, I thought you might desire the company."

It was only once, four years ago, during the Crimson Love Festival, when I had a lot more crimson wine than I should have. The following day, I woke up to find Jun naked in bed. After that mistake, I'm careful about how much wine I have during the festival. I don't want to make any other fucking mistakes like I did that night. Any females invited into my bed were turned away. I never considered them as lovers. They were more a body to relieve the ache in my cock when I was tired of my own hand.

"It's not your company that I desire," I said as I walked toward my bedroom door, opened it, and motioned for her to pass. She stood there with venom in her eyes and a venomous smile to match.

Then, she slowly started walking towards me. "She is a beauty, that one. It's a shame that she's being hunted down, trying to be sacrificed like a lamb," she said as she leaned closer to me. Her eyes drifted back and forth between my eyes and lips.

"Get the fuck out Jun and stay the fuck away from her." I spat.

She didn't say anything; her evil smirk said it all.

Our heads turned when we heard Rin and Sakura return to their rooms, our heads turned. They both stopped abruptly next to Rin's room. I saw betrayal and hurt in Rin's glossy eyes as she looked between Jun and me. It didn't help that I only had my trousers on.

Jun, the fucking bitch noticed our gaze and said, "Thank you for a great time, Prince Obito. I look forward to more," before grinning and walking out of the room, glancing at Rin as she left.

Rin didn't say anything, not even to Sakura, as she hurried inside her room and shut the door behind her. Sakura gave a slight bow, and she rushed to her own room.

Fuck, shit, shit, shit.

In this moment, she looked at me as if I'd taken her heart and torn it in two. 

This is fucking bad.

She'll think something happened between Jun and me, which is far from the truth. But when Rin sees Jun walking out of my room and reacts, she'll think the worst. I approached Rin's door and tried the handle, but it was locked.

I knocked and called, "Rin, please open the door?" There was a moment of silence before I knocked again.

"Lamb, please open the door." She remained silent once more.

Then, there was another knock at the door.

"Lamb…..."

"Please leave," Rin said from behind the door. She was standing there, and I could smell her and hear her taking deep breaths.

"Rin please open the door, let me explain."

"There's nothing to explain, please leave Obito."

I cannot accept that answer.

She needs to hear the truth. Even if I have to fucking break her bedroom door. So, I knocked one more time.

"Lamb, I'm begging you, please open the door."

I didn't care how desperate I sounded or looked. I didn't care how the guard's sidelong glances seemed. My woman's heart was broken, and it wasn't my fault. Rin opened her bedroom door, and before I could enter or say anything, she shoved the bouquet of roses I had given her earlier during our city walks, then quickly closed the door.

"Go away, Obito," she said, locking her bedroom door again. I stood before her door, hoping she would change her mind and let me in, but she didn't.

I dropped the bouquet on the floor and went inside my room.

Fuck, what a frustrating day. I couldn't get the day off my mind as I lay on my bed. It started off well, with promising potential between her and me.

Thanks to Jun, she ruined it all.

I'm going to fucking kill her.

Chapter 12: RIN/OBITO/RIN

                                                                                         RIN

 

The morning of the Crimson Love Festival broke warm and gold, but I wanted nothing more than to escape it.

Escape all the chaos and bullshit.

Escape him.

I slipped out of the palace before anyone could stop me or notice me, dodging guards and servants as I made my way to the stables.

If I moved quickly enough—if I got lucky—I could be back at the Konoha border by nightfall.

I didn't care; I needed to get out of here.

I just needed to breathe.

I need to leave.

Get as far away from Obito as possible.

Whatever game he’s playing—I’m done being a pawn in it.

Last night meant nothing.

Not to him at least.

So, it won’t mean anything to me either.

I’ll go back to Konoha, pretend none of this ever happened. Pretend he never touched me. Never looked at me like that.

Maybe then I’ll stop feeling so stupid.

Why do I care?

I’m not supposed to.

It’s not supposed to hurt.

But it does. And if I stay…

if I stay, I’ll bleed

Just run.

Don’t think

The stables smelled like hay, dust, and horses—freedom.

A middle-aged stable hand was brushing down a chestnut mare when he saw me approach.

He froze mid-stroke, his hand tightening around the brush.

He was a broad-shouldered man with sun-darkened skin and a face carved in deep lines, like bark weathered by years of wind and grit.

Strands of gray threaded through his unkempt dark hair, which was pulled into a rough knot at the nape of his neck. A short, grizzled beard hugged his jaw, and his brown eyes, sharp and narrow, carried a guarded weariness—as if life had taught him not to trust too easily.

He wore a loose, sweat-stained linen shirt tucked into trousers that had seen better days, and his boots were caked in dried mud and straw. A leather belt slung around his waist held tools of the trade—hoop picks, twine, and a pouch that jingled faintly with sugar cubes.

Around horses, his movements were slow and practiced, but now, with me in his sights, he tensed—like a dog unsure if it was about to be fed or kicked.

"Miss Rin," he said carefully. "What brings you down here so early?"

"I need a horse," I said, breathless from running. "Any horse. Now please."

His face paled.

"Oh… I'm sorry, lass. If I had two heads, I'd give you a horse. But alas, I only have the one—and I need it to support my growing family."

I blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"If Prince Obito finds out I gave you a horse to leave the palace grounds—" He made a chopping motion across his throat. "He'd personally take it clean off. And I'm quite partial to keeping it where it is."

I stared at him, stunned. "You think I'm going to tell him?"

He offered a sympathetic shrug. "You're not the one I'm worried about."

“I’ll pay you—please. No one has to know you gave me the horse. I’m begging you.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, truly I am. But you’re mistaken. The King—and especially Prince Obito—he knows everything that happens within these walls. I value my head too much to risk it, I hope you understand.”

Anger flared in my chest, but I forced myself to turn around before I said something I'd regret. I stormed back through the palace halls, fuming, cursing Obito under my breath. How many guards were shadowing me today? Four? Five? I might as well be chained to the throne room like a damn dog.

By the time I reached my chambers, I had half a mind to tear down the heavy velvet curtains just to scream into them.

Then I saw it.

A long white box, wrapped in red silk ribbon, resting neatly at the foot of my bed.

Cautiously, I stepped toward it. My heart knew before my hands did. I tugged the ribbon loose, pulled back the lid—and stared.

It was the dress.

The very same one I’d admired in the tailor’s window—the crimson gown with the jeweled corset and off-shoulder sleeves. It glittered like firelight.

It was more than a gift.

It was a message.

I sat on the edge of the bed, stunned.

He got it for me.

The bastard actually got it for me.

I ran my fingers lightly over the jeweled corset, each crystal catching the light like a shard of starlight. No note. No signature. Just this—a gift that said far more than any letter could.

It was infuriating.

It was… thoughtful.

Gods damn him.

I wanted to throw it back at him.

I wanted to wear it.

I wanted to scream and cry and bury my face in the fabric, with the jeweled corset and sleeves like falling silk petals—was now lying in a pristine box on my bed, as if it belonged to me.

As if he belonged to me.

My stomach twisted.

I could scream.

But I didn’t.

Obito was nothing but my enemy.

He was nothing but my captor, well not really. But sure, feels like it.

This man who made my heart feel like a trapped bird inside my chest.

A wave of emotion slammed into me—disbelief, awe, and something dangerously close to tears. But the tears dried quickly when the rage returned.

Rage that he thought a dress—that dress—could make up for everything. That he thought I could be bought.

That he watched me fall apart and handed me silk and jewels like it would fix me.

Gods, he was arrogant.

My hands clenched the delicate fabric, knuckles whitening.

Screw him.

I stormed out of my room, fists full of red satin, and made my way through the palace halls with fire in my veins. I didn’t knock. I didn’t even hesitate

I didn’t care.

I shoved his door open.

Obito caught in the middle of unbuckling one of the black straps on his fighting leathers. His bare chest was slick with sweat, his raven hair damp and tousled.

Half-naked and unbothered, like some god carved from seven hells shadows. He turned at the sound of the door. His Sharingan eyes locked onto me.

His brow lifted slightly. “Rin.”

I hurled the dress at his bare chest.

The jeweled corset hit his chest and slid to the floor with a soft, expensive thud.

“I don’t want your damn dress,” I snapped. “You can keep it. Or better yet, give it to your mistress Jun.” My voice sharp as a blade.

His lips twitched, not quite a smirk. “My what?”

“You heard me.”

“There is no mistress, Rin.”

“Oh please,” I laughed bitterly. “Don’t insult me further.”

“I think you’ve been spending too much time listening to palace gossip.”

“I don’t need gossip,” I said, voice sharp. “I have eyes. And I saw you last night, remember?”

Obito took a step forward, slowly, sweat-slicked, unbothered and I cursed the way my heart skipped. “What you saw was nothing.”

“Oh, right. Just your mistress Jun sneaking out of your room half-dressed. Must’ve been a misunderstanding.”

“Jun is not my mistress, Rin. Whatever you think happened last night—”.

“I don’t think anything, I know what I saw.”

“You don’t know a damn thing,” he growled.

“I know that you act like I’m some pet to parade around, and then turn around and fuck someone else the second I look away.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“I don’t care,” I snapped, turning to leave.

“Do you even hear yourself?” His voice was rough now, the calm beginning to fracture. “You’re jealous over a woman you made up in your head.”

I stopped on my heal and turned, rage burning in my veins.

“I’m not jealous.”

His smile was wicked. “Aren’t you?”

My throat tightened. I hated him for knowing. For seeing.

“I just don’t want to be your entertainment while you fuck around behind closed doors.”

“You are not my entertainment,” he said. “If anything, you’re my punishment.”

“Oh, how romantic.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

“You think a mistress would make me forget the sound you made when I bit into that strawberry? Or the way your voice cracked when you said you hated me?”

I backed up until my spine hit the door, the wood cool against my burning skin. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what, lamb?” His voice was velvet-dagger soft. “Remind you what you don’t want to feel?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m angry.”

“You’re aroused.”

I slapped him. Or—I tried.

He caught my wrist mid-air, fast as lightning.

His fingers wrapped around mine, firm but careful. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t smile.

He just looked at me like he could see every thought burning behind my eyes. His thumb brushed along the inside of my wrist—too intimate. Too familiar.

It made my knees weak, and I hated him for it.

“Let go of me.”

“Gladly,” he said, but didn’t move. “Once you agree to wear the damn dress.”

“Give your fancy gifts to someone who can afford them.”

“That dress,” Obito said, closing the gap between us, “was a gift, not a transaction.”

I glared up at him, jaw tight. “It costs more than my family makes in a year.”

“Then consider it priceless,” he said coolly. “Because it was meant for you.”

“I’m not going to your idiotic party, so there’s no point in keeping it.”

His eyes darkened, the calm cracking into something colder.

“If you don’t come to the Crimson Festival,” he said slowly, “Then I’ll just bring the festival to your room.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Would you like to test that theory, lamb?”

The word landed like a slap, soft and cruel. My breath caught.

His voice dropped lower. “I’ll bring the musicians, the wine, the dancers… hell, I’ll even dance with you myself— and I’ll make damn sure the last song ends with you in my arms. Is that what you want?”

“You’re such an arrogant ass,” I hissed.

He leaned in, close enough that I could see the faint scar on his lip twitch. “Only to people who try to run away from me.”

I blinked. “Wait—how did you know?”

He didn’t smile. “Did the stable hand tell you?” I asked.

“I didn’t need him to. I know everything that happens in this palace,” he said. “And in my kingdom. If you try something like that again, there won’t be any horses left for you to steal.”

The way he said it—casual, commanding, like I was his problem to contain—made heat crawl up my spine and fury bloom in my chest.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to kiss him until I forgot why I was mad.

I shoved him back and snatched the dress off the floor. “Fine. You want me to wear the stupid dress? I’ll wear it. But not for you.”

His gaze flicked down my body, slow and hungry. “You can lie to me all you want, love. But that dress will still be mine when it’s on you.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“And yet you keep showing up in my doorway.”

I yanked the door open. “Next time, I’ll bring a dagger instead of fabric.”

He smirked. “Promise?”

I slammed my bedroom door hard enough to shake the walls, it rattled the frame.

The night arrived with a sky of fire and gold, as if even the stars were preparing for the Crimson Love Festival.

I waited until well past moonrise before I left my room. And I was still debating to go to the damn party.

From the balcony, the city shimmered below like a sea of fireflies, and the palace burned with gold and crimson from within—lanterns, torchlight, flower petals drifting on the breeze like red snow.

Laughter rose from the courtyards, warm and heady.

The air was rich with the scent of sweet wine, roasted figs, honey, and night-blooming jasmine.

Music drifted up from the streets—soft flutes, the beat of hand drums, and laughter curling through the air like smoke.

Drums and flutes pulsed like a heartbeat through the marble walls, laughter floating up from the courtyards below. Somewhere, someone sang to the Goddess of Love, and petals of red flowers drifted down from the palace balconies.

I stood frozen in front of the mirror, draped in silk and defiance.

The red gown clung to me like it was stitched from temptation itself. Jewels caught the firelight like stars across my chest, the sleeves falling off my shoulders like whispering hands.

My throat was dry.

My skin burned.

And I hated him for this.

A knock broke through my thoughts.

Before I could respond, the door creaked open and Sakura stepped in. Her eyes widened the moment she saw me.

“Wow,” she whispered. “You look… like trouble.”

I gave her a weak glare, but the corner of my mouth twitched.

“Don’t start.”

She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. She wore a deep crimson dress of her own, elegant and sharp, with delicate embroidery curling like vines across the bodice. Her hair was curled, pinned to the side with a thin gold comb. She looked… regal.

“That’s new,” I said, nodding to her dress.

“Sasuke had it made,” she said softly.

Of course he did.

I turned away. “Must be nice. Getting gifts from men who don’t play games with your head.”

Sakura hesitated, then crossed the room. “Rin… are you okay?”

“No.” I exhaled and sank onto the edge of the bed, smoothing the fabric of my gown with trembling fingers. “I don’t want to go down there.”

“Because of last night?”

I nodded, jaw tightening.

“I saw him…We both saw them.”

Sakura’s mouth parted slightly, guilt blooming in her eyes.

“Did…did you… confronted him?”

“Oh yes.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Threw this dress at him. Told him to give it to his precious mistress Jun. And he had the nerve to look offended.”

Sakura sat beside me; her hands folded neatly in her lap. “What did he say?”

“That there is no mistress. Tried to convince me that Jun is not his mistress. That I don’t know what I saw. That I’m jealous.”

“Are you?” she asked gently. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

A silence passed between us, heavy and old.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked suddenly. My voice was quieter now. “About Sasuke. About you two.”

Sakura’s eyes darted to mine. “I wanted to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” she said. “Everything’s been so… intense lately. You’ve been going through so much. I didn’t want to distract you. Or make it more complicated.”

“You mean you didn’t want me to judge you.”

Sakura winced. “Maybe. A little. I didn’t even know what it was, Rin. I still don’t.”

“But he gave you that dress.”

“And you’re wearing yours.”

I opened my mouth to argue—but the words caught.

Sakura reached for my hand.

“Look, I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t go looking for him. One night I snuck out for a swim like we usually do and next thing I know there’s this… dark, arrogant bastard calling me ‘little mouse’ and threatening to join me in the river.”

My brow rose. “Little mouse?”

She groaned. “It’s a thing, apparently. An Uchiha thing.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Gods, they’re so insufferable.”

“They really are.” She gave a small smile. “But they see things in us we try to hide.”

Her words settled like a stone in my chest.

I stood, walked slowly to the window, and stared down at the lantern-lit streets, music rising with the wind. The Crimson Love Festival had begun—and I was still up here, afraid.

Maybe not afraid of him. But afraid of what I wanted.

“I hate him,” I whispered.

Sakura came to stand beside me. “I know.”

“I hate that he sees me. That he listens. That he knows me better than I want him to.”

“I know,” she repeated. “I feel the same.”

We stood there, watching the firelight shimmer below.

Then Sakura smiled softly. “So… do we go down together, or do we wait for them to drag us out?”

Sakura waited, giving me time to decide.

But I didn’t move.

I stayed in my room long after she left—after the door clicked shut and her footsteps disappeared down the corridor. I sat in silence, surrounded by music, light, and the perfume of red petals floating in from the courtyard. It all felt so far away.

I hated him.

But gods, I wanted him to look at me again.

The way he did when I wore nothing but fury and silk. The way his eyes darkened like I was a storm he wanted to drown in.

I walked to the mirror, slow and reluctant, and studied my reflection again.

Who was I right now?

Not the girl from Konoha.

Not the daughter of a noble house.

Not a jinchuriki.

Not quite a queen, but something far more dangerous.

I adjusted the gown slightly at the shoulders, lifted my chin, and whispered to my reflection:

“You don’t go for him. You go for yourself.”

And I left.

The palace courtyard had transformed into a world of fire and flowers. Lanterns floated in the sky like tiny suns. Musicians played in a circle surrounded by dancers twirling in crimson silks.

Tables overflowed with roasted meats, sugared buns, honey-wine, and fruit soaked in elixir. Red petals drifted down like snow.

Laughter echoed off marble pillars and golden statues of the Goddess Sarita.

Flowers poured from balconies. Flames danced in tall brass basins, casting shadows on marble statues of the Goddess Sarita.

People spun in circles across the dance floor, cloaked in crimson silks and golden masks.

I arrived late.

Too late to be polite.

Perfectly late to be noticed.

If Obito wanted a show, he would get one.

I stepped out from the archway and into the firelight.

The air changed.

People turned.

Eyes found me.

Even the music seemed to hesitate for a breath.

Heads turned as I stepped through the archway.

The gown clung to me like desire. Jewels glittered down the bodice like they’d been poured from the stars.

My gloves were black silk, my hair swept up and pinned with gold threads. I didn’t smile. I didn’t blink.

I walked like I didn’t give a damn who stared.

Let them look.

Let them whisper.

And then—I felt it.

That stare.

That devouring gaze, slow and electric.

My heart stuttered in my chest as I found him.

Obito stood across the courtyard, tall and motionless, surrounded by high-ranking nobles in ceremonial black. He wore a crimson cloak draped over one shoulder, and his usual leather beneath. His half-mask was nowhere in sight.

His dark hair was swept back, his Sharingan eyes glowing faintly in the torchlight like molten garnet.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He just looked at me.

And everything in his body—his stillness, his tension—said one thing:

Mine.

I tore my gaze away and turned on my heel, walked into the crowd.

I refused to give him the satisfaction. I refused to be the girl who unraveled just because he looked at me like I was the sun he never thought he'd touch.

I slipped into the crowd, dodging glances, heart hammering.

“Rin!” a familiar voice called.

I turned and bumped right into very pregnant Izumi—and beside her, a very flushed, very drunk Tsubaki.

“Finally!” Izumi grinned. “I told you you’d show.”

Tsubaki thrust a goblet toward me. “You’re late, princess. Drink.”

I hesitated only a moment before taking it—and downing it all.

Izumi blinked. “Gods, Rin!”

The wine was warm and thick, laced with something floral and heady. Tsubaki burst out laughing. “That’s not juice, lamb. That’s the Crimson Elixir. You’ll be ready to jump on Obito’s like a tree before midnight.”

I coughed. ““Absolutely not,” I muttered.

“Oh, she is,” Izumi said, her eyes gleaming. “You’re glowing already.”

“I needed it,” I muttered. “It’s just wine.”

“No, love,” Tsubaki said, slurring slightly. “That flower-wine? It doesn’t just make you tipsy. It makes you very, very horny. Just ask Izumi. That’s how she got herself pregnant again in the first place.” Both girls laughed.

Great. Just what I needed—alcohol that uncorked repressed feelings.

“Here we go,” Izumi murmured, glancing past v me.

I didn’t need to turn to know who she was looking at.

Obito.

Still watching. Still stalking my every move like a wolf waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

“Well,” Izumi smirked. “He’s undressing you with his eyes.”

“He can go to hell,” I said sweetly.

Izumi smirked. “That’s not hate on your face, darling. That’s rage foreplay.”

“I hate all of you.”

“You don’t,” Izumi said, sipping from her cup of water. “You hate how much you like him.”

My mouth opened to retort—

“No,” Tsubaki said sweetly, “you just haven’t been fucked hard enough yet.”

I rolled my eyes—and that’s when I noticed him again.

Still watching.

Still burning a hole straight through me.

“Would you honor me with a dance, my lady?”

I blinked and turned.

The voice belonged to a stranger—tall, broad-shouldered, an easy smile, and confidence that reeked of wine and firelight.
He wore deep blue robes with silver embroidery and smelled faintly of rose oil and spice. Handsome.

Confident. Not dangerous.

Not Obito and not a Uchiha.

I looked at him.

Then at Obito.

Still watching.

Still burning.

“Of course,” I said, and took the stranger’s hand.

The music slowed as we stepped into the circle of dancers, the rhythm shifting into something slower, more intimate.

His hand rested lightly at my waist, his other hand clasping mine as we moved together in rhythm. He was a good dancer—graceful, steady. But I wasn’t focused on him.

Not entirely.

I could feel Obito’s gaze from across the floor. It touched my skin like heat, making it hard to breathe.

“So,” the stranger said softly. “Is it true the goddess walks among mortals tonight?”

I blinked. “What?”

“You,” he clarified, flashing a grin. “You look like something carved from moonlight and sin.”

I chuckled, dry. “Is that your opening line?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Barely.”

He twirled me gently. “I saw you arrive. He saw you too.”

I glanced up. “Who?”

“Tell me, “He said, spinning me gently. “Does your prince know how lucky he is?”

“I don’t have a prince,” I lied smoothly.

“Well then, that’s a crime.”

“Careful,” I said, glancing past his shoulder. “Someone might take that personally.”

Obito stood across the garden, face unreadable, jaw set.

The stranger noticed. “Should I be worried?”

“Only if you’re stupid,” I said, stepping closer. “Are you?”

“I’m dancing with a goddess. How stupid could I be?”

I laughed again—but it was hollow. My mind wasn’t here. My blood was burning with wine and rage and shame.

“Then dance with me like he doesn’t exist.”

I smiled—and did exactly that.

As the song drew to a close, I dipped into a shallow bow and turned on my heel.

“Thank you,” I said quickly, already turning to disappear into the crowd again.

I just wanted to disappear.

The night air outside the palace was crisp and quieter. Lanterns still glowed along the pathways, but the music felt distant now—muted by stone and space. The guards were distracted, attending the party or patrolling elsewhere. No one stopped me as I slipped around the outer courtyard toward the stables.

The scent of hay and old leather greeted me like a familiar memory. The horses shifted in their stalls, soft whinnies and snorts filling the quiet.

I found the same mare from this morning—chestnut, steady, gentle. My fingers brushed the side of her neck as I reached for the reins.

I didn’t know where I was going.

But I had to move. I had to leave. Just for a while.

Just to breathe.

“You look like you’re running from something, sweetheart.”

The voice froze me.

Low. Slurred. Too close.

I turned slowly.

Three men stood just inside the entrance. Their coats were rumpled, their boots muddy, and they reeked of sour wine and sweat. One of them—broad-shouldered with a badly shaved jaw—smirked as he stepped closer.

“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said.

My heart pounded. “I’m not alone.”

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s come to fetch you,” another said, cracking his knuckles.

I backed up half a step. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Who said anything about trouble?” the first man grinned.

“Then don’t give us any,” the second man said.

One stepped closer.

“Come on now, sweetheart. Just a little fun.”

The third man said.

“Don’t.”

“Or what?”

My eyes darted around for a weapon. A pitchfork. A bridle.

Anything.

I had no blades.

No guards.

No time to scream.

One of them grabbed my wrist.

I yanked away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Oh, come on now,” the third man sneered. “Just a bit of fun.”

“I said don’t.”

They didn’t care.

They moved in closer—circling like wolves, shoulders brushing mine, mouths too close.

I could feel my panic clawing up my throat.

And then—

A voice cut through the dark like steel dragged over stone.

“Get your fucking hands off of her.”

The men froze. So, did I.

From the far shadows of the stable, a figure stepped forward—slow, measured, silent. Crimson cloak flowing behind him. Armor gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

Obito stood in the shadows.

And his eyes—

Gods.

His eyes were death.

A darkness in his sharingan eyes I’d never seen before.

“This doesn’t concern you,” one of the men snapped.

Obito’s head tilted slightly. His expression didn’t change.

They didn’t recognize him at first—until one of them laughed.

“And who the hell are you?”

The air went still.

Obito didn’t answer.

The man drew a knife.

Obito didn’t flinch.

He moved.

It happened so fast, I couldn’t breathe. One moment the man was smirking—the next, he was choking on blood. Obito’s blade flashed once—twice—three times. The first man didn’t even have time to scream.

Obito struck with a blade that came from nowhere—silent, efficient. One cut across the throat, then another and another.

Three men.

Three heartbeats.

Gone.

Three bodies fell.

Three throats opened like red ribbons.

And he kept walking toward me, calm and silent, as if nothing had happened.

Obito stepped over the bodies, calm as dusk, retrieving his dagger with the same ease most men used to pick up a pen.

Then he turned to me.

His eyes didn’t burn now.

They blazed.

“Are you hurt?”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. Because for one terrifying, beautiful moment—I didn’t know if I was scared of him…

Or desperate to run to him.

Blood still stained the stable floor, soaking into the straw and dirt.

Obito stood before me, his blade lowered, his chest heaving with a slow, deliberate breath as if trying to will the rage out of his lungs. But it was still there—in the tight set of his jaw, the storm swirling behind his eyes.

His formal cloak stirred in the wind, dark and heavy, and the light from the nearby torch flickered red against the blood on his gauntlet.

“Are you hurt?” he asked again, his voice low and taut.

I shook my head, breath shallow.

“You’re sure?”

“I said I’m fine.”

He stared at me a second longer, then suddenly reached out and grabbed my wrist.

“Obito—!”

“You’re done for tonight.”

Before I could blink, he was pulling me back toward the palace. His grip was firm, his strides long, and I had to nearly jog to keep up with him.

“You don’t get to decide that!” I snapped, yanking at his hand. “Let go of me.”

“You could’ve been killed, or worse, rapped.” he snarled.

“But I wasn’t, thanks to your perfectly timed dramatic entrance.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t point out the obvious?”

“If I had been one minute later—”

“But you weren’t!”

He spun to face me so fast I almost collided with his chest.

His voice dropped into something low and dangerous.

“You think this is a joke?”

“I think you are,” I hissed. “I danced. I drank. I smiled. That’s what you wanted, right? For me to wear the dress, show up, play nice? Well congratulations, Your Highness. You got what you wanted.”

He stared at me, something raw flickering in his expression.

“That’s not what I wanted.”

“Oh?” I stepped closer, fists clenched at my sides. “Then what the hell do you want from me?”

He didn’t answer.

Just stared.

So, I yanked my arm from his grip, chest heaving. “Leave me alone.”

“Rin—”

“No.” I stepped back, fury burning through me. “Just go. I’m going back to the party. You can return to brooding in the shadows or whatever it is you do when you’re not ruining my life.”

I turned without waiting and stormed back toward the courtyard.

The party was still in full swing, louder now, looser. The music had grown faster, more chaotic. People spun wildly on the dance floor. Petals littered the marble. Goblets were passed freely. Servants were drunk. Nobles were singing.

And I—needed a drink!

Hours passed—or maybe minutes. I lost track of time the way you lose track of pain in a fever dream. I was halfway to drunk, past dignity, past pride, and far too close to making another mistake.

“Lady Rin,” a man purred beside me, his voice like syrup. “May I have the next dance?”

I turned, flushed and dizzy, and nodded without thinking.

He pulled me into a slow spin, hands lingering a bit too long. He whispered compliments into my ear I barely registered. The wine made everything soft—his face, my anger, the memory of Obito's voice in the stables.

I laughed. I danced with him. And then another.

And another.

Three men in, I’d lost count of how many goblets of Crimson Elixir I’d drained.

The world blurred at the edges. I was warm, too warm, and weightless, the air thick with flowers and secrets.

But I didn’t look for him. I wouldn’t give him that.

I didn’t even notice when the last man I danced with pulled me gently toward the gardens.

He was handsome, in a dull sort of way—his teeth too white, his smile too smooth. I didn’t even catch his name. I didn’t care.

“I know a quieter place,” he said, brushing my arm. “You look like you need some air.”

I didn’t argue.

The garden was colder than I remembered. Crickets chirped in the hedges, and the moon dripped silver down the marble statues. Fountains burbled softly under trailing vines. It was beautiful. It felt like it was holding its breath.

I stumbled a little, and the man—whatever his name was—caught me with a hand at my waist.

“Careful,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

I tried to laugh. It came out wrong. Slurred.

The man walked me past the rose trellis, past the ivy walls, until we were alone near the edge of the hedges.

He turned to me, smiling.

“You’re even more beautiful out here.”

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I mean it.” His hand came to rest lightly on my waist. My body went still. “Let’s not waste time pretending you don’t want this,” he said softly, his lips nearing mine. I pulled back. “What?”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “I saw the way you looked at me. How you danced. You’re burning for it.”

“No, I’m not.”

He reached again. This time, I stepped away—but he followed, grabbing my wrist, not hard, but firm.

“Stop,” I said, voice suddenly clearer, slicing through the haze.

“Relax, love. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Let go.”

“I’m just—”

“I said stop.”

My voice trembled. But my hands were slow. My legs weak. And the wine was finally turning against me.

He grabbed my chin.

And then—

“Let go of her.”

The voice didn’t come from the shadows this time.

It ripped through the garden like thunder.

Obito.

Thank the fucking Gods.

He strode out from behind the stone column, cloaked in full crimson, armor gleaming, and I swear the torches brightened in his wake.

At first the men didn’t recognize who Obito was. The man stiffened, stepping away from me just slightly. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Obito’s voice dropped to something colder than ice.

“You’ve made a mistake.”

Panic hit the man with realization who he dared to be bold with. “I didn’t know she—”

“She isn’t mine,” Obito said, moving closer. “But she’s not yours, either.”

The man tried to hold his ground. “We were just talking—”

“Talking?” Obito’s mouth twisted. “That what you call cornering a drunk woman in the dark?”

The man reached for his dagger.

I didn’t breathe.

But Obito didn’t move.

He didn’t have to.

Because the man froze.

Something about Obito’s sharingan eyes—something dark and ancient—rooted him to the ground.

“You have three seconds to run,” Obito said quietly. “Or you’ll leave here lifeless.”

The man ran.

Coward.

Smart.

I stood there, swaying slightly.

The silence rang.

“Are you alright?” Obito asked.

I laughed.

Gods, I laughed. Short. Ugly. Sharp.

I didn’t say anything, his mouth tight, his eyes unreadable.

“You’re welcome,” he said bitterly.

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“You didn’t need to. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened again if I hadn’t followed you?”

“Of course I do!” I shouted. “I’m not stupid.”

“You’re drunk. You’re reckless. You’re being deliberately careless just to spite me.”

“Do you ever leave me alone?” I snapped. “Is this what you do all night—just lurk behind hedges waiting to play hero?”

“If I hadn’t followed you—”

My voice cracked. “I didn’t ask you to follow me. I didn’t ask for the dress. I didn’t ask to be dragged back to your damn palace—”

“Maybe if you stopped acting like a brat—”

“Maybe if you stopped acting like I belong to you—!”

“You do.”

Silence.

My breath caught.

He didn’t yell it. He just said it—flat, firm, like it was a fact etched in stone.

I staggered back a step. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Obito’s jaw flexed.

“You’re drunk. You’re vulnerable. And apparently insane.”

“Insane?”

“You’re letting strange men put their hands on you and drag you into dark corners!”

“Because I was trying to forget you!” I yelled. “For one damn night, I wanted to forget the way you look at me like I belong to you. Like I’m a piece of your kingdom…I’m not your prisoner!”

“You’re not,” he growled. “You’re my—”

He stopped himself.

His hands clenched at his sides.

And I stepped back, blinking away tears I didn’t realize had started.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

“Good,” he bit out. “Then you’ll love this.”

And before I could move, he grabbed me—arms around my waist—and hoisted me onto his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“WHAT THE HELL, OBITO—”

“You’re done.”

“PUT ME DOWN—”

“You’ve embarrassed yourself enough for one night.”

“I will stab you the second my feet hit the ground!”

“Too bad you left your daggers in your other dress.”

I pounded on his back with both fists. “I swear to every gods in the heavens—”

“You’ll swear louder when I dump your drunk ass in a cold bath.”

“You wouldn’t—!”

“I’m considering holy water.”

He carried me through the garden like I was weightless—through the stunned guests, through the arched halls, through the glittering firelight of the festival I had just set on fire with my choices.

And over his shoulder, I saw the stunned expressions of nobles, servants, even a few guards pausing mid-laugh and mid-bite to watch the Crown Prince of Akatsuki Land walk through the palace garden with a furious woman tossed over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Gods. Kill me now.

I fucking hate him so much.

I hated how solid he felt beneath me. How he never flinched under the weight of me, of this.

I hated that part of me—some shameful, broken part—felt safe.

I hated most of all that I was too drunk to stop him.

                                                                                     

                                                                                   OBITO

 

The door slammed open with the force of my boot. I didn’t bother being quiet—not tonight.

Not after what she pulled.

My grip on her thighs tightened, shifting her weight higher over my shoulder.

She was still protesting, legs kicking and fists weakly thumping against my back.

“Put me down! Obito, I swear to the gods—”

“You already did that tonight, didn’t you?” I snapped, stalking toward my bedchamber. “Swore to the gods, danced with men who didn’t deserve to look at you, tried to run away. Again.”

I should have killed the last one. The man in the garden. I should’ve slit his throat and let the crimson wine mix with his blood in the soil. But I hadn’t—not because he didn’t deserve it, but because she had been watching.

Trembling. Scared. Drunk.

And gods help me, beautiful.

She smacked my lower back. “This isn’t my room!”

“It is tonight.”

I kicked the door shut behind me, then strode to the center of the room.

My chambers were dim, the fire low, but her body shimmered under the gold light like the goddess Sarita herself had descended into my arms, barefoot and furious.

I set her down gently—far more gently than she deserved after all this—and she stumbled, catching herself on the edge of my bed.

“You’re such a fucking bastard,” she hissed, brushing her hair from her face.

“And you’re a goddamn menace.”

Our eyes locked. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips parted. She looked wild and untamed and mine, and I knew—knew—if I so much as brushed my fingers down her throat, she’d melt into me like the sun into night.

“You got what you wanted,” she said. “I came to the damn festival. You can go back now, Prince.”

“Go back?” I stepped forward. “After you tried to run away? After you nearly got—”

“Don’t,” she warned. “Don’t say it.”

But I was already saying it. “He had his hands on you, Rin. If I’d been a minute later—”

“But you weren’t,” she whispered, too low. The silence between us crackled. “I don’t need saving,” she added, barely audible.

I laughed once—dark and bitter. “You need everything, lamb. Guards, weapons, godsdamned chains if that’s what it takes to keep you safe—”

“You don’t own me, Obito!”

“No,” I growled, stepping close enough that her breath hitched.

“But I want to.”

Oh Gods, I wanted too. Every inch of her—body, soul, that infuriatingly pure heart, and the twisted maze of her stubborn mind. I didn’t want to love her. I wanted to consume her. Break her down until she forgot who she was without me. She should’ve been mine already—mine to ruin, mine to worship, mine to fucking keep.

That stunned her.

Her lips parted, and I could see the emotions churn behind her eyes—rage, confusion, want.

She turned her face away.

“I should go.”

“Where? Back to the stables? Want to see who else is lurking in the dark?”

She flinched, and I instantly hated myself.

“Rin…”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she staggered a step away from me, swaying unsteadily as she caught her reflection in the long mirror near my bed.

Her voice was quiet, almost dazed. “I look ridiculous.”

“No.” I stepped forward again, slower this time. “You look…”

I didn’t have a word strong enough.

Her fingers reached for the straps of her dress. Then she began undressing—beautiful and unsteady and gods, she was everything I’d ever wanted.

My heart stuttered. “Rin.”

She ignored me, fumbling with the fabric until the red slipped lower over her shoulders.

I caught her wrists. “Don’t.”

“You want me, don’t you?” she said, her voice slurred but sure. “You’ve wanted me from the beginning.”

“And you’re drunk.”

She laughed—a sound that curled like smoke around my ribs.

Her eyes flashed. “Why won’t you touch me?”

I was drowning.

Choking on everything I couldn’t say.

She stepped forward again, close enough to press her palm flat against my chest.

My body betrayed me—I leaned into it.

Her fingers trailed down, tentative and teasing, over the leather of my tunic and the skin just beneath.

My muscles twitched.

I caught her hand again.

“Because you’re drunk. Because you don’t mean it.”

“Oh, but I do.”

“No, Rin. You don’t and this is the crimson wine talking not you love.”

"I thought you wanted me, Prince," she said—mocking me, tempting me.

There she stood, barely clothed, her ruined dress slipping off her shoulders like an afterthought, and the barest excuse for underwear. The sheer fabric doing nothing to hide the curves I'd memorized in dreams I hated myself for having.

Her fingers ghosted over her nipples, teasing them into stiff peaks as soft, breathy moans spilled from her lips—each one a fucking dagger to my restraint—moans meant to destroy me.

She was a vision of sin, and she knew exactly what she was doing.

She didn’t know what she was asking for.

Didn’t know what she’d become if I said yes.

Because I did want her—Gods, I fucking ached for her. But not like this.

Not drunk. Not playing games.

Not when I wanted to break her and worship her in the same breath.

I stood still. Every muscle tight.

Every part of me screaming to move.

To take.

To claim.

To ruin.

To make her mine so thoroughly she’d forget her own name unless I gave her permission to speak it.

But she wasn’t mine.

Not yet.

And if I touched her now, it would be the end of both of us.

“Gods I do, more than anything." My voice dropped to a rasp.

“I’m not going to fuck you so by morning you won’t have any relocations of it but when you wake up tomorrow, and you’ll still hate me for it.”

She trembled, just for a second.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “You don’t get to control—”

“I’m not trying to control you.” My voice cracked. “I’m trying not to ruin you.”

Silence fell again—louder than any scream.

Her eyes filled with tears.

She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

Then, she kissed me.

And I kissed her back.

And I would’ve burned the world down for more.

“Rin,” I warned.

But she didn’t stop.

The dress fell slowly from her shoulders, the fabric sliding down her arms like silk over moonlight. Her skin glowed in the firelight, soft and impossibly radiant.

Her hands moved with lazy grace—over her stomach, up her ribs, brushing teasingly over her breasts, her nipples pebbling beneath her own touch.

“Stop.” My voice cracked.

She didn’t.

Her fingers moved lower, inching beneath the curve of her hips, her eyes locked on mine with raw hunger.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” she whispered. “Tell me—”

“I want you.” My voice was hoarse, brutal. “I’ve wanted you since the moment you cursed me on that gods-damned forest.”

She smiled—drunken, beautiful, devastating.

“Then take me.”

I cupped her face in my hands. “You’re drunk, baby.”

“So?”

“So, I’m not doing this unless you know exactly what you’re giving me.”

“I do know.”

“No. You know how it feels right now. But tomorrow morning, you might not even remember this.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but I silenced her by gently placing a vial in her hand.

She frowned.

“What’s this?”

“A sleeping elixir,” I said quietly. “One I take when I have trouble sleeping. You need it more than I do right now.”

“I’m not drinking that.”

“If you don’t drink it, I’ll make you drink it,” I warned, eyes locked on hers.

She studied my face—realizing, I think, that I wasn’t bluffing. Then, with a huff, she downed the vial and grimaced.

“…You’re an ass,” she muttered.

“I’ve been called worse.”

She swayed slightly on her feet. I caught her before she could stumble, lifting her into my arms again—but this time, slower, gentler.

I scooped her into my arms again—so gently this time it nearly broke me. I carried her to my bed and laid her down carefully, tugging the sheets over her as her eyes fluttered shut. She curled into it without protest.

“Obito…” she whispered.

I paused, kneeling beside the bed, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek.

Her fingers brushed mine before I pulled away.

“Don’t leave,” she murmured. “Stay. Just… stay.” she whispered, already half-asleep.

My breath hitched. I swallowed hard.

“Always.”

Then I whispered “I love you" in her ear.

She was asleep within seconds.

I stayed by her side until dawn.

                                                                                           

                                                                            RIN

 

The first thing I felt was the pounding in my skull — a dull, merciless throb that pulsed behind my eyes and made the simple act of breathing feel like punishment.

The second was heat.

Not the kind that came from sunlight or fire, but from tangled sheets and the cocoon of a bed far too soft, too warm— the uncomfortable warmth of soft sheets tangled around my legs, a pillow that smelled… heavenly.

Familiar.

Then came the scent.

That scent.

Dusky spice. Leather. Firewood. Him.

Gods, it was him.

That dusky spice, leather, and firewood smell that lingered in my bones far longer than I’d ever admit. The scent that haunted me at night when I should’ve been dreaming of home. I burrowed my face deeper, into the pillow before my eyes shot open half-conscious, hoping to escape it.

I froze.

Wait.

This wasn’t my room.

Panic hit me like a bucket of cold water.

I bolted upright, immediately regretting it as a wave of nausea swept over me. My head felt like it had been split in two, and the light from the arched windows stabbed into my brain like knives. Blinking against the brightness.

My heart started pounding faster.

The walls were made of dark polished stone. Crimson velvet draped over massive windows. A carved armor stand loomed in the corner. A faint gleam of weapons lined the walls. The bed beneath me — a massive four-poster thing that could swallow three of me whole — was not mine.

The dark stone walls. The enormous canopy bed. The massive windows draped in crimson velvet.

The armor stands in the corner.

The faint glint of weapons on the wall.

This was his room.

I was in Obito’s bed. Wearing a black shirt that didn’t belong to me — soft, expensive fabric, unbuttoned at the top and hanging off my shoulder.

I lifted the sheets and peeked underneath.

Underwear. Just my underwear.

A fresh spike of panic twisted in my stomach.

What the hell happened?

Did I…? Did we…?

I clenched the sheets with trembling fingers, breathing through the ache. Fragments of the night came back in pieces.

Laughter. Crimson wine. Izumi’s teasing voice. Tsubaki’s drunken giggle.

A kiss.

Warm hands on my waist. A flash of moonlight.

My own breath hitching.

His voice, low and hoarse—

“I love you.”

The memory hit like a blade, sharp and bright.

But no—no, no, no.

That couldn’t have been real.

I was drunk.

Desperately, stupidly drunk.

That had to be a dream.

My mind filling in blanks with fantasies.

Because the alternative — that he meant it — was too terrifying to believe.

But then… why did my body feel untouched?

No soreness. No bruises.

No ache.

Only the lingering heat of him.

And the shirt....His shirt.

Buttoned around me like armor.

My red gown from last night was folded neatly on the chaise near the fireplace, my heels aligned at its base.

He hadn’t touched me.

Not in the way I feared.

Not in the way I half-remembered begging him for.

I pressed a hand to my chest and tried to breathe through the whirlwind of confusion and shame and relief.

If he didn’t take me…, why did he bring me here?

I rose carefully, bare feet brushing the cool marble floor.

The echo of the room’s vast emptiness only deepened my disorientation.

My knees wobbled.

I spotted the door to his adjoining chambers — that war room he used as an office and sanctuary.

Voices echoed faintly from the other side.

And clinking dishes.

Still dazed, I crossed the bedroom and pushed open the heavy door.

The scent of fresh bread, coffee, and citrus greeted me first.

Obito’s war room was steeped in early morning light, filtered through tall stained-glass windows. His desk — massive, oak, and etched with the Uchiha crest — was littered with maps, sealed scrolls, and polished weapons.

And standing in front of it was a young maid, placing a silver tray carefully down.

She jumped the moment she noticed me.

“M-Milady!” she stammered, bowing so quickly her cap nearly fell off. “Forgive me! I didn’t mean to disturb—”

“You’re not,” I rasped, tugging at the hem of the shirt instinctively. “Where… where is Prince Obito?”

Her hands fidgeted over the edge of the tray. “He was summoned before sunrise. There was a disturbance at the border. He left before dawn and asked not to wake you.” She lowered her gaze. “He instructed that your breakfast be brought here instead.”

I blinked at her, throat tightening.

Here. Not your room. Here.

The maid added softly, “He also said… you’re safe. And he’d return shortly.”

Safe.

The word sent a fresh wave of heat to my eyes.

Because I remembered his voice in the stables — sharp with rage, cutting through the dark like a sword. I remembered the blood.

The way he killed those men without hesitation.

The way he lifted me into his arms like I weighed nothing and marched me through the palace like a storm.

And I remembered what he didn’t do.

He didn’t touch me.

Not even when I begged him to.

Not even when I undressed in front of him.

He just kissed me. Whispered that he loved me. And then — like some damn honorable knight out of a storybook — he gave me a sleeping elixir and tucked me into bed.

Obito Uchiha, the most feared warrior in the land, the man I hated and desired in equal measure, had shown mercy I didn’t deserve.

I sat down in the tall leather chair at his desk, the scent of his cologne woven into the fabric. The breakfast tray shimmered in front of me — honeyed buns, soft-boiled eggs, dark roasted coffee.

My hands curled around the warm mug, but I didn’t sip.

Because all I could think about was the way he looked at me last night.

Like I was more than a burden. Like I was something he wanted — but refused to take unless I gave it freely.

And that terrified me more than anything.

Because maybe… just maybe… I wanted to give it.

And I didn’t know how to forgive him for that.

Chapter 13: SAKURA/SASUKE/NARUTO/THE SANDS OF KUMOGAKURE

                                                                                 SAKURA

The music from the Crimson Love Festival drifted faintly through the castle walls, like the echo of a dream too beautiful to hold. The air still shimmered with magic—rose-sweet, wine-warm, thick with incense and memory.

Every step I took away from the ballroom felt like shedding the version of myself I'd worn for too long.

The healer.

The friend.

The girl waiting at the edge of his silence.

Now, I stood at the threshold of Sasuke’s private chambers, heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted to escape. I stood just inside the room, heart pounding behind my ribs, it felt like time had slowed.

The air smelled faintly of cedarwood, leather, and something sharper—him.

Shadows danced on the stone walls, cast by the flickering hearth, and moonlight poured across the tiled floor like spilled milk.

The door closed behind me with a soft click. The room was bathed in moonlight—pale silver sliding over stone and silk.

Everything in here bore his touch. Clean, spare, elegant. A single candle burned low on the table near the bed. Sasuke turned from the balcony, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

His black formal jacket had been discarded, his shirt loosened at the collar, revealing a sliver of pale collarbone that caught the silver light.

His hair, always so meticulously styled, had begun to fall into his eyes.

Gods, he looked like a poem written in flesh.

He turned when I stepped closer, and something in his eyes softened. I felt it before he said a word.

“I can still hear the music,” I whispered, my voice barely above the hush between us, my fingers tugging at the embroidered sleeves of my gown.

“It’s like the festival doesn’t want to end.” “Then let it keep playing,” he said, his voice low and rough. “We don’t have to rush.” A slow breath escaped my lips. I took a step closer, my embroidered gown swishing faintly with the movement.

“So… is this how the princes of Akatsuki Land treat their dates after the festival? Sweep them off their feet, bring them to a dark tower room, and hope they forget their vows of chastity?”

Sasuke turned; his mouth twitched into something close to a smirk. “That depends. Do they want to forget?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “Do you?”

His silence made my breath catch. Then he stepped forward—slow, deliberate, as if I were a bird he might startle. His fingers brushed my cheek, feather-light. Even now, after everything, he touched me like I was breakable.

“I don’t want to forget a single thing,” he said.

And then he kissed me. It was not a hungry kiss—not at first. It was reverent.

Slow. A question. A whisper of everything we could never say. My hands rose to his chest, clutching the soft fabric of his shirt. I could feel the heat of him, the tension in the muscles beneath my palms, held back only by will.

The second kiss was deeper. Messier.

His hands moved to my waist, dragging me closer until our bodies aligned perfectly, and I gasped against his mouth. His tongue brushed mine and I melted, pressing into him with a need I didn’t know I had the courage to voice. His mouth left mine only to trail fire down my throat, pausing at the base of my neck to linger there, like he needed to brand himself into my skin.

“Sasuke,” I breathed, dizzy.

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice tight with restraint.

“I want to,” I said. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

A beat of silence passed before he nodded. His hands moved slowly to the clasps of my gown, undoing each one with a care that made my throat ache. I watched his expression as the fabric fell away from my shoulders—no greed, no pride.

Just awe.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, fingers trembling slightly as he traced the scars on my shoulder, the ones I rarely let anyone see. “Even the broken parts.” Tears stung the corners of my eyes.

We undressed each other like a ceremony. Slowly. Reverently.

Sasuke removed my gown like it was made of glass. His fingers trembled when he traced the scars on my shoulder—the ones I never let anyone see. But he didn’t flinch.

“Still beautiful,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Always.” I undid the buttons of his shirt one by one, kissed the hollow of his throat, let my lips find the soft flesh of his chest.

When we finally reached the bed, my head spun—not from nerves, but from the way he looked at me. Like I was everything he’d ever wanted. He laid me down like I was something precious.

His hands skimmed my sides, my thighs, my stomach. Every touch left a trail of fire behind. When his mouth closed around my breast, I gasped, arching into him, my hands threading into his hair.

Every breath was a promise. Every sound, a confession. Sasuke’s hands were everywhere tracing my back, sliding down my slides, exploring every inch of my skin.

“Sakura,” he murmured against my skin, like a prayer. “I need you to tell me if—” “I want you,” I cut in, breathless. “Please.”

He kissed me again, deeper this time. My heart pounded against my chest as I felt his fingers delve into my pussy.

“You’re already wet for me, little mouse.” His voice was a low growl in my ear, dark velvet and sharp edges.

Then I felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin of my neck—a playful bite that made me gasp, arching into him.

My head fell back against the pillows, offering him more.

I wanted him.

Gods, I needed him.

Just us.

Just this night.

No war, no titles, no promises.

Just Sasuke and me. He pulled back slightly, hovering above me, and the way he looked at me—like I was something he’d both worship and ruin—made my breath catch.

“Sakura,” he whispered, like it was a prayer. Like it hurt to say. I shivered. He kissed his way down, trailing heat across my body—my collarbone, my ribs, my stomach—until he was between my thighs, spreading them apart like a man claiming holy ground, then he pressed a kiss to my pussy.

A chaste touch of his lips that me squirming beneath him.

A soft, reverent brush of his lips against my most sensitive place—too brief, too gentle—but it made me moan and writhe beneath him, aching for more. My hips lifted instinctively, seeking pressure, friction—anything. But he only chuckled and rose again, gripping his cock in one hand.

My mouth went dry. He rubbed the head through me, spreading the moisture and I lifted my hips, begging him for more.

He ran the head through my slick folds, slow and lazy, teasing me with the promise of more. Of everything. I whimpered, my thighs trembling.

“Stop teasing me,” I begged. “Please.” His eyes darkened, and that wicked smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. The kind that always made my knees weak. The kind that said he liked me like this—desperate, undone, his.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice rough.

“Begging for me already.” He leaned down and kissed me again—slow and deep and maddening—before finally, finally pressing the tip of his cock to my entrance. I gasped as he began to slide in, stretching me inch by excruciating inch.

“Are you okay?” The burn was sharp at first. He was thick—too thick—and I wasn’t sure I could take all of him. But I didn’t want him to stop.

Not now. Not when I could feel every heartbeat of his in the way he held me, the way he moved.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“It hurts,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “But don’t stop. Please… I want more.” He kissed my throat again, soft and sweet, and pushed deeper. My legs wrapped around his hips, locking him to me. I moved with him, finding the rhythm, the pace, the heat. And gods—it was heaven.

We moved together like waves against shore, crashing and retreating, again and again. Every thrust was a promise. Every groan from his lips was matched by the soft cries spilling from mine.

“Sakura,” he gasped, like my name was the only thing holding him together.

His mouth found my breast, sucking my nipple into his mouth, making me cry out and arch into him. He fucked me harder then—raw, desperate, like something inside him had snapped.

The bed creaked beneath us, my body slick with sweat and need. I could feel him everywhere—his hands on my waist, his lips on my skin, his cock driving into me over and over until I thought I might break from the pleasure of it.

“Yes,” I whimpered. “Sasuke, yes—don’t stop, please—” Sasuke picked up the pace, his thrust becoming more desperate, more unrelenting.

He groaned, low and feral, and with one final thrust he buried himself deep inside me, spilling into me with a shudder. His entire body trembled as he collapsed against me, our chests pressed together, hearts pounding in sync.

We stayed like that, tangled and breathless, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat and something too tender to name.

His lips brushed my temple, and he whispered my name again softer this time, like a secret. I never wanted to leave this moment. This bed. This warmth.

Afterward, we lay tangled together, limbs intertwined, skin slick with sweat. His chest rose and fell beneath my cheek, his arm wrapped around my waist, fingers stroking the curve of my hip absentmindedly.

“I think I love you,” I whispered, not even realizing I was going to say it until it was out.

He was silent for a beat. Then: “I know.” I lifted my head, brow furrowed.

“That’s it? You know?”

His lips twitched. “I’ve always known. I just needed to hear you say it first.”

I swatted his chest, half-laughing, half-crying.

“Bastard.” He caught my hand and kissed it. “Your bastard.” I nestled closer, pressing my lips to the hollow of his throat. I could feel the steady thrum of his pulse there, reassuring and maddening.

He was so still, so silent again, and it unnerved me.

“You’re quiet,” I murmured. “So are you.” I hesitated.

Then: “I didn’t think tonight would happen. I thought you’d avoid me, disappear. That I’d watch you dance with some noble girl and tell myself I imagined everything.”

“You didn’t imagine it,” he said, voice low. “I’m here.”

I closed my eyes. “I’m scared.”

His fingers stilled. “Of what?”

“Of how easily I could lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.” He sat up slightly, bracing himself on one elbow, his free hand tilting my chin until our eyes met. “Then let me say it the way you need to hear it.”

“Sasuke—”

“I love you too, Sakura.” The words hit me like a thunderclap—soft and shattering. Not whispered. Not hesitant. Just truth, spoken as if it had always existed.

“I love you,” he said again, firmer this time, his thumb brushing away the tear I didn’t realize had fallen. “Not for what you’ve done. Not for what you’ve survived. Just… you.” I blinked up at him, lips trembling.

“Say it again.” He leaned down, kissed me slow and deep and sure.

“I love you.”

I looked up at him, tears in my eyes “Then say it. Promise me you’ll always come back. No matter what happens.” He didn’t hesitate.

“I swear it.” And when he kissed me again, I believed him. I buried my face in his shoulder and let him hold me. Let myself believe, for once, that something this good could be real.

We didn’t speak after that.

We didn’t need to. But when I finally drifted off in his arms, it was with the sound of his heartbeat in my ear, and his vow echoing in my chest.

He’d come back to me.

Always.

                                                                                 

                                                                SASUKE

 

The room smelled like rose wine, candle smoke, and her. A beam of morning light cut through the gauzy curtains, casting long golden lines across the tangle of sheets and limbs.

Sakura lay curled into his side, one leg flung over his thigh, her hair a wild halo against the pillows. Her lips were parted in sleep, her chest rising and falling in a slow, content rhythm. Sasuke hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

He’d meant to hold her, watch her breathe, memorize everything. But sleep had stolen him anyway.

Knock knock.

The sound was dull but persistent.

His eyes cracked open.

Knock knock.

He groaned, carefully disentangling himself from her limbs and sliding out of bed. She murmured something, turned over, and reached for his pillow. Another knock. This time sharper.

“Yeah, yeah, hold on,” he muttered, grabbing a towel from the washroom and tying it loosely around his hips.

When he opened the door, he came face-to-face with a puffy-eyed, unshaven Naruto, slumped against the frame like a hungover scarecrow.

“Oh. Wow. You look like you had a good night,” Naruto said, blinking slowly. Sasuke scowled.

“What do you want, idiot?”

Naruto rubbed his temple. “Obito wants us. You, me, and Sai. Something important. He’s in the war room.”

Sasuke didn’t move. Naruto leaned slightly and caught a glimpse past him—Sakura curled in the center of the bed; one arm stretched toward where Sasuke had just been. His eyes widened, and his mouth curved into a slow, knowing grin.

“I’ll tell Obito you’ll be there in thirty,” he said, already backing away.

“Make it twenty,” Sasuke muttered, closing the door before Naruto could make some obnoxious comment about “true love” or “finally.”

He rubbed a hand down his face, then moved quietly across the room to begin dressing. He didn’t want to leave her, not like this, not so soon.

But he knew Obito—if he was calling them in the morning after the Crimson Love Festival, it had to be serious.

He’d barely gotten his shirt over his head when he heard her voice behind him, sleep-rough and soft: “Sasuke…?”

He turned to see her slowly propped on one elbow, the sheet barely clinging to her chest, hair a beautiful mess, eyes still heavy with sleep. He crossed the room in two strides and knelt beside her, brushing her hair from her face.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Obito needs us,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Something’s came up. It sounds urgent.” Her eyes searched his. “Dangerous?”

“Probably.” He paused. “But I’ll be fine.” Sakura touched his face gently. “Be careful.”

“I always am.”

“Liar.” He smirked.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll come back for you when we’re done.” She nodded reluctantly, tugging the sheets closer around her shoulders.

“Promise?” He kissed her again—longer this time, slower, like he wasn’t ready to let go either. “Promise.”

The War Room felt colder than usual and it smelled like parchment, steel, and ancient fire. Maps stretched across the long obsidian table in the center, littered with silver tokens shaped like birds, wolves, and towers.

Candles flickered in tall sconces. The massive Uchiha crest loomed above the hearth like an unblinking eye. Sasuke entered without knocking. Every head in the room turned.

Seated at the head of the table, Obito didn’t rise. He only nodded.

“You’re late.”

Sasuke met his gaze. “Worth it.” A faint twitch of Obito’s lips—but nothing more.

The room was packed with the weight of power: the King and Queen’s most trusted commanders, Lord Minato, Itachi, Shisui, Sai, and Naruto—who looked barely upright.

Tsubaki’s and Izumi’s fathers sat stiffly in their military leathers, glancing around with skeptical eyes. To the right of the table sat the King, Fugaku Uchiha, draped in the black and silver of the old war days, his face carved from stone. Beside him was Lord Minato, his golden hair tied back, expression unreadable—sharp blue eyes betraying years of loyalty and quiet command.

Shisui gave Sasuke a lazy two-fingered salute.

Sai looked up briefly from a scroll he was sketching notes on. Naruto sat straight-backed but pale, bags under his eyes betraying the after-effects of too much festival wine. Izumi’s father, General Tenma, sat across from Tsubaki’s father, General Ryou. Sasuke took his seat beside Sai.

Obito stood, cleared his throat and held up a parchment sealed in violet wax. “This letter came from Kumogakure tonight with urgency,” he began, tone clipped and low, “From Prince Bee and King A. It was addressed directly to me.” He held up a sealed parchment, its crimson wax already broken. “They’ve requested we send aid—specifically, Naruto.”

Murmurs.

All eyes shifted to Naruto.

Minato’s brow furrowed. “My son?”

Obito continued, “Their border scouts encountered what they believe is an ancient, mythical creature. Something that lives in the Drywood Desert. An ancient creator, something not seen in ever, only told in folk tales. A being from myth—what they call The Forgotten One.”

Shisui leaned in. “That’s a fairy tale.”

“Maybe,” Obito said evenly. “But Kumogakure doesn’t believe it is. Murmurs broke out across the room. They claim this thing emits Aether so twisted, so corrupted, it caused multiple sensory units to collapse. Even Prince Bee couldn’t approach it without losing consciousness.”

“The Nine Tails jinchuriki isn’t bait,” Minato snapped. “He’s not a tool you throw at monsters hoping one sticks.”

“I’m not,” Naruto muttered under his breath—but no one heard him. Obito raised a hand, calm and firm. “I’m aware of the risk, Lord Minato. But there’s a reason they’re asking for jinchuriki. This creature, according to their oldest scrolls, feeds on tailed-beast aura. It’s drawn to it. It haunts it.” General Ryou narrowed his eyes. “And you want to send our jinchuriki right to it?” Ryou scoffed. “He’s one boy.”

Naruto flinched. Sasuke’s jaw tightened.

“He’s not just one boy,” Obito said, coldly. “He’s the jinchuriki of the Nine Tails—and the strongest among us.”

“We’re not questioning his strength,” General Tenma added more gently, “but his value. Sending our only jinchuriki into the wild to chase a creature we haven’t confirmed exists—is that wise?”

“It’s more than just stories,” Sai said, finally speaking. “Kumogakure included ancient scrolls and hand-drawn sketches with the letter. They believe this thing might be connected to the Uchiha imposters causing chaos across all the countries and continent.”

Sasuke leaned forward.

“Connected how?” Obito turned to a stack of scrolls.

He opened one and spread it across the table. A crude sketch: a serpentine body with dozens of tails, spindly limbs, and jagged wings. Its eyes were drawn like voids—bottomless and wrong.

“They believe it’s a creature born from Aether corruption,” Obito said. “Something that’s been feeding on jinchuriki energy for centuries. If it’s true—it might be the source of the madness infecting the imposters.”

“This could be the key to stopping all of it,” Shisui said. “The kidnappings. The attacks. Even the traitor we know is here, hiding in our palace.”

“But it’s still a gamble,” General Ryou pressed. “We send our strongest weapons into the wild and lose them to myth? Forgive me, Highness, but it feels reckless.” Obito was caught off by Lord Minato “Prince Bee himself is the eight tail jinchuriki. They're hoping if Naruto joins him, the dual presence of two jinchuriki might lure it out—and give them a chance to trap it.”

Minato looked at his son. “That thing wants to eat them.”

“I’ve been hunted before,” Naruto said quietly. “By worse.” Obito’s eyes flicked to Naruto, just for a second. Then back to the others. General Tenma asked, “Why is it so important to capture this creature? Why not kill it outright?” Shisui finally spoke up, arms folded. “Because it talks.” The room went still. “What?” the king asked, voice low.

“It speaks,” Shisui said. “According to the scrolls Kumogakure sent, The Forgotten One isn’t just some beast. It’s intelligent. Old as the tailed beasts themselves. Maybe older. And when captured, if asked a question—any question—it must answer.”

“Magic?” Sai asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” Obito said. “Or a blood curse. Either way, if it's true—if it can answer questions—we may finally get what we need.” He let the silence stretch before continuing. “We ask it who the imposters are. Who made them. What they want. How they survive. We ask it who these white wooden things are that accompany them. What chakra binds them together.” He leaned forward, both palms pressing flat to the table. “And most importantly—we ask it who this ‘Father’ is.” At that, every man in the room stiffened.

Even Fugaku’s mouth tightened. “He’s the one who’s been orchestrating this,” Obito continued. “The one buying information from our own people. The one hunting jinchuriki and feeding these imposters with hatred and lies. I’m done letting him hide in the shadows.”

Minato sat quietly for a long moment. “And if the creature can’t be caught? If it lies? If Naruto dies trying to reach it?”

Then he turned to Naruto; face drawn.

“This isn’t your burden.” Naruto stood slowly. “It’s always been my burden,” he said gently.

“And I’m not doing it alone. Sasuke and Sai will be with me.” Sasuke gave a short nod. “I can handle the woods. I’ve fought worse.” Sai added, “And I’ve already studied the sketches. I’ve seen the scrolls. This thing might not just know answers—it might be one.”

Obito looked to his father. “Your decision, Majesty?”

Fugaku closed his eyes for a long beat… then nodded once. “Go.”

 

Sasuke lingered outside his chamber door, a heavy duffel resting at his feet like an anchor. The weight of it wasn’t in the supplies—it was in the silence. In the way his hand hovered over the doorknob, knuckles pale, breath caught somewhere between resolve and regret.

He should’ve already joined Sai and Naruto in the courtyard.

But his feet wouldn’t move.

Not yet.

The door behind him creaked open. He turned—half-expecting a guard, half-hoping for her.

And there she was.

She looked half-angel, half-curse—like something he could never touch again and never let go of.

Sakura stepped into the hall, wrapped in one of the long crimson festival robes that clung to her like spilled wine and firelight.

Her hair was still damp, clinging to the curve of her neck, her skin flushed from a bath too hot or heartbreak too fresh. Her eyes met his, unflinching.

“You were really going to leave without saying goodbye?” Her voice was soft—but it sliced through him all the same. He exhaled, slow.

“I was going to come back,” he said, turning to face her fully. “Don’t play word games with me, Sasuke,” she said, stepping closer.

“Where are you going?”

“Kumogakure,” he answered. “To chase a legend through a cursed forest. Something old, something dangerous. The usual.” Her arms folded across her chest.

“And you think that makes it okay?”

“No,” he admitted. “But it makes it necessary.” Her jaw tensed. “I don’t like it.” He stepped forward and cupped her cheek in his hand. Her skin was warm against his palm—real, grounding.

“Neither do I. But if this creature knows what they say it does… if it’s tied to the imposters, to ‘Father’—”

“Then it also knows how to kill you,” she cut in, eyes flashing. A small smirk touched his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. Then I’ll find it first.” She didn’t smile back. Instead, she reached up, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

“You better come back to me,” she said, voice low and shaking. “Whole. Breathing. Unbroken.”

“I will,” he said. “And if you don’t—”

“You’ll resurrect me just to kill me yourself,” he finished for her, a ghost of amusement in his tone.

She didn’t laugh.

“I mean it this time,” she whispered.

He stared at her, letting the moment settle. Letting it wrap around him like armor.

“So do I,” he said, brushing his thumb along her lower lip. Her breath hitched at the touch. For a heartbeat, he considered kissing her again, right there in the hallway, consequences be damned. But instead, he stepped back—just slightly.

“I’ll bring you something back from Kumogakure,” he offered, voice rough.

“Bring me your ass back,” she snapped, eyes glittering. He gave her a crooked smirk.

“That too.” Then he turned, picked up his bag, and walked down the hall—every step away from her heavy with things unspoken.

                                                                                           

                                                                        NARUTO

 

The palace courtyard was quiet, steeped in the dying light of afternoon. The sun spilled across the ancient cobblestones in sheets of gold, catching on the tattered remains of crimson banners still clinging to the arches from the festival the night before.

What had been vibrant and full of life only hours ago now looked forgotten ghosts of celebration flapping in the wind. It felt wrong to leave in the wake of something so beautiful.

As if joy had barely bloomed before being snatched away by duty.

Naruto stood at the edge of the departure platform, staring at the wide scroll Sai had unfurled across the stone.

Massive white-winged creatures stirred within the ink—phantoms of flight and power—waiting to be summoned into flesh. Sai was focused, kneeling in silent concentration, brush in hand, his mouth set in a firm line as he whispered words only the ink could understand Sasuke stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his raven hair tousled from wind and restlessness.

A travel bag hung from his shoulder, but his eyes were fixed skyward, already halfway gone.

Naruto remained still, the wind tugging at his sleeves. Something in him resisted forward motion. Not fear, exactly. Not doubt. Just the weight of everything about to be left behind.

Footsteps behind him made him turn. Minato stood just outside the archway, draped in his travel cloak, like he'd half-convinced himself to ride with them to the end of the earth. His blond hair caught the sun like a crown, but his face was drawn tight with worry. “You forgot something,” Minato said quietly.

Naruto blinked.

“What?” Minato stepped forward and lifted a dark blue scarf in both hands.

He wrapped it gently around his son’s neck, the fabric soft and worn at the edges.

“You always forget this.” Naruto’s fingers clutched the scarf instinctively. “My scarf that mom made for me.”

“I know.”

The silence between them was long and heavy, brimming with the thousand things they'd never said years of distance, missed moments, regrets folded into quiet love.

Minato finally broke the stillness, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t want you to go. Not because you’re weak. Not because you aren’t ready. But because I know what the old legends do to those who chase them.” Naruto smiled faintly, eyes burning. “And yet, I was born to chase them, wasn’t I?” Minato didn’t answer.

His jaw flexed, his gaze shifting to the horizon.

“You’re not expendable, Naruto. Not to this kingdom. Not to anyone. Not to me.”

Naruto looked down at the scarf again—at the proof of love too often left unspoken—and swallowed hard. “I know.” Then, without thinking, he stepped forward and pulled his father into a hug.

It was awkward, tight with unshed emotion, but real. Minato froze for a heartbeat… then his arms came around Naruto, pulling him close.

There was no armor between them now.

No masks. Just a father, terrified of losing his son.

“You come back to me son,” Minato said into his hair. “No matter what you find out there. Come back to me. I can’t lose you too.” Naruto nodded against his shoulder, voice thick. “I will. I swear it.” Minato pulled back, his hands lingering on Naruto’s shoulders. “Then go. Before I change my mind.”

And just like that, Naruto turned toward the ink beasts.

Toward his friends.

Toward the unknown. But the scarf stayed around his neck—warm, familiar, and full of all the things he carried with him.

Obito stood at the far end of the courtyard, watching in silence with Shisui, Itachi, and Tsubaki flanking him.

His face was unreadable.

Sasuke caught his eye and gave the faintest nod.

Obito returned it.

And then the birds launched into the sky—wings slicing the wind, the stone walls shrinking beneath them as they soared toward the unknown.

Toward To The Kingfom Of Kumogakure.

Toward the creature.

Toward answers.

Or death.

 

 

                                                            THE SANDS OF KUMOGAKURE

 

The sky was still bleeding pale morning light when Sasuke, Naruto, and Sai lifted into the air atop Sai’s ink beasts—three great white eagles drawn with sharp lines and ancient brushwork, their wings nearly translucent against the rising sun.

The air was cool and crisp at first, whistling past their ears, but it warmed quickly as they soared east, the lush green of their homeland giving way to golden plains, and eventually, endless stretches of sun-blistered sand.

They said Kumogakure was a kingdom carved from the bones of the desert. From the sky, Sasuke could believe it.

The city rose like a mirage from the dunes—domes of white stone and sand-colored palaces catching the sunlight like polished gold.

The architecture was unlike anything Sasuke had seen before.

Tall towers spiraled with blue and turquoise tiles shimmered against the heatwaves, and crimson canopies stretched between buildings, shading winding markets and narrow alleyways bustling with color and noise even at this early hour.

Palm trees dotted the courtyards, their fronds swaying lazily in the breeze.

Camels and sand lizards moved alongside painted caravans, and merchants called out wares in a language that sounded like song.

It was hot.

Hot in a way that clung to your skin and got in your mouth when you breathed. Especially them wearing all black fighting leathers.

Naruto whistled low under his breath.

“Damn. I thought the festival was flashy. This place is something else.”

Sai, ever calm, simply said, “Brace yourselves for the landing.”

They descended near the city’s outer courtyard—a massive open plaza ringed by arched columns and guarded by elite Kumogakure warriors in flowing white and bronze armor. The moment their ink-beasts touched down and vanished in curls of smoke, a group of soldiers stepped forward.

Their leader—a broad-shouldered man with a burnished chest plate and a lightning insignia on his sash—bowed low.

“Welcome to Kumogakure, honored guests,” the man said. “His Majesty King A and Prince Bee await you in the Grand Hall.”

Sasuke exchanged a glance with the others before nodding. “Thank you. Take us to them.”

The Grand Hall was a vision of carved marble and colored glass. Sunlight filtered through stained windows shaped like lotus petals, casting brilliant blues and golds across the mosaic floor. Silk tapestries hung from the walls, embroidered with scenes of ancient battles and beasts from desert legend. Incense burned from tall bronze braziers, the scent thick and spicy, heady as a spell.

At the far end of the hall stood two figures. King A was tall, imposing, and draped in flowing indigo robes edged with silver. His arms were crossed over his massive chest, and his face was carved into a permanent scowl beneath a neatly trimmed beard.

Beside him stood Prince Bee—just as broad but with a grin that never seemed to falter. He wore gold rings on his fingers and a scimitar at his hip, his white hair tied back beneath a desert cloth.

“You finally made it,” Bee said, his voice low and rhythmic, his accent sharp with desert cadence. “Welcome to the land of sun and storms.”

Sasuke bowed slightly.

“We came as fast as we could.” King A eyed them with cool intensity.

“Then let’s not waste time.” They followed him to a round table carved of desert stone, where a large map of the Drywood Desert was unfurled and weighted down with obsidian stones.

Bee pointed at a region circled in red ink.

“We’ve tracked it to this canyon—one the locals call ‘The Maw.’ There’s a cave system below. Too deep for light, too twisted for sense.” Naruto leaned over the map.

“That’s where the scouts passed out?” Bee nodded. “Every one of them. Their energy and spirits flared. Then silence. We only found them because the vultures led us.”

“We believe the creature emits a pressure,” King A said. “Not just spiritual energy, but a force that overwhelms the body and mind. Even jinchuriki like Bee can’t get close without going under.”

“Which is why you need me,” Naruto said. “Us.”

“Yes,” the king agreed, “but not just to fight. To question.” He gestured toward a scroll brought forward by a robed attendant. “This is from our oldest archive,” King A continued. “It describes a creature that predates recorded chakra—something born of the First Division, when the earth was still cracking from the gods' war. It says this being can be captured, and when it is, it will speak truth to any who ask it a question.

But only once per person.” Sasuke’s brow furrowed.

“Truth magic?” Bee nodded.

“A curse, more like. From the gods themselves. It can’t lie when bound.”

“And you want us to bind it?” Sai asked quietly. King A’s face hardened. “We want you to survive it.”

“There’s more,” Bee said, tapping the scroll. “It appears different to everyone. A mirror of your grief, your guilt, or your desire. That’s how it feeds—by pulling on the things you hide. Your deepest hurt.”

Naruto’s hand curled into a fist. “So, we face our worst nightmares just to get close.”

“Yes,” the king said grimly. “And if you hesitate, it will tear you apart.” A heavy silence followed. Finally, Sasuke looked up. “We’ll do it. But we need full access to every scroll, every survivor, every whisper of this thing you’ve got. No secrets.” King A inclined his head.

“Agreed.”

“We’ll take you to the staging site at dawn,” Bee added. “Tonight, rest. Eat. Pray, if it helps. Once you enter the Maw, there may not be a tomorrow.” Sasuke stared down at the map, at the swirling lines that marked the ancient canyon. He didn’t believe in fate. But something about this mission felt like it had claws. Behind him, Naruto murmured, “Let’s end this.” Sai simply nodded.

And Sasuke?

He was already thinking of the girl he left behind—of soft lips and promises whispered in dark rooms.

He would come back.

He had to.

The desert was still when they rode out at dawn. Golden light kissed the sand, and the wind was nothing more than a whisper through the dunes.

A quiet so heavy it felt unnatural.

As if the land itself were holding its breath.

They left the city on white-cloaked stallions, guided by two Kumogakure guards and a camel-drawn cart full of scrolls, supplies, and ceremonial restraints etched in runes none of them could read.

Riding at the front were King A and Prince Bee, their presence a silent but powerful reminder of how serious this mission was.

King A rode tall and grim in golden armor that shimmered in the morning light, his dark skin burnished by sun and time, eyes hard beneath a jeweled helm. Prince Bee, less adorned but no less imposing, rode beside his older brother with a scowl, a curved blade strapped across his back, and silence as sharp as any weapon.

By midday, the sun was brutal. It scorched the sky until the air shimmered.

Sai had sweat rolling down his back.

Naruto’s scarf was drawn up over his face, his voice tight as he muttered, “Feels like we’re walking into a cremation.” Sasuke said nothing.

He was too focused on the horizon. Ahead of them loomed the Maw. A black gash in the earth—so wide it seemed to devour the sun. Jagged rocks lined the edges like broken teeth, and the shadows inside were so thick they felt like liquid. The land around it was barren, no signs of life for miles.

Even the wind died when they reached the rim.

“This is it,” King A said, dismounting. His voice was deep and commanding, used to command armies and hold court.

“This is where we lost too many of our own.” Prince Bee nodded solemnly. “We tried everything. Lures, seals, flames. Nothing works. Nothing holds it.” Bee turned toward Naruto. “You shine brighter than any of us. If it’s hunting for our kind, it’ll come to you.”

Naruto’s jaw tensed, but he nodded.

“Then let it come.” Sai glanced at Sasuke. “Ready?”

“No,” Naruto muttered.

“But let’s go anyway.” King A placed a hand on Sasuke’s shoulder.

“Return with everyone.” Prince Bee added, “If it speaks to you, don’t believe everything it says. The creature lies. But sometimes, a lie tells more truth than silence.” They descended.

At first, the only sound was their breathing, their boots scraping stone, and the occasional echo of a pebble skittering into the abyss. The deeper they went, the colder the air grew—unnatural cold, like something ancient had never left this place. Their torches barely lit the walls. Strange symbols were carved into the stone—some worn down by time, others so fresh they looked as if they'd been scratched by claws.

“This place is wrong,” Sai whispered. Naruto rubbed his arms. “Feels like it’s looking at us.” They reached a wide landing where the path split into three tunnels. That’s when they felt it. The pressure.

Sasuke froze mid-step. It wasn’t killing intent. It wasn’t aura.

It was… something else. Something deeper. A weight in his bones. A pull in his stomach. A voice in the back of his head whispering come closer in a tongue he didn’t understand but felt like he always had. They began to hear an ancient voice speaking in a language no human had ever known—echoing from all directions at once, eerie and otherworldly, each syllable threading through the air like a curse whispered by the void itself.

And yet, somehow, each of them understood something different in the Creator’s words… as if the voice twisted itself to speak directly to their souls.

“Don’t lose sight of each other.” Prince Bee said. Sai staggered and braced a hand on the wall.

Naruto dropped to one knee, gasping. Gods what he would give to have some ramen he thought. Even in this gods forsaken heat.

Sasuke gritted his teeth.

“Focus. Stay together.”

But the moment he blinked; they were gone.

He stood alone.

The cavern was gone.

The cold, the path, the torches—all swallowed by a dream.

The air was thick with mist.

Silent.

And then he saw her.

A small figure standing ahead, dressed in white, facing away. Long brown hair. Bare feet. Bare shoulders. “Izumi?” Sasuke whispered—but he knew that wasn’t her. She turned slowly. It was Izumi. Dead Izumi. Eyes hollow. Blood at her temple. Lips stitched shut.

“No,” Sasuke rasped. “You’re not real.” She lifted one hand—and pointed behind him. He turned— And saw Sakura. She stood in a field of black roses, her wedding gown soaked in blood, a knife in her hand. Her face unreadable. Her eyes full of betrayal. “I waited,” she whispered. He stumbled back. The illusion shattered like glass. He was in the cavern again, on his knees. Heart pounding.

Hands shaking. “Sasuke!” Naruto’s voice echoed from the next tunnel.

“I’m here!” he shouted, struggling to his feet. A few seconds later, Sai came staggering around the bend too, his face pale.

“Did you…?” Naruto just nodded. “Yeah.” They didn’t speak about it. Not yet. They kept walking. Then came the voice. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry. It was a child’s voice—soft, distant, laced with melancholy.

“Why are you here?” The walls pulsed. The torches flickered blue. “You carry pain. You carry hunger. You carry hate.” Sasuke turned toward the voice. The air shifted—and a boy stood at the end of the path. He was ten at most. Barefoot, dusty, with black hair that curled slightly at the tips. His eyes… His eyes were Obito’s. But his face… his mouth… it was Sakura’s. He smiled. “Mother said you’d come.” Sasuke couldn’t breathe. Naruto choked beside him.

“Is that—?”

“No,” Sasuke said quickly. “It’s not real.” But it looked real. The child tilted his head. “I’ve been waiting for you, Father.” Then, from behind them, another voice—ancient, guttural, indecipherable. It filled the air like a plague. Sai dropped his torch.

Bee waved his swords. Sasuke spun—nothing was there. But the voice had layers. Echoes of other voices. Hundreds. Thousands. Whispering questions they didn’t understand. Sasuke’s sharingan spinning slowly.

“There,” he said, voice like flint. “By the ruins.” Below, half-buried in sand and shadow, stood ancient crumbling towers—broken stone monoliths weathered by centuries. In the middle of them, something shifted. Sai angled his brush forward, sending the ink-bird in a long swoop. Naruto and Prince Bee followed close behind on their own summoned falcons, the heat of the desert suddenly eclipsed by an unnatural chill. Sasuke’s voice rang out again. “It’s hiding its energy.”

“I feel it,” Naruto muttered. “Like a pressure behind my eyes.”

“Same,” Bee said grimly. “Like it’s staring right through me.”

Naruto blinked.

He was a kid again, motherless, even growing up with the Uchiha Princes almost as brothers, he at times felt alone because he was the nine tails jinchuriki.

“You’ll always be alone.”

He turned.

A tall, spindly thing stood at the edge of the clearing. Its limbs were too long. Its back was arched like a spider’s. It had no mouth. No eyes. Only holes. Dozens. Like a hive. And it smelled like rot and sorrow and the dust of forgotten bones. Then it moved. Naruto screamed, leaping back and unleashing a Rasengan into the clearing, but it slipped between space—like mist. It was fast. So fast. Suddenly—it was on him. Its claws pierced his shoulder. Pain tore through his chest.

He hit the ground hard, vision blurring back Sasuke, who was kneeling to him.

“Are you alright, Naruto?”

“Yeah, sorry. The thing went inside my head.”

Sasuke exhaled, relieved. “Moron.”

As they approached, the air thickened further, like moving through syrup. A flicker of movement caught Sasuke’s eye—a ripple in the ruins, like heat haze, but colder. A shape stepped forward. It didn’t walk. It floated, arms long and jointless, skin pale as salt and eyes as deep and black as wells. Naruto’s breath hitched. “Is that—?”

“The Forgotten One,” Bee said darkly. It opened its mouth.

No sound came.

Not at first.

Then— A chorus of voices layered and discordant, like every tongue and none at once. Prince Bee flinched.

“Cover your ears!” But it was too late. Sasuke felt it scrape down his spine—a low pulse of sound that bypassed his ears entirely and spoke directly into the marrow of his bones. I see you, Uchiha.

The Forgotten One moved. Fast.

“NOW!” Sasuke shouted. Sai hurled a scroll into the air, slashing a seal into its mid-flight. From it, a massive net of black ink surged out, racing toward the creature. Naruto leapt, his Rasengan already forming, whirling with glowing blue force.

The Forgotten One raised one impossibly long hand— —and everything shuddered. The falcons shrieked and vanished.

The air fractured.

Time buckled like molten glass.

Sasuke blinked—only for the creature to be inches from him, expression unreadable, eyes a mirror of his own worst fear. It whispered into his mind: She will die screaming. He snarled and lunged with lightning-charged fingers, slamming them into the creature’s chest. It reeled back—not in pain, but as if surprised.

Naruto crashed into its side with the Rasengan, sending both of them tumbling into the sand below.

“BEE!” Sasuke barked. The prince nodded and slammed a sealing scroll into the ground. Chains of golden script burst upward, snaking toward the crater.

The dust settled.

The Forgotten One stood in the middle, unmarred, unharmed. But it was surrounded. Sasuke landed beside

Naruto, blood running down one temple.

“You good?” he asked. Naruto spat sand.

“Never better.” Prince Bee joined them, his face grim.

“It let us hit it.” Sai landed next, eyes scanning the creature’s still form.

“It wanted us close,” Sasuke muttered.

The creature opened its mouth again—and this time, only one voice came out.

One quiet, human voice.

“More.”

Chapter 14: NARUTO/SASUKE/RIN/KAKASHI/RIN/OBITO

                                                                        NARUTO

The sky over Akatsuki Land was bruised with twilight when Sasuke, Naruto, and Sai finally returned.

Sasuke stepped off the white ink bird first, his boots hitting the black stone courtyard with a dull echo.

The moment his feet touched the ground, a strange weight settled over him.

The high walls of the palace loomed around them, familiar and cold.

But nothing about this return felt like home.

The mission had been a success—technically.

They'd captured the creature. The Forgotten One was sealed, contained in layers upon layers of ancient wards and ink traps, humming with an eerie pulse of corrupted power.

But success tasted bitter. Because they had failed at the one thing they were sent to do:

Get answers.

He turned to glance back. Naruto stumbled slightly as he dismounted, catching himself against Sai’s shoulder.

His knuckles were still wrapped in bloody bandages. His scarf—the one Minato gave him before they left—was stained, torn at the edge.

Minato was already there, standing just beyond the courtyard steps. The moment Naruto looked up and saw his father, something broke in him. He walked straight into Minato’s arms, no hesitation.

Minato hugged him tight, one hand cradling the back of his head like he had when

Naruto was a boy.

Sasuke looked away.

"Come on," he muttered to Sai, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. "Let’s get this over with."

 

                                                        SASUKE

 

The War Room was lit by cold firelight, the hearth shadows long and jagged across the obsidian walls.

Obito stood at the head of the table, arms folded, flanked by Fugaku and Minato. Itachi stood near the map wall—his gaze sharp, unreadable as always.

Shisui leaned against a column, flipping a blade between his fingers.

General Tenma and General Ryou sat stiffly at the table. Beside them was General Haruto—Sai’s father—his weathered face impassive, but his eyes calculating. Commander Shin, Sai’s elder brother, stood near Itachi, their postures mirrored in eerie synchronicity.

Calm.

Focused.

Dangerous.

Sasuke stepped forward and broke the silence.

"We found it."

A thick scroll hit the table with a solid thunk. Sai unrolled it slowly, revealing sketches of the creature’s form, ink impressions of its distorted essence, diagrams of the blood-soaked sigils they used to seal it.

"It’s real," Sai said quietly. "It’s ancient. Beyond myth. Its essence is corrupted tainted by something older than we understand."

Obito's gaze shifted to Naruto. "And it attacked?"

Naruto was silent for a moment. Then he lifted his eyes, bruised and too dark.

"It didn’t just attack," he said hoarsely. "IT fed."

The room went still.

"Prince Bee tried to restrain it with his sealing tag," Sai continued. "But the creature broke through. Took blood from him. The moment it tasted jinchuriki blood..."

"It changed," Sasuke finished. "It stopped hiding. Started talking. Or… trying to."

Obito's brows drew together. "What did it say?"

Sasuke felt the word before he said it. Like it had been carved behind his teeth.

"More."

Murmurs flickered like sparks around the room.

General Ryou leaned forward. “More what?”

"Blood," Naruto answered without hesitation. "More blood. Jinchuriki blood. It thrives on it. It won’t speak unless it’s fed."

Minato stiffened. "And you fed it?"

"It took Bee’s blood," Sai said. "That was enough to bind it. Temporarily. But to ask more... it wants more jinchuriki blood. It could feed of human blood as well, but it prefers, wants needs jinchuriki blood."

Fugaku leaned forward slightly. "What do you mean by 'speak'?"

Sasuke exhaled, slow and controlled. "It speaks in riddles. Ancient words none of us could understand at first. But the longer it had Bee's blood, the clearer it became. Still fragmented. Still cryptic. It spoke in different ways to each of us. Almost like... it tailored its answers."

Naruto nodded. "It told me... nothing useful. Just dreams. Flashbacks. Visions of people I don’t know. It called me 'Son of Flame.' Sai heard something different entirely."

"It told me," Sai murmured, "that the imposters are echoes. Not born but remembered. That 'Father' is the flame that forgets itself."

General Haruto’s jaw twitched slightly, the only sign of unease. Shin’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flickered toward his brother, measuring the words.

Obito's face remained hard, but his voice dropped. "And you were unable to get more."

Sasuke didn’t flinch. "We could have. If we had more jinchuriki blood, but I wasn’t planning to slit Naruto’s throat to get the answers."

"But that was a line we weren’t willing to cross," Naruto added. His voice cracked. "Not yet."

Silence.

Obito turned to Minato. "Prepare the lower sanctum. We’ll contain it there until we return. Reinforce the seals. I want everything ready before dawn."

Minato gave a sharp nod.

Then Obito’s gaze settled on Sasuke again calculating, but calm. “You did well. All of you. Get some rest.”

Sasuke didn’t argue. He was exhausted—bone-deep, soul-worn tired—but he stayed on his feet, watching as Obito paced back toward the map table.

Naruto broke the silence. “So… what now?”

Obito didn’t look up. “Now, we go back. To Kumogakure.”

Sai blinked. “Again?”

Obito nodded. “We weren’t enough. It needs more… and not just blood.”

There was a pause. Then Obito said it:

“I’m bringing Rin.”

Sasuke’s stomach tensed.

Silence gripped the room as all heads turned to Obito, expressions frozen in disbelief.

Minato tensed, his arms unfolding slowly. “You’re sure she’ll go?”

Obito didn’t waver. “She’ll go.”

Naruto pushed off the table, his voice hesitant. “And if she isn’t?”

That wasn’t hope in his voice—it was certainty.

Unshakeable.

As if he knew the moment he looked her in the eye, she’d follow him into the storm without asking why.

Naruto exhaled. “Obito And what if she can’t reach it?”

“She will,” Obito said simply. “If it speaks to anyone… it’ll be her.”

Commander Shien spoke for the first time. “What if the creature turns on her?”

Obito’s eyes narrowed. “It won’t. And if it tries… I’ll end it.”

Sasuke stared at the map but didn’t see it. His thoughts were already with her—Rin, walking into the darkness with her stubborn heart and that terrifying gift of empathy. He clenched his jaw, fists curling loosely at his sides.

Obito finally looked at him. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

Sasuke nodded, though the knot in his chest had only grown.

This wasn’t just about the Creator anymore.

This was about Rin stepping into something none of them truly understood.

And Obito was right.

She would go.
                                                   

 

                                                                    RIN

 

I hadn’t laughed that hard in weeks.

Kakashi had dumped half a vial of citrus spice on his grilled chicken and now sat there pretending his mouth wasn’t on fire. His eye twitched. Sweat gathered at his temple.

He took another bite like he had something to prove.

“You okay there Kakashi?” Sakura asked, raising an eyebrow.

He waved a hand like he was fanning away smoke. “It’s... sophisticated.”

I nearly spit out my wine.

“It’s pain, Kakashi. That’s what it is.”

We were seated under one of the hanging cherry pavilions just beyond the palace garden, where the air still held a kiss of warmth from the afternoon sun.

The scent of blossoms mingled with plum wine and grilled meats.

Laughter had become such a rare thing lately.

Too rare. And I wanted to hold onto it just a little longer.

Plates of fruit, skewered lamb, spiced rice, and buttery flatbreads filled the low round table between us. Sakura leaned back on her hands, her hair shining like copper in the soft light, and gave me a conspiratorial grin.

“Did you hear? Sai sketched a drawing of that creature they caught in Kumogakure.”

I blinked. “Why?”

“Apparently it’s so disturbing, they had to seal the sketch in the library vault.”

I shuddered. “Sai needs help.”

Kakashi smirked. “He says it helps him understand the unknown.”

“Or maybe he just likes horrifying everyone else.”

Sakura laughed. It was light and beautiful and reminded me that even in war, even in fear, we still had pieces of ourselves that could shine.

Then came the servant.

A girl no older than sixteen, her braid neat, her hands folded tight in her apron. She bowed deeply.

“My ladies. Lord Kakashi. You’ve been summoned to the War Room. At once.”

My stomach dropped. “Why?”

“Prince Obito has returned. With the others.”

The quiet joy vanished. Sakura and Kakashi exchanged a glance.

No words needed.

We were already on our feet.

 

The War Room always felt colder when it was full. Not physically—but something about the weight of so many powerful people in one place seemed to drain all warmth from the stone. Today, it was nearly frigid.

I stepped through the tall obsidian doors, heart already hammering.

Naruto was the first thing I saw—bandaged, bruised, but standing. My chest loosened, only slightly. Sasuke stood near the map wall, unreadable, arms folded tight. Sai lingered beside Naruto, quiet as always, but different tense. His older brother, Commander Shien, stood stiff-backed near Itachi and Shisui, a single brow raised in judgment as we entered.

Obito was by the table, one hand on Naruto’s shoulder. Not in command—something gentler.

Protective.

Grateful.

Minato stood opposite him, his gaze flicking between all of us like he was doing a quiet headcount of who’d survived. King Fugaku sat beside General Ryou and General Tenma, General Haruto, whose hard expression was carved from war itself.

Then Obito looked up.

And then his eyes found mine.

Just a heartbeat—something shifted in the room. The air stretched tight. His exhaustion was etched into every line of his face, but behind that… was something raw. Relief. Worry. And that familiar, unspoken hunger he always tried to bury beneath duty.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, voice was rough, strained.

We approached the table. I could feel everyone watching me.

“We need to return to Kumogakure,” Obito said all business now. “The creature they captured is not cooperating—it’s withholding answers. It only said one word: More.’”

My brow furrowed. “More what?”

Naruto spoke up, his voice quieter than usual. “It knew me. Targeted me. It wanted... something from me.”

“It responds to jinchuriki blood,” Sasuke added.

My throat went dry. I already knew where this was going.

Obito’s gaze never left mine. “Which brings us to you.” His tone now careful.

There it was.

I didn’t move. “You want me to go.”

Obito’s jaw flexed. “It might speak to you. If it speaks to anyone… it will be you.”

Silence fell like a blade.

I looked at him, heart pounding. Not with fear. With inevitability.

“You think it will speak to me?”

“I know it will.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Then I’ll go.”

Relief flickered across his face—but he masked it fast. Still, I saw it. He’d known I’d say yes. But he needed to hear it anyway.

He nodded. “We leave in the morning.”

But then—he turned to me, voice deepening into something more personal with the quiet certainty of command.

“You’ll ride with me.”

It wasn’t a request. It was low. Sure. Possessive in a way that made something in my stomach twist.

I folded my arms. “No.”

Obito blinked once. “Excuse me?”

“I said no, I’m not flying with you.”

The air snapped.

The room shifted. Even Shien, stoic and unreadable, turned slightly toward us. Minato’s brows lifted. Sakura froze. Kakashi stood straighter beside me, unreadable. Shisui looked like he was trying very hard not to get involved.

Obito took a single step forward. “Rin, this isn’t the time—”

I cut him off. “I’ll help you. I’ll go. But I’m not flying with you.”

His voice dropped an octave. “You don’t get to pick and choose when we’re at war.”

I matched his tone. “And you don’t get to control me just because you’re the one giving orders.”

His eyes narrowed. “This isn’t about control. It’s about your safety.”

“Then let me decide what makes me feel safe.”

That hit.

He paused, like I’d knocked the wind from him.

“Why?” he asked, more quietly now. “Why won’t you fly with me?”

I hesitated. Then: “I’m flying with Kakashi because I trust Kakashi.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Kakashi choked slightly on his breath.

Obito stared at me like I had just shoved a blade between his ribs. Even Sasuke looked up from the map table.

For a moment, no one said anything.

His jaw flexed. Then, with a breath that sounded like it cost him something or everything. But he didn’t yell. He didn’t snarl. He just inhaled, slow and deep.

“Fine,” he said at last, voice even. “Ride with whoever you want.”

He turned to the table.

“This meeting is adjourned.”

And he walked out without another word.

The door shut with a quiet thud.

I stood there, breathing hard, my whole-body trembling with heat and fury. I didn’t regret it.

Not exactly. But the way he had looked at me… I wasn’t sure I could forget it.

Sai’s brother Shien broke the silence. “That went well.”

Itachi shot him a glance that shut him up fast.

I exhaled slowly, my pulse a thunder in my ears.

Kakashi didn’t say anything. But when I looked up, he gave me the faintest nod.

And I knew that for better or worse, everything —everything—was going to change tomorrow.

 

                                                            KAKASHI

 

We were supposed to be professionals—warriors, diplomats, shadows moving through the air toward danger.

But all I could think about was her arms around me.

Rin sat behind me on the back of the summoned falcon, her arms loosely wrapped around my waist. It should’ve meant nothing. It should’ve been just another mission.

But I could feel her warmth through the fabric of my tunic, the soft shift of her breath when she sighed, the weight of her thoughts pressing into my back even though she hadn’t spoken a word since we’d left the palace.

She was supposed to fly with him.

But instead… she chose me.

I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That she was just making a point.

That it was about pride.

Or anger.

Or whatever it was that always simmered between her and Obito like a forge waiting for the next spark.

But even knowing all that… I still wanted to believe that, for a moment, she’d chosen me.

The falcon’s wings beat steady beneath us, gliding on warm updrafts that carried us higher above the sweeping hills and sun-bleached deserts.

Below, the rivers shimmered like molten glass.

Ahead, Obito flew alone, his figure rigid and black against the sky, an arrow slicing through the wind.

He hadn’t looked back once.

But I knew he was listening.

I cleared my throat. "You’re quiet."

Rin didn’t answer right away. Her grip tightened slightly around my ribs. "I’m fine."

A lie.

"You always say that when you're not."

Still nothing. The wind caught at her hair, strands of it brushing my jaw.

I tried to keep it light. "I saw the way he looked at me before we took off. If looks could kill, I think I’d be buried in six different provinces."

She let out a huff, almost a laugh. It slipped from her like something unintentional. Then she rested her chin on my shoulder, just for a heartbeat. "It’s not what you think."

"No? Because from where I was standing, it looked like the Crown Prince of Akatsuki Land was ready to skewer me with his glare."

"There’s nothing going on," she said, too quickly. Too soft.

I didn’t push. I just let the question linger between us, as open as the sky. "Not anymore? Or not ever?"

Another silence.

Then she whispered, "I don’t know. He’s… complicated. And infuriating. And—"

"In love with you," I finished gently.

She didn’t say a word. But she didn’t deny it.

I didn’t need her to.

I knew.

I always knew.

I think a part of me had known since the first time Obito had looked at her like she was the last star left in a sky full of darkness.

And lately, she was starting to look back at him the same way.

It hurt. I won’t lie.

But that wasn’t her fault.

I swallowed the ache and forced a quiet laugh. "Your brother would lose his mind."

That got a real smile. "Ruen always thought I’d marry some quiet, boring diplomat who quoted philosophy and collected coins."

Someone like me.

"And instead, you're being hunted down by a war-forged Uchiha prince who calls you 'Lamb' and looks at you like he’d break heaven’s spine for you."

Her silence stretched between us. The falcon soared.

"I don’t know what I’m doing, Kakashi," she said at last, barely audible.

I didn’t turn around.

"That’s okay. Just… don’t let pride keep you from something real. Not if you care about him."

A breeze carried the words away. But I knew she heard them. I could feel her breath hitch.

Ahead of us, Obito flew on, his body taut with emotion.

He hadn’t turned around once.

Not when she laughed.

Not when she leaned against me.

Not even when she flickered from exhaustion.

But I knew him.

He felt every moment.

Every laugh.

Every touch.

He was hurting.

But I wasn’t going to be the one to stand in the way of whatever this was between them.

I’d loved her quietly for years—but I loved her enough to want her happiness more than my own.

So, I said nothing.

And kept flying forward, with her warmth pressed against my back and my heart tucked in silence.

                             

                                                                         RIN

 

The sun hung low over the horizon by the time our falcons pierced the clouds, descending toward Kumogakure like arrows of fate. The kingdom bathed in molten gold and shadow, its sand-colored stone glowing like embers, its towers sharp against the fading sky.

But this wasn’t a dream.

No, this place was far too vivid, too heavy with heat and memory and dust.

This was the kind of dream that lingered behind the eyes long after waking.

The kind that left you tasting smoke and ash.

The dry air struck me first—heat that clung like a lover I hadn’t asked for, pressing close to my skin in a way that felt almost personal.

My black fighting leathers had never felt heavier, sticking to every curve, chafing beneath my arms, heat baking into every seam. My shoulders prickled with sweat.

My thighs burned from the ride.

I wanted to tear the damn outfit off and dive into the nearest cold spring.

Obito flew in silence.

His posture was rigid. Every movement calculated. He hadn't looked back once. Not when I adjusted my seat. Not when I nearly slipped. Not even when I laughed faintly at something Kakashi said during the flight.

He hadn’t spared me so much as a glance.

Good. I didn’t want one.

…Liar.

We landed in perfect formation, boots crunching against white stone as our group dismounted one by one. Obito was first—flawless, distant, every inch the war prince. Kakashi helped me down, his hand steady on my waist. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t need to.
But I noticed the way Obito’s jaw flexed at the contact.

Good.

Sasuke landed beside Sai, quiet as a dagger. Sakura followed, helping Tsubaki off her falcon, both girls panting softly in the desert heat. Shisui stretched his arms behind his head like the tension of the journey was finally catching up to him.

And waiting at the top of the palace stairs was King A.

King A was already waiting at the top of the sandstone stairs. He looked like a god carved from storm clouds and bronze.

Towering, broad-shouldered, his obsidian armor gleamed in the dying sun.

Muscles rippled beneath layers of cloth and leather; his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his golden circlet. Intimidating didn’t begin to cover it.

Beside him stood a vision of grace and strength: Queen Samira.

Her deep brown skin glowed, and her gown of crimson and sapphire flowed around her like molten silk. A sheer veil trailed from her braids, lined with gold filigree. Her kohl-lined eyes held the wisdom of desert storms.

Their three children stood before them—two boys and a girl.

The eldest boy mirrored his father’s stance with comical seriousness, trying to look imposing with arms folded across a too-thin chest.

The younger boy grinned openly. The little girl held her mother’s hand, eyes curious and shy.

To the king’s left stood Prince Bee, white sunglasses glinting, robes loose and windblown. His heavily pregnant wife stood beside him, glowing with maternal serenity, her hand resting on her belly.

King A’s voice rolled like thunder across the courtyard.

“Welcome to Kumogakure.”

Obito stepped forward and bowed low with practiced grace. “Your Majesty. Thank you for receiving us.”

“You are our allies,” the king said, voice deep and resonant. “And more than that. You are our storm-siblings. Our blood in spirit.”
Queen Samira added, “And our home is yours, for as long as you need it.”

Obito offered another bow. “We’re grateful for your hospitality.”

Bee broke into a grin, swaggering up to Naruto and throwing a friendly arm around his shoulders.

“Still standing, still strong, after all that dread,

You didn’t drop dead—you rose up instead!”

He winked. “That’s how we do, Kumo crew!”

Naruto chuckled weakly. “You have no idea how close I was.”

Bee’s grin faltered for half a second. “Yeah… I do, little brother.”

Then his voice softened. “But you made it back. That’s what matters.”

Queen Samira stepped forward and took my hands in hers. Her palms were soft, her fingers calloused like mine.

“Lady Rin,” she said warmly, “It brings me peace to see you whole. We lit a lantern for you the night the winds changed.”

I blinked. “A lantern?”

“For protection. For women of strength. Of power. For the warriors who carry burdens the world forgets to name.”

My throat tightened. I bowed my head. “Thank you.”

She smiled like she already knew the weight I carried.

As we entered the palace, the scent of saffron and rosewater wafted down the corridors. The hallways were cool underfoot, veiled in soft silks and shadow. Stone fountains trickled nearby, and servants offered fresh fruit, chilled tea, and honey-drenched pastries.

Sakura declined gently. “Later,” she murmured, eyes darting toward Sasuke.

Bee clapped his hands. “Rooms are ready, food is hot, Wash off the dust, cool off the rot. Feast in an hour—then we get grim. We talk Forgotten One… and how to beat him.”

King A inclined his head. “We’ll speak once you’ve had your fill. There is much to share. And much… to fear.”

Obito nodded. “We won’t delay.”

Still, he didn’t look at me.

Not once.

I watched him walk ahead—his stride purposeful, his silhouette carved in steel.

I felt the wall between us more clearly than ever.

But I felt him.

Even in silence.

Especially in silence.

He hated that I rode with Kakashi.

He hated that I’d smiled during the ride.

I followed in silence, jaw clenched, sweat trailing down my spine.

My leathers were suffocating in the heat, every step a reminder of how out of place I was here.

Still, I wouldn’t complain.

I wouldn’t ask for help.

I’d made my choice—and I’d hold the line.

Sasuke was quiet at my side. Sakura stayed close.

Sai glanced back once at his brother, Commander Shien, who had remained behind with Itachi and Shisui to update Kumogakure’s intelligence division.

But my thoughts weren’t on strategy.

They were on him.

On the weight of his silence.

And the way it still managed to burn hotter than the desert sun.

As we were escorted deeper into the palace, I knew—beyond any doubt—that the real battle wasn’t waiting in the dungeons.

It was already here.

In the space between two hearts too stubborn to surrender.

 

                                                                  OBITO

 

The night air tasted like smoke and crushed rose petals.

I leaned against the cold stone of the palace balcony, arms braced, my fingers clenched so tightly against the railing that my knuckles ached. The view stretched below me—Kumogakure glittering like scattered fireglass, its towers flickering with gold and violet lanterns, the heat of the day still curling from the stones.

My armor felt heavier than usual.

The black leathers clung to me like old sins, too familiar, too tight across my shoulders. Sai and Naruto had opted for lighter desert garb, comfortable and flowing.

Even Kakashi, gods help him, had managed to look formal in those foreign silks. But not me. I wore the uniform of war, because it’s all I knew how to be.

A soldier.

A weapon.

A prince.

Never just a man.

And certainly not one she trusted.

I caught sight of her below in the courtyard, framed in the soft light of the inner garden.

Rin stood with Sakura and Tsubaki—laughing, radiant, her hair pinned up and glittering with beads that caught the firelight like stars.

She wore one of the Kumogakure silks outfits gifted to the women—deep violet and shimmering gold that clung to her waist and billowed around her legs like desert wind. It was beautiful. She was devastating.

And she hadn’t looked at me once.

Even when we arrived. Even when I stood waiting beside the others. Even when Kakashi helped her dismount. I had watched—watched as her fingers lingered on his arm, watched the curve of her mouth when he murmured something into her ear.

She hadn’t glanced back at me.

Not once.

I don’t know how long I stared.

The door behind me creaked, and I didn’t have to look to know it was Shisui. He moved like a breeze—quiet, constant, always circling.

“Didn’t expect to find you hiding up here,” he said. “You usually prefer pacing when you’re brooding.”

I didn’t answer. The words wouldn’t come. Or maybe I was afraid they would.

He came to stand beside me, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but open. That was the thing about Shisui—he always gave you space to destroy yourself, but never let you do it alone.

“Still in your war skin,” he remarked, nodding at my armor. “You’re the only one sweating through leather in this desert.”

“Feels right,” I said flatly.

Shisui raised a brow. “Does it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re roasting in your guilt.”

I grunted. “She didn’t even look at me.”

“No,” he said quietly. “She didn’t.”

I looked down again. Rin twirled in place as Tsubaki adjusted something in her hair. Her laughter floated up, sharp and soft at once. And it hurt more than I wanted to admit.

“She rode with Kakashi,” I said, the words finally forcing themselves past my teeth.

“I know.”

“She didn’t trust me.”

“No,” he said again. “But maybe it’s not just about trust.”

That caught me off guard. I turned my head toward him.

Shisui leaned against the railing beside me, watching the courtyard below.

“Tsubaki said something last night,” he added after a beat. “She said Rin’s playing games with herself. Trying to pretend she doesn’t care. That she doesn’t look at you like you hung the stars. But she does. She’s just as scared as you are. You two keep circling each other like wolves too proud to admit you belong to the same pack.”

I couldn’t help the ghost of a laugh that left me. It was bitter, but real. “We’re both fools.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But fools can still find their way—if they stop running from the truth.”

I let my gaze drift back to her one more time. She was listening to Tsubaki now, smiling softly, head tilted. The lanternlight caught in her eyes, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

I’d crossed deserts. Led armies. Survived wars and betrayals and sleepless nights soaked in blood and regret.

But none of it had prepared me for her.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” I said.

“You start small,” Shisui replied. “Start with her name. Her voice. Her laugh. Remind her you’re not the prince. You’re the man she met in the dark who let her ride his fury like a wave and still held her gently when it ended. She’s angry, Obito. Hurt. But not just at you. At herself too.

Tsubaki says she’s been restless all day, flustered when your name comes up, doesn’t sleep unless she’s exhausted. That girl is falling apart in slow motion and pretending she’s not. Just like you.”

My throat felt tight. “Then why won’t she talk to me?”

“Because you won’t talk to her,” Shisui said simply. “You love her, but you keep putting her behind your pride. Behind your position. Behind your fear.”

“She made it clear,” I muttered. “She doesn’t want me.”

“She wants you more than she can breathe,” he said firmly. “She’s just too afraid to need you. And you’re too afraid to let her see that you need her just as much.”

I gripped the railing harder, jaw clenched until it ached. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You don’t fix it,” he said. “You show up. You fight for her like you fight for your kingdom. But this time… you drop the damn armor.”

“I don’t know how,” I admitted, voice cracking.

Shisui put a hand on my shoulder. “You do. You just forgot. You’re just wearing too much black leather to find him.”

I laughed—hoarse and broken.

And then I looked at her again.

At the only thing I had ever wanted for myself. At the girl I couldn’t stop loving, even when she looked through me like I was just another shadow.

Shisui stepped away. “Go to dinner soon. Don’t make her wait.”

“I’ll be there,” I said.

He paused at the door. “Obito?”

“Yeah?”

“She feels it too. Even when she won’t admit it.”

And then he left.

And I stayed—still watching, still burning, still hoping.

Hoping that tonight, something would change.

Chapter 15: OBITO/NARUTO/OBITO/RIN

                                                                                              OBITO

 

The Great Hall of Kumogakure had been transformed into something out of a desert dream.

Silks in sapphire and gold draped from the vaulted ceilings, catching the light of hanging lanterns that cast warm amber shadows over the room.

The scent of roasted lamb and honeyed rice mingled with burning sandalwood and rosewater, sweet and smoky in the air.

A long table carved of ivory stone stretched the length of the hall, set with gold-rimmed plates, obsidian goblets, and polished silver in intricate designs.

Cushions in indigo and crimson lined the benches, and beneath them, mosaic-tiled floors shimmered like a starlit sea.

They entered one by one—Obito first, dressed once more in his black fighting leathers. The matte armor clung to his frame like a second skin, the high collar casting shadows over his jaw.

He was silent, stoic, unreadable—but his eyes flicked immediately to Rin the moment she stepped through the threshold.

She wore Kumogakure attire now— deep violet silks that clung and flowed in all the right ways, her shoulders bare, her jewelry made of silver moons and desert stones. Her dark hair had been braided with golden threads, and her skin glowed in the candlelight .

She laughed at something Sakura said beside her, not looking at him.

Not once.

And still—Obito burned.

Even when she was angry with him, even when she denied him—he burned for her.

Sasuke entered in his black leathers as well, his expression impassive, though his eyes subtly scanned the hall for Sakura, who walked a step behind Rin.

Shisui followed, loose-limbed and alert, nodding politely at the servants, flanked by Tsubaki—elegant in violet silks, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Sai’s older brother stood beside him, equally imposing in black armor.

Sai and Naruto were the only ones not dressed in war gear. Naruto had opted for a breezy sand-toned tunic with gold trim, his blond hair tousled from the desert wind. Sai, quiet and composed, wore a deep blue robe gifted by the Queen herself, with silver threading that shimmered like rain.

At the head of the hall, King A stood waiting, regal and vast, a lion carved from dark stone. His sapphire robes were stitched with lightning patterns, a sunburst pendant gleaming on his chest. Beside him stood his wife—Queen Amari—a vision in flowing gold silk, her hair coiled and pinned with moonstones.

Their three children flanked them: a proud teenaged son with his father’s scowl, a younger boy clutching a wooden dagger, and a wide-eyed girl no older than six, who peeked at the guests from behind her mother’s skirts.

To King A’s left, Prince Bee lounged with his usual swagger, one arm slung over the back of his chair, the other hand resting on the swollen belly of his wife, who smiled serenely at the company.

"And here they are, from the land of fire,
Dark eyes, sharp steel, and hearts that never tire!"
Bee grinned. "Uchiha fire and Uzumaki spark—
Don’t burn the dinner down or leave the room dark."

Naruto laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "No promises."

But then the room stirred again.

More guests.

A tall young man stepped forward, clothed in white and silver—the sigil of the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows stamped across his cloak: a moon veiled in clouds, haloed by stars. His eyes were sharp, almost ethereal in their pale lavender hue—Prince Neji.

Behind him followed his sisters—Princess Hinata, soft-spoken and luminous in a pale lavender gown, and the younger Princess Hanabi, already wearing the sharp eyes of a trained heir despite her youth.

King A raised a hand. “Allow me to introduce our honored guests from the north—The Hyuga Royals. Prince Neji, Princess Hinata, and Princess Hanabi, of the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows.”

Obito’s expression didn’t shift, but he gave a respectful nod. Beside him, Rin watched as Hinata stepped closer to Naruto with shy grace, her fingers twisting a silver ring on her hand.

When their eyes met, Naruto’s breath caught.

It was a glance.

But something unspoken passed between them.

An understanding.

A pull.

He blinked, stunned. She smiled gently—and something in him softened.

“They are here,” King A continued, “not just for diplomacy—but for strength. Their Byakugan, like the Sharingan, may prove useful in subduing the creature that plagues us all.”

Obito nodded. “We’re honored to fight beside them.”

“As are we,” Prince Neji replied, his tone reserved but respectful.

They were seated then—Obito near the head, Rin several seats down beside Sakura and Tsubaki. Every dish placed before them was exquisite: lamb roasted with cardamom and dates, saffron rice with jeweled nuts and fruit, grilled fish glazed in honey, figs stuffed with goat cheese, wine that tasted of dusk and heat.

But the tension on Obito’s tongue was sharper than any spice.

He could feel Rin’s gaze flicker toward him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He could feel her heat across the table, could hear her laughter, soft and aching in his chest.

Every time she leaned into Kakashi or laughed at Sakura’s quip; his jaw locked tighter.

But he didn’t speak.

He didn’t look at her.

Not first.

Let her look.

Let her miss him.

And she did.

Gods, she did.

But pride was a cruel, beautiful thing.

Rin felt him too.

His presence sat beside her even if he was down the table.

His silence said more than his voice ever could.

She could feel his gaze on her bare shoulders, the exposed curve of her neck. Her skin burned where she imagined his touch might have lingered once, in another life, on another night.

Tsubaki leaned in, whispering something that made Rin blush.

Sakura smirked.

Shisui leaned forward, cutting his lamb with unnecessary force.

Sasuke stared at Sakura like she was a battlefield.

And Naruto—Naruto only had eyes for Hinata now, whose voice was quiet but certain as she asked about the mission, the creature, and what it meant for them all.

“So, this beast speaks in riddles?” Neji asked, sipping wine.

“It speaks in truths we don’t understand,” Obito said calmly. “And it’s only just begun.”

Queen Amari tilted her head. “And you believe Rin may be the key?”

Obito looked at her then—finally, boldly.

“I know she is.”

Rin stiffened; wine forgotten in her hand.

Bee gave a low whistle.

“Sounds like fate’s weaving tight—

Lady Rin, you best hold that firelight.

Eyes of truth and a warrior’s name,

This dinner’s hot, but the mission’s the flame.”

Sasuke rolled his eyes. “Do you ever stop rhyming?”

Bee grinned. “Not when the rhyme is real and the food’s divine.”

As laughter trickled down the table, Obito’s gaze found Rin again. And this time, she met it.

Direct.

Defiant.

And aching.

Everything unsaid sat between them like a blade.

This was peace.

A moment of warmth, wine, and moonlight.

But it would not last.

Because downstairs, in the stone-choked dark… something ancient waited.

And the night had only just begun.

The clinking of silverware and the soft thrum of a distant harp filled the golden hall with warmth, yet beneath the surface, tension simmered—unspoken but thick in the air.

“I must say,” Queen Amari said as she passed a basket of flatbread to Rin, “you wear Kumogakure fashion beautifully.”

Rin dipped her head politely. “It’s a bit different from what I’m used to, but… it’s lighter. Easier to move in.”

Obito’s gaze flicked sideways, his jaw flexing at the way the sheer fabric shifted over her skin with every breath.

He forced himself to focus on the conversation.

“I don’t know,” Sakura chimed in playfully, elbowing Rin. “You looked like you were born to wear it.”

“Agreed,” Tsubaki added, slicing a fig in half. “But if you say one word about the heat, I’ll throw this wine at you.”

“I was melting the moment we landed,” Rin muttered.

“Lies,” Tsubaki said. “You’re glowing. I look like a boiled sweet.”

Across the table, Prince Bee raised his goblet. “Hot desert wind, and hot desert queens,

Y’all bring the fire like forgotten dreams.

But if you sweat, don’t worry, don’t moan—

That’s just Kumogakure’s welcome tone!”

“Does he ever stop?” Sakura whispered.

“No,” Sasuke deadpanned.

“You wound me, Uchiha,” Bee shot back with a grin, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “But I forgive. My rhymes still live.”

Naruto, still laughing, turned back to Hinata. She sat beside him, a small smile curving her lips as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“So… Kingdom of Stars and Shadows, huh?” he said, awkwardly lifting his goblet. “Do the stars really shine brighter up there?”

Hinata nodded softly, her voice shy but certain. “Yes. On clear nights, the sky glows blue-silver. The moonlight is so strong, it leaves shadows on the snow.”

“That’s amazing,” he murmured. “I’d love to see that.”

“You could,” she said, then glanced down at her plate quickly. “If you ever… visited.”

Naruto blinked. “I—I’d like that.”

Prince Neji raised a single brow but said nothing.

Obito noticed the exchange with the sharp eye of a general, but he said nothing either.

His attention kept returning—again and again—to Rin, who was currently laughing at something Kakashi muttered.

Jealousy scraped up his throat like a blade.

“You’re glaring again,” Shisui murmured near his shoulder.

“I’m not glaring.”

“You’re absolutely glaring.”

Obito didn’t reply.

King A nodded to Neji. “Prince Neji and his sisters arrived only this morning. They’ve agreed to lend their vision to our cause.”

“Your Byakugan may allow you to see the creature’s true form,” Obito said, finally speaking again. “Or perhaps what lies beneath it.”

Neji’s jaw tensed. “We’ll do what we can. If it masks itself through illusion or spirit, our eyes may pierce it.”

Obito nodded his appreciation.

Sasuke leaned in slightly toward Sakura. “You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m processing,” she said. “This place, the food, the creature, Rin’s dress…”

Rin looked up. “Excuse me?”

“I said what I said,” Sakura smirked.

“I’ll fight you,” Rin said dryly.

“You’d lose,” Tsubaki added with a wink.

“You’re all delusional,” Rin muttered, trying not to smile.

Obito’s lips twitched.

Queen Amari looked on fondly, exchanging a glance with her husband.

“So,” Queen Amari said, her voice gentle and sincere, “your group carries such closeness. Rin, I hear you yourself are a Jinchuriki?”

“Yes, my lady,” Rin answered, her voice even but humble. “I am.”

Amari’s eyes softened. “It’s rare to meet a female Jinchuriki. And even rarer to meet one who carries it with such quiet strength. You truly are priceless.”

Rin blinked, caught off guard. Her lips parted as if to respond, but for a moment, no words came. Then— “That’s very kind of you. But some days… it doesn’t feel like strength.”

“Ah,” the queen said softly, “true strength rarely does.”

Across the table, Obito’s gaze never left Rin.

Not for a second.

He didn’t glare. He didn’t scowl.

He just looked at her with something deeper—something older and quieter than anger.

His eyes shimmered with unspoken things: pride, sorrow, longing.

The ache of love that had nowhere to land.

She didn’t look at him.

But she felt it.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s why she didn’t look.

Because she wasn’t ready to drown in it.

Not yet.

Bee gave a solemn nod. “Ain’t no bond like the one forged in fire—

Blood and blade and funeral pyre.

But tonight, we feast. Tomorrow, we fight—

Under moonlit halls and the stars so bright.”

“You’re truly unstoppable,” Neji said with quiet incredulity.

“Thank you,” Bee grinned. “I try.”

Naruto tilted his head toward Hinata again. “So… when you’re not being a badass royal with magical vision, what do you do for fun?”

Hinata blushed but smiled. “I like… tea. Painting. Stargazing.”

He blinked. “That’s... really cute.”

Her blush deepened. “You?”

Naruto scratched the back of his head. “Training. Ramen. Accidentally breaking windows.”

She laughed, soft and genuine. “Sounds like you.”

He lit up like a sunrise.

Obito didn’t realize he was smiling faintly until Shisui elbowed him.

“She looks happy,” Shisui said quietly.

“She deserves to be,” Obito replied, and he wasn’t talking about Hinata.

“Maybe,” Shisui said, raising a brow. “But so do you.”

Obito didn’t answer. Across the table, Rin finally looked at him fully long and deliberate.

Their eyes met.

And everything else disappeared.

The dinner faded. The warmth, the laughter, the music—all of it went silent in the static between them.

He saw her sadness.

She saw his regret.

And yet neither of them spoke.

Because what would they say?

Not here.

Not yet.

The war was coming.

The dungeon waited.

But for now… under golden lanterns and desert stars, they sat at opposite ends of a beautiful battlefield, fighting a war neither of them truly wanted to win.

 

                                                                    NARUTO

 

The air outside was different—thicker with jasmine and night spice, with the lingering trace of heat that clung to everything like silk.

Lanterns bobbed gently above the gardens, suspended from arching tree branches and delicately carved copper hooks.
Each flame danced gold and blue, casting shadows across the tiled paths and polished stones.

The stars above Kumogakure felt impossibly close here, as if the heavens leaned down just to listen.

Naruto wasn’t sure why his feet had brought him here—only that his chest still felt tight from dinner, and that he hadn’t laughed that much in what felt like years.

Not just because of Bee’s rhymes or Rin and Sakura’s sass. But because of her.

He spotted her just past the reflecting pool.

Hinata stood near the water’s edge, her soft indigo robes shifting like dusk incarnate, her dark hair unbound and rippling down her back like the night sky.

The moonlight seemed to love her. It curved around her cheeks, clung to her lashes, turned her eyes to polished silver. She looked like she belonged here. Like this garden had waited its whole life for her to step into it.

Naruto’s hand curled at his side. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward.

“You disappeared,” he said softly.

Hinata turned. She didn’t startle—just smiled faintly, a quiet thing that still managed to wreck him. “So did you.”

“I guess we’re both good at sneaking off,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “But it’s not very ninja-like to get caught.”

Her lips curled. “Then maybe I let you catch me.”

Naruto blinked. “Wait—was that a joke? Did you just make a joke?”

Her smile widened, and she turned her eyes back to the water. “Maybe.”

He walked to stand beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her but not quite touching. The pool reflected them both: a boy with too much sunshine in his grin and a girl who glowed like moonlight.

“I’m not usually like this,” he said after a long moment.

“Like what?”

“Nervous. Tongue-tied.” He glanced sideways at her. “We’ve barely talked before, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.”

Hinata looked up at him slowly. “That’s funny. I always felt the same.”

Something thudded in his chest

She turned toward him more fully now. “You asked me at dinner if the stars really shine brighter in my kingdom.” She paused, then added, “They don’t.”

Naruto frowned. “They don’t?”

“Not like this,” she whispered, eyes lifting to the sky. “They’re colder. Sharper. Beautiful in their own way. But here… the stars are warm. Like they’re alive.”

Naruto stared at her for a long time. “You’re kind of magic, you know that?”

Hinata flushed. “Naruto—”

“I mean it.” He reached up, brushed a leaf from her hair, his fingers lingering just a second too long. “You’ve got this way of talking… it makes everything sound like poetry.”

She laughed, soft and embarrassed, her gaze dropping to the tile between them.

He cleared his throat. “You ever… think about visiting other places?”

She nodded, still not looking up. “Sometimes.”

“What if I invited you to mine?” he said, voice quieter now. “What if I showed you, my country? Let you meet my friends… my dogs.”

Hinata looked at him then—really looked. “Would you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Silence stretched again, sweet and charged.

Then she reached out, gentle as a breeze, and brushed her fingers down his sleeve. “I’ve never been given a flower before.”

Naruto blinked. “Wha—do you want one? I could—uh—get you ten.”

She smiled. “No. I want to give one.”

From a nearby bloom, she plucked a white Kumo orchid, pale and soft like clouds. Carefully, she reached up and tucked it behind his ear, her fingers brushing his temple.

Naruto stilled like the world had stopped spinning.

“You’ll make the desert jealous,” she murmured, almost teasing. “Too much beauty in one place.”

He turned red to his roots.

“You’re killing me,” he groaned.

“I hope not,” she said with a coy smile. “I like you alive.”

He couldn’t help it—he laughed. And not the nervous kind. The real kind. The kind that echoed off marble and startled birds from their roosts.

Hinata’s laugh joined his, and they both stood there, two souls brushing past the edge of something big.

Naruto couldn’t look away from her.

She was standing so close now, her fingers just barely falling away from his hair, the scent of night orchids still clinging to her skin. The lanterns above flickered in the breeze, casting golden ripples over her cheeks.

Her lips were slightly parted. Her breath quickened, just like his.

And her eyes—Byakugan or not—saw straight through him.

“Hinata…” he breathed.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then back to his eyes. She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

He reached out, gently, like he was afraid she might vanish. His fingers brushed her cheek, trembling slightly. She leaned into his touch—barely, subtly—but it was enough.

The world could’ve ended in that moment, and Naruto wouldn’t have noticed.

He bent his head.

And kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate.

It was soft, hesitant, the kind of kiss that asked permission even as it was given. Her lips were warm, sweet, trembling slightly against his. His hand slid to the curve of her neck, steadying himself as her fingers curled around his shirt.

Time didn’t stop.

It slowed—melted—like honey in the heat.

When they finally pulled apart, the air between them buzzed like lightning after a storm.

Hinata’s cheeks were flushed, her lashes lowered. “That was…”

Naruto stared at her, stunned and grinning like an idiot. “Really nice?”

She laughed—light and breathless. “Yes.”

“I’ve been wanting to do that all dinner,” he confessed.

“I know,” she said, voice teasing.

“You knew?”

Hinata stepped in close again, resting her forehead lightly against his. “I was waiting for you to be brave enough.”

Naruto’s heart nearly exploded.

“I’m gonna kiss you again now,” he whispered.

“You better,” she whispered back.

And this time, when he kissed her, it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t shy.

It was full of promise.

Of stardust and desert wind and a hundred dreams that neither of them had spoken aloud—yet

Maybe love.

Maybe not yet.

But definitely something dangerous and new.

And somewhere beyond the garden, the night wind whispered through the palace like it knew what was coming

 

                                                         

                                                                           OBITO

 

The descent into the dungeon was steep and silent.

Down beneath Kumogakure’s sands, they moved like shadows in a procession of dread. Lit only by blue flame sconces flickering against sandstone walls, the group walked with wary steps.

The deeper they went, the heavier the air became—each breath colder, damper, as if the very stone exhaled ancient secrets. The heat of Kumogakure was left behind, replaced by a chill that clung to bone.

Obito led them in silence, walked with measured steps his eyes sharp, Sharingan blazing faint red in the dark. Behind him, Kakashi flanked Rin protectively.
Rin was behind him, Kakashi at her side. Tsubaki and Shisui flanked them. Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke, and Sai and Shien, all taut and wordless.

The Hyuga royals—Prince Neji, Princess Hinata, and Princess Hanabi—moved like silent shadows, white eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Their presence added a mysticism no one acknowledged aloud.

King A and Prince Bee brought up the rear, their steps heavy, the weight of leadership evident in their silence.

The door was carved into the earth—tall, sealed in obsidian, etched in old script none of them could read.
It pulsed faintly.

Bee pressed his palm to the symbol in its center. A ripple of ancient energy surged through it, and the door moaned as it split open.

Beyond it, the chamber opened like a wound.

It was vast and round, the ceiling lost to shadow, though none of them could see its end. Lanterns hung mid-air without string or structure. They floated in silence—glowing with unnatural fire. And in the very center, there it was.
At first glance, it looked like a sculpture—a grotesque of bone and prayer, kneeling with arms too long, head bowed, breathing like a dying animal.

Veins of ink pulsed beneath cracked skin. It smelled of incense and rot, time and sorrow. Its body was wrapped in shifting shadows—almost liquid, almost alive.

Then—

“Mom?” Naruto’s voice cracked.

Everyone stopped.

Obito turned just as Naruto stepped forward, staring at something none of them saw.

A woman stood there, beside the creature. Red hair, radiant, eyes soft with love.

Kushina.

But only Naruto could see her.

“What are you looking at?” Sasuke asked, frowning.

“I see Itachi,” he whispered. “He’s bleeding. Dying. Smiling…”

Hinata gasped. “I see Neji…”
Tsubaki sobbed behind her hands.

The Forgotten One was showing them all different faces.

Rin whispered, “This is illusion magic on a level I’ve never—”

A groan split the silence.

The Forgotten One rose.

Its limbs cracked as it stood, too tall, too thin. Its face was blank—until it wasn’t. Features shifted, bled into shape, then melted away again.
The sigils binding it flared.
The lanterns dimmed.

And then it spoke.

“More.”

The word was a whisper at first—but beneath it was something vast.
A thousand voices at once.
A thousand mouths layered under a single sound.

Everyone flinched. Even the strongest among them staggered.

The Forgotten One turned slowly.

And stopped.

When it saw Rin.

The illusion broke for all of them in that moment. The thing inside the binding circle leaned forward swaying like a drunk child, eyes wide with glee.

“Ohhh… ohhhhhhh,” it sang, voice thick with hunger. “A girl. A vessel. A womb.”

Obito moved before he could think. He stepped in front of Rin, Mangekyō spinning violently to life, body tensed like a blade.

The Forgotten One quivered in giddy delight.

“There hasn’t been a female jinchuriki in centuries…” it cooed. “I know… because I ate the last one.”

Rin went still.

Naruto bristled. “You… what?”

“She screamed for her mate,” the thing whispered. “He begged me to take her quickly. I didn’t.”

The silence was suffocating.

Obito's sharingan flared—hot, deadly. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

The creature's face twisted into a slack-jawed grin. It tilted its head, completely unafraid. “You can’t.” The creator laughed.

“I don’t want the boy with the Nine Tails. Or the Eight Tails. I want the girl.”

“Why?” Naruto demanded. “She’s not even a full beast host. Bee and I—”

The creature hissed with amusement.

“Power is not flavor.”

It leaned against the edge of its containment circle, shadows slithering across the boundary like snakes testing a cage.

“Female jinchuriki blood… is sweeter. Warmer. Fertile. Especially if…” Its voice dropped.

“Are you pregnant, little moon?”

Gasps echoed.

Obito’s rage exploded.

He was suddenly inches from the barrier, fire roaring at his fingertips. “You don’t get to speak to her.”

The creature didn’t flinch. It only smiled wider.

“So protective,” it purred—soft as rot, voice slithering like silk through shadows, sweet as sin. "Just like him." The words were meant for Obito alone—low and intimate—while to the others, the sound twisted into nothing but a chorus of dead languages, forgotten tongues, ancient and indecipherable, unheard, unholy, and long buried beneath time.

“I’ll tear you apart.”

“No,” Rin said quietly, stepping up beside him. “It wants my blood. Not my life.”

The creator’s smiled eerily.

Obito spun toward her, fury flashing in his eyes. “You are not giving it anything.”

Rin met his gaze without flinching. “If it gives us answers, it’s worth it.”

Silence hung like a blade between them.

Shisui’s voice broke through the tension, voice calm but urgent. “We need what it knows.”

Obito’s jaw clenched. His fists trembled at his sides.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Shien added firmly, his voice cutting through the tension like steel. “We traveled across kingdoms for this moment. Don’t lose sight of the reason we came.”

Obito didn’t move.

But his eyes—

They burned.

Obito trembled with fury but didn’t stop her as Bee handed over a ceremonial dagger.

Rin took it with calm grace.

She sliced her wrist—not deeply, but enough—and let her blood drip into a small golden chalice.

Obito was already there with cloth, pressing to the wound, jaw clenched.

The chalice was placed at the edge of the circle.

The Forgotten One took it reverently, savoring each drop —cradled it like a holy thing.

It drank.

“You’re not pregnant,” he whispered, disappointed.

“No,” she said.

“The blood’s sweet,” it murmured again. “I remember her. The last one. She wept too.”

Rin’s fingers clenched at her sides.

Obito’s arm was still slightly in front of her, body angled protectively.

And the chamber changed.

The air turned to glass. Time froze. The sigils flared so bright they seared the edges of vision.

Then came the voices.

Thousands of them. All speaking at once, all unintelligible except for one word, which they all heard, in a thousand cadences:

“Ask.”

But before anyone could speak, the creature turned to Obito.

And said, in a voice only he could hear:

“The one who walks behind you… wears your brother’s face.”

Obito stiffened.

He turned—but there was no one behind him.

“What did it say?” Rin whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Then it turned to Shisui.

And standing inside the cage now—only visible to him.

Smiling.

Shisui’s mouth went dry. His legs threatened to collapse. But he said nothing.

Not yet.

Then the creature turned to Rin again.

And changed.

No longer grotesque.

No longer monstrous.

It was a boy. No older than ten. Uchiha hair. Sharingan eyes. Her nose. Obito’s cheekbones. A soft smile, filled with unbearable innocence.

“Mom,” he whispered.

Rin staggered.

Tears welled. Her lips parted. “You’re not real.”

The boy didn’t argue. His smile widened. He just looked at her like he’d been waiting for her his whole life.

She took a step back.

Obito, meanwhile, saw something else.

Rin.

But dead.

Covered in blood. Her eyes open and lifeless. Staring at him.

“Why didn’t you save me?” the corpse whispered.

He reeled like he’d been stabbed. Stumbled back until Shisui caught his elbow.

“Obito,” Rin called. “What is it?”

He couldn’t answer.

The illusions were unraveling them from the inside.

Feeding.

And then—just like that—it ended.

The child vanished. The corpse was gone.

The chamber pulsed once more.

The creature curled into itself.

And in a soft, gleeful voice, it said:

“The blood was sweet.”

“Now you may ask.”

 

 

                                                                     RIN

 

The air thickened again.

Rin’s blood had barely dried from the first offering when the Forgotten One’s form quivered with anticipation, its shadowed body pulsing like a twisted heartbeat. Its fingers—claws, really—drummed against the barrier of glowing sigils, and the sound echoed like bone on glass.

Obito stood rigid, still half-shielding Rin.

His eyes never left the creature, even as his hand instinctively reached for hers, grounding her.

The Forgotten One hummed.

“A second sip… a sweeter sip… then I will speak.”

Obito snarled, “You said one drop.”

“It lied,” Shisui muttered grimly behind him. “Of course it did.”

Rin’s fingers tightened around Obito’s. “It’s okay.”

“No,” he growled. “It’s not.”

But she was already stepping forward, her other hand gripping the hilt of the dagger once more.

Bee passed her a fresh cup with silent reluctance.

Rin cut again—this time deeper—and Obito swore under his breath, reaching to steady her as blood dripped, slow and warm, into the waiting vessel. His grip trembled.

“You owe us answers,” she said as she handed over the filled chalice.

The creature snatched it with greedy precision, tilting the glass as if savoring vintage wine. It drank.

Then it sighed, long and low.

“Ask.”

Obito’s voice was steel. “Who is the Father?”

The Forgotten One tilted its head, bones creaking like dried wood.

“A shadow cast by the sunless flame… A whisper that walks… A gardener of grief.”

“That’s not an answer,” Sasuke snapped.

“It is the only one,” the creature crooned. “To name him is to feed him. To speak him is to summon him. You ask for clarity, and I give you truth—the kind that rots your teeth.”

Rin stepped forward again, steadier now. “Then what are the wooden soldiers? The mimics?”

“Roots,” it said softly. “Roots grown from hatred. Shaped in his image. Clones carved from stolen memory and watered in blood. They are not men. They are seeds.”

Kakashi narrowed his eye. “Seeds for what?”

“For war,” it whispered.

Tsubaki’s voice was tight. “And the jinchuriki? Why are they being taken?”

The Forgotten One turned to her slowly.

“To birth a god.”

Everyone froze.

Even the air seemed to still.

Naruto’s voice was low, uncertain. “What the hell does that mean?”

The Forgotten One twitched, its smile widening.

“From the womb of beasts, the vessel shall rise. Nine flames to ignite the night. Eight to seal the soul. One to carry the spark.”

It tilted its head toward Rin.

“She… is the key. The gate. The lock.”

Rin’s breath hitched.

Obito stepped in front of her again. “That’s enough.”

But the creature wasn’t finished.

“I see threads in her blood. Futures not yet woven. A child with a broken star in his eye. A cradle bathed in firelight.”

“You said the last female jinchuriki was pregnant,” Sakura said quietly.

“Yes,” it purred. “And I split her open like fruit. The child inside was singing.”

Sakura paled.

The creature turned its attention toward her now.

“And you, the blossom girl. So much hurt beneath the strength. Shall I show you your root? The stem of your sorrow?”

Sakura stepped back instinctively, but it was too late.

The illusion struck fast.

She was in a house—familiar, quiet.

Her mother was screaming.

And she was too small, too weak.

She covered her ears, but the sound still pierced her soul.

“No,” she whispered.

Obito clenched his fists. “Stop.”

The creature ignored him.

Shisui stepped forward. “What does the Father want?”

The Forgotten One grinned.

“To unmake. To devour the name of gods and carve a new one. To swallow the sun. To make this world forget it ever breathed hope.”

It shifted toward Obito again.

“And you, warrior king, whose soul is split in two…”

It tilted its head, impossibly wide grin stretching.

“What would you trade to undo your grief?”

Obito said nothing.

Not a word.

But Rin could feel the answer pulsing in him like a drumbeat.

Everything.

She reached for his hand again.

And in the pale light of that accursed chamber, they stood together surrounded by the broken whispers of a forgotten god, with truths unraveling around them like threads of a fraying tapestry.

And still, the Forgotten One whispered, “More…”

More blood.

More answers.

More pain.

The chamber shuddered, hungry and ancient.

And the worst had yet to come.

“It’s enough for today,” King A said, his voice cutting through the uneasy silence like steel. “As the legends warned—The Forgotten One speaks in riddles and shrouds the truth in fog.”

“So, this… this is the best we’re going to get out of it, isn’t it?” Sakura asked, her voice low and shaken.

“It seems that way,” Sasuke murmured, his eyes narrowing with reluctant acceptance.

The air remained thick—heavy with lingering whispers and the taste of blood.

One by one, the group began to turn back. Armor shifted. Cloaks swayed. Shadows stretched toward the doorway as if trying to cling to them. Obito reached for Rin, guiding her gently forward.

She moved, barely.

And then—

Rin heard that child voice again.

“Goodbye, Mother.”

The words were soft—gentle, almost loving. But his voice echoed with a thousand layers too deep, too discordant.

Rin froze.

Her breath caught in her throat like a thorn.

Slowly, she turned, the creator it had taken the shape of a boy again. The boy who could have been her son.

Obito’s blood. Her smile.

Then he smiled.

And that smile—

That awful, knowing smile—

He looked at her with something too old for a child.

It froze the air in her lungs.

Rin gasped, her hand found Obito’s without thought, clutching it like a lifeline.

And as she looked into the eyes of something that should not exist, every instinct screamed.

Not love.

Not comfort.

Something pretending.

Mimicking.

Mocking.

Behind her, the others didn’t see the boy.

They only saw shadows shifting.

They only heard whispers curling up from the deep.

They had all seen their own nightmares.

And Rin…

Rin had seen a future she never dared imagine.

One that would haunt her more than any ghost.

They had come searching for answers.

They left with riddles and scars.

And behind them, in the silence between heartbeats, the Forgotten One waited—

Still smiling.

Still whispering.

“…More.”

Chapter 16: KAKASHI/OBITO

                                                              KAKASHI

 

The desert study was a hidden jewel nestled deep within the winding halls of Kumogakure’s palace—far from the war rooms and sun-soaked courtyards.

The room exhaled warmth and quiet.

It was shaped like a crescent, with arched windows stretched high, letting in slivers of moonlight that spilled across marble floors and painted shadows across the domed ceiling.

Ornate bookshelves curved around the perimeter like sentinels, filled with ancient scrolls and sapphire-bound volumes.

A low desk sat at the heart of the room, carved from obsidian wood and inlaid with golden patterns that gleamed faintly in the dark.

Beyond the open balcony, the scent of jasmine wafted in on the desert breeze. A small fountain burbled quietly in the courtyard below, where peacocks strutted through the foliage of pomegranate trees and silver palms. The night felt alive hushed but watching.

A low writing desk stood beneath a lattice window, where slats of moonlight spilled in soft bands across the patterned stone floor. At the back of the room, a balcony opened onto a private courtyard garden.

Lanterns hung from brass hooks, casting a honeyed glow over velvet floor cushions, ivory hookah pipes, and a chessboard mid-game, abandoned who knew how long ago.

It was a room meant for scholars, dreamers… or men seeking to forget.

Kakashi sat curled into a corner armchair, a weathered book in one hand and a cup of still-warm black tea in the other.

He had come here for silence.

But silence, it turned out, was a poor balm.

The words on the page refused to settle.

He read the same sentence four times. His fingers tightened on the spine.

It wasn't the darkness that unsettled him. He'd seen worse shadows.

It was what they had seen beneath the palace.

The memory of that place slithered beneath his skin like a fever.

He hadn’t been able to forget what the Forgotten One had shown him in the dungeon.

The way it crawled into your head without claws or fangs—just words and memories twisted into something vile.

The dungeon’s cold breath still lingered in his lungs. The stench of ancient rot. The slick sound of blood being swallowed by stone.

That… thing, the Forgotten One, had not simply spoken—it had seen them. It had crawled into their fears like a parasite and coiled there.

He had watched Sakura cry.

He had seen Naruto’s knuckles go white; his grin gone.

What the creature showed him.

And Rin...

And he couldn’t shake it.

So, he came here.

To breathe.

To be still.

To pretend for a moment, he was somewhere else.

The way Rin had trembled, not from weakness—but from the weight of something only she could understand.

The way Obito had looked at her afterward, like he was trying to memorize her every breath in case it was her last.

Even now, safely aboveground, Kakashi felt like that dungeon had left a bruise on his soul.

One that wouldn’t fade with time.

He took another sip of tea. Lukewarm.

He tried to focus on the page again, some dusty Kumogakure fable about sandstorms and sun gods, but it may as well have been blank parchment.

Kakashi sighed, lowering the book onto his lap.

He closed his eyes.

But the Forgotten One’s voice still echoed in his skull.

More.
                                                                     

 

                                                                 OBITO

 

Obito saw her before she saw him.

He stood at the end of the corridor, half-shrouded behind a column carved with vines and ancient script. The sandstone walls of Kumogakure’s palace were washed in warm, low firelight, flickering from lanterns shaped like hanging blossoms.

The air smelled faintly of desert rose and old stone.

Rin moved ahead of him, unaware—her steps soft, her posture tense beneath the folds of her moonlit gown.

The delicate fabric hugged her frame like whispered silk, catching on the lanternlight as she passed beneath it.

She didn’t turn back.

She didn’t notice the shadow at her heels.

Obito didn’t call out.

She had been too quiet since the dungeon. Too distant. The chill in her voice, the glaze in her eyes—something inside her had fractured. He could feel it.

And though he had no idea what the Forgotten One had shown her—no glimpse, no hint beyond that strange, painful smile—he knew it had carved something deep.

Just as it had for him.

So, he followed.

Through the arching hall, past veiled windows that let in the sound of distant wind and courtyard fountains, until she disappeared behind the carved doors of the desert study.

Rin entered like a whisper.

She didn’t see him.

She moved with purpose, but her steps were quiet, as if unsure if she belonged.

Her long, moonlight-colored silk gown clung to her, soft and thin in the heat of the desert evening, her bare shoulders kissed by the glow of hanging lanterns.

She crossed the room and stepped onto the balcony, disappearing into the warm air.

Kakashi’s breath caught in his throat.

He should say something.

He meant to say something.

But he didn’t.

Obito paused outside.

His hand rested against the ornate wood—warmed by sun and carved with twin peacocks, their feathers curled into spirals.

From beyond, he could hear the hush of water, the faint rustle of leaves, and something softer still: her breath.

Obito entered with the hush of a predator. His black leathers hugged his tall frame, creaking faintly as he moved.

His eyes swept the room, searching for her—only her.

When he saw her silhouette framed against the moonlight, something shifted in him.

The room was a mosaic of amber and shadow. Desert-toned cushions were arranged in low seating clusters around a polished onyx table.

Books and maps were scattered across a carved desk near the balcony, and sheer golden drapes swayed gently in the breeze from the open doors.

The fountain outside gurgled softly, surrounded by pale succulents and perfumed flowering vines. Somewhere in the courtyard, a peacock cried once sharp and lonesome.

And in one of the high-backed chairs tucked into the corner shadows, Kakashi sat very still.

He didn’t see Kakashi.

He didn’t care to.

He closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

Kakashi remained still as stone, tucked in the corner shadows. Invisible.

Watching.

Obito stepped toward the balcony.

Kakashi's pulse flicked, and he stilled. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Instead, he leaned back into the shadows of the reading alcove, book half-lowered in his lap, curiosity holding him in place.

Obito entered the library in silence, his black fighting leathers creaking faintly with each step.

His Sharingan was gone now, but the weight of his presence hadn’t diminished.

They didn’t see him.

Not Rin, who stood by the open balcony doors, her hair catching the wind like strands of dusk. Not Obito, who stood just inside, his tall frame rigid, wrapped in black leathers that looked like they'd been dragged through hell and stitched back together with grit.

He could’ve said something.

And said nothing.

Rin turned from the balcony, startled by Obito’s presence. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“I needed air.”

The air between them shifted instantly—tense, magnetic.

“I know, I saw you leaving, and I followed you.” he said, voice low. “I wanted to see you.”

A long silence fell.

Kakashi didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t announce himself. But something told him… he shouldn’t. Not yet.

“That… thing, in the dungeon—it got in my head.”

Obito took a few steps closer. “It got in mine, too.”

Their voices were low, raw. Not angry—but unraveling.

“What did you see?” she asked.

Obito’s chest tightened, he hesitated. He didn’t answer right away.

She turned to face him fully now, her eyes wide, guarded.

“It showed me you,” he said finally. “Dead. Cold. Gone.” His voice cracked. “And I was the one who found your body.”

Rin’s lips parted. “Obito…”

“I broke apart,” he whispered. “In that vision. Like something inside me shattered and there was no one left to see it but the dead.”

Her breath caught. She took a slow step toward him.

“It told me that’s what my future could be. That no matter how hard I fight, I can’t save you.”

He laughed bitterly under his breath. “Funny, isn’t it? All my life I’ve feared losing people. And I thought I’d hardened myself to it. But I saw you there and I—” He swallowed. “I was nothing.”

She stepped closer, until they were just a few feet apart. “It showed me something different.”

Obito’s gaze lifted, sharp and searching. “What?”

Obito stepped closer. “Tell me.”

She winced but nodded. “A boy,” she said, voice tight. “Ten years old. He looked like you—but with my smile.”

Obito froze.

“And he called me ‘mother,’” she continued, her throat thick. “He had the Uchiha eyes. Your hair. My nose. He reached for me like he knew me. Like I was his home.”

Obito’s heart slammed into his ribs.

His throat tightened. “Then he was beautiful.”

Rin tried not to let herself get teary eye. Because she still didn’t know how she felt or know where she stood with Obito. She didn’t want to give herself false hope.

Obito stepped forward, just close enough to feel the heat of her.

“I would give anything,” he said, “to make that vision real.”

Rin looked up at him, her eyes wide—unguarded, shining with too many things at once.

Confusion.

Longing.

Pain.

“Even now?” she whispered. “Even with everything?”

Obito’s hand lifted slowly, hesitating just a breath before his knuckles brushed her cheek.

His touch was soft, reverent, like he feared she might disappear if he pressed too hard.

“Especially now,” he murmured.

Her breath hitched.

Their eyes locked—two storms clashing, searching, desperate to be understood.

Obito leaned in, cupping her face gently in his hands, as if to anchor her.

As if to offer something unspoken.

But Rin flinched.

“Don’t,” she said. Her voice was sharp. Raw. She pushed his hands away.

He froze—hands suspended in the air, like they didn’t know where to go without her.

“Don’t what?” he asked softly, but there was a tremor beneath the words. Hurt. Confusion.

She turned from him, wrapping her arms around herself like a shield.

“Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like that. Like I mean something.”

Obito stepped closer. “You do.”

Her head shook once. Fast.

“No. You don’t get to say that. Not when you still lie to me. Not when you keep things from me. Not when I—”

She choked on the words, her throat closing around them like they were too bitter to speak.

Obito’s gaze narrowed. “What did I lie about?”

“You know what I saw,” she said, finally turning to face him, her voice cracking like glass under strain.

Obito’s brows pulled in. “Rin—”

“I saw her,” she hissed. “Jun. Leaving your room. You weren’t even fully dressed.”

Her voice trembled with restrained fury. “I wasn’t supposed to see it, right? I was just supposed to smile and pretend I didn’t notice. Just another little secret tucked away behind your palace walls.”

Obito’s jaw clenched. “That’s what this is about?”

“Don’t pretend it’s nothing!” Rin snapped. Her voice trembled with fury and grief. “You think you can parade me around, make me feel like I matter to you— and then lie to me behind closed doors? Do you even know how she and her sister talk about you? About your brothers? The way she says your name like she already owns you?”

Obito’s expression darkened, “Rin—”

“She came out of your room, Obito.” Her voice broke on his name. “I saw her.”

Silence hung thick between them.

Obito’s voice dropped, low and rough. “Nothing happened.”

Rin gave a bitter, broken laugh. “How convenient.”

“She came uninvited. I sent her away.”

“Oh?” Rin’s voice dripped with disbelief. “She just happened to show up in nothing but her smug grin and you shirtless? Was that before or after she left your bed?”

“She wanted to provoke you.” His voice turned sharp. “And she succeeded.” Obito’s jaw clenched

Rin’s expression didn’t falter.

“Have you ever slept with her before?” she asked, quiet now. Steadier. Like the question had waited in her chest for too long.

The question landed like a blade.

Obito went still.

Rin saw it in his face. The pause. The guilt in his eyes. The flicker of guilt. The heaviness in his silence. It was all the answer she needed.

Her breath caught. Her heart dropped.

He didn’t even need to answer.

She stepped back, shaking her head, arms falling limp at her sides.

“I see,” she whispered.

Obito reached for her instinctively, but she flinched away.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t touch me. Don’t lie to me. Just—don’t.”

She tried walking towards the door, but he caught her wrist gently. Not to trap her. Just to hold her there. To keep her from slipping away like a dream.

“Rin, please,” he said, voice raw. “Let me explain.”

“I don’t need your explanations or your lies,” she whispered, struggling against his grip. “Let me go.”

“No.” His hold tightened.

“I don’t want your excuses—”

“It happened once,” he said quickly, desperate now. “I was eighteen. It was the Crimson Love Festival. I drank too much—too fast. I woke up with her in my bed. I don’t remember how she got there. I don’t remember touching her. I never wanted her. I haven’t looked at her since”

Rin stood frozen. Her breath shallow.

Her heart aching. She said nothing.

“I swear to you, lamb,” he continued, voice hoarse, “it never meant anything. Not then, not ever. I was drunk, stupid, and she’s used it against me ever since. She and her sister have been crawling all over me and my brothers for years—married or not, they don’t care. But I do.”

He stepped closer.

He looked at her with all the anguish he’d kept buried.

“I don’t want them. I never have. I want you.”

Rin’s lips parted—but no words came.

He closed the gap between them, his voice raw, quiet, shaking.

“You’re the only one I see,” He whispered. The only one my heart beats for love.”

Obito reached out, brushing her hair back.

In the shadows, Kakashi’s eyes burned. Not with tears—he’d long since forgotten how to cry. But the ache in his chest was raw.

They were close now. Too close.

He watched as Rin’s hand slid down Obito’s arm. As Obito touched her like she was sacred.

Kakashi wanted to look away. He didn’t.

It was agony.

Not because he believed she should have chosen him—but because some part of him had hoped.

And that hope hurt more than hate ever could.

The moment hung suspended.

And then—Obito kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative.

It was fierce.

A lifetime of pain and yearning and silence broke between them as their lips met. Rin gasped into his mouth, and Obito drank it in, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her to him like a drowning man clutching the only thing keeping him afloat.

Kakashi’s fingers tightened on the book in his lap.

He should leave.

He didn’t.

Because part of him hated the way she looked at Obito—like no one else existed.

Rin melted into him, her fingers gripping his leathers, clutching at him like he was the last real thing in a world unraveling.

Obito groaned into her mouth—low, aching—and wrapped his arms around her like he was afraid the wind might take her from him.

Obito’s hands roamed up her back, trembling with restraint, until one slid down, gripped her thigh, then her ass—and in one fluid motion, he lifted her onto the obsidian desk.

Her legs wrapped around him instinctively.

“Obito,” she gasped when their mouths parted briefly. “Touch me.”

Kakashi felt his breath stutter.

His mouth devoured hers again, trailing fire down her throat, across her collarbone. His hands trembled as they explored her waist, her thighs—touching only where she allowed, but touching like a man starved.

Rin moaned.

Kakashi shut his eyes. It didn’t help.

He could still hear.

That sound—her voice, soft and trembling and breaking on Obito’s name—echoed through him like a curse.

A part of him hated himself.

Another part hated that it wasn’t him.

She had never looked at him like that.

She had never made those sounds for him.

Not that she ever owed him anything.

But that didn’t stop the ache.

He sat frozen in the shadows, punished by every breath they took.

“I love you,” Obito murmured against her skin.

His mouth found her throat, her collarbone, worshiping her like she was sacred. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel everything.

Obito’s finger pushed into Rin’s thin undergarments and groaned when they met her sex. His finger slid over her pussy as she moaned out a breath as pleasure coursed through her for the first time.

“Fuck, lamb,” he breathed, voice gravel thick with want. “You’re dripping for me.”

He pressed a reverent kiss to her shoulder, his fingers gliding deeper, slow and deliberate, savoring every tremble in her body.

Rin’s moan poured out like a melody—soft, breathless, addictive.

Obito groaned against her neck, his breath hot.

“You’re so tight like this… gods, just imagine it—if it were my cock instead.”

His voice dropped lower. Rougher.

“Imagine how full you’d feel with me buried inside you… stretching you, claiming every inch.”

Rin’s stomach clenched, her thighs squeezing together as heat coiled low and urgent.

Her heart thundered, but it was her body that betrayed her—arching subtly, aching for his hands again, his mouth, his weight pressing her down.

She wanted more—more of him, more of the way he made her forget everything but the burn between them. Every nerve screamed for him to touch her, fill her, claim her.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her skin. “You’ve always been mine.”

He kissed her again, slower this time, reverent.

“Then take me,” she said, voice trembling.

But he stopped when his lips reached the hollow of her throat.

“I want you,” he whispered against her skin. “So badly it hurts. Not here,” he said. “Not like this.”

She blinked, dazed and flushed. “Why not?”

Obito brushed his knuckles along her cheek. He drew back just enough to look at her—truly look at her.

Then he gently put her down from the table.

Her fingers touched his lips.

"When I finally have you," his voice dropped to a graveled growl, "I’m not just going to fuck you—I’m going to consume you. I’ll spread you out beneath me, inch by trembling inch, worship every part of you with my hands, my mouth, my teeth. I’ll taste your skin like it’s the only salvation I’ve ever known. I’ll make you cry my name, again and again, until you forget the world ever existed without me in it. I won’t stop until your body remembers only mine—until your soul burns with my mark. You’re mine, lamb. And I’ll ruin you so beautifully, you’ll beg me to do it again.”

Obito brought his fingers to his mouth, slow and deliberate, his gaze locked on hers. He licked them clean savoring her like something forbidden, like a man starved finally tasting what he’d dreamed of. His voice was a growl when he spoke, low and wrecked.

“You taste like sin and salvation, lamb.”

Her breath hitched.

Outside, one of the peacocks let out a distant cry—like a ghost singing beneath the moon.

Rin’s fingers trembled as she reached for him, her touch featherlight against the heat of his abdomen.

Her gaze never left his, wide with nerves, but darkened by something deeper—need, reverence.

“I… I want to taste you, Obito,” she whispered, voice barely audible, almost afraid of her own boldness.

Her palm flattened against his skin, fingertips trailing downward with tentative curiosity, and she felt his muscles tense beneath her touch.

He didn’t speak—just watched her, gaze dark and smoldering, as if daring her to continue.

Obito’s eyes went black with hunger.

“You do?” he rasped, stepping closer until her knees brushed his thighs. “You want my cock in that pretty mouth of yours?”

His hand came up, not rough—but firm, possessive—as he cupped her jaw and tilted her head back.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?” he murmured. “How I’d sound choking on your name while you swallow every fucking inch of me?”

He dragged his thumb across her lips, slow and deliberate.

“Then get on your knees, lamb. Let me show you what devotion tastes like.”

A wicked smile tugged at Obito’s lips.

Rin lowered herself to her knees, trembling with need, her eyes wide and pleading—desperate to please him. Obito glanced once toward the door, making sure it was locked.

Then, ever so subtly, he turned his head toward the far corner of the room—toward the darkened edge where Kakashi sat hidden.

And for the briefest moment, Obito’s Sharingan gleamed.

A warning.

A claim.

He knew.

Still, he said nothing.

Kakashi felt it in his chest like a blade.

Sharp.

Cold.

Irrefutable.

He couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

He’d suspected Obito knew he was there.

But now—there was no doubt.

And Obito wasn’t sending him away. He wasn’t even asking.

He was letting him watch.

Letting him see.

The look in Obito’s eyes—possessive, protective, dark with desire—wasn’t just about Rin. It was about ownership, about truth laid bare.

Kakashi clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. He should leave. He should be furious. He should be disgusted—with himself, with them.

But he wasn’t.

He was wrecked.

Because Obito hadn’t spoken a word… and still, he’d said everything.

And Rin—Rin wasn’t stopping. She hadn’t even looked toward the shadows. Her world had narrowed to one person.

Not him.

Never him.

Then Obito’s gaze dropped back to Rin, burning.

“Open,” he commanded, pressing his thumb against her lips.

She obeyed, parting her mouth for him, her breath hot against his skin. He slid his thumb inside, brushing the wet pad of it across her tongue.

“Suck,” he growled, voice low and rough. “I want to watch that pretty mouth wrap around my cock the way it wraps around this finger. I want to remember it later—when I’m alone, taking care of myself, thinking about you like this.”

She sealed her lips around his thumb, cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Her tongue curled around the underside, slow and deliberate.

Obito groaned a deep, primal sound that vibrated from his chest.

He slid his thumb out, only to press it back in, repeating the motion again and again. His breath grew ragged as he fucked her mouth with his finger, each thrust a promise of what was coming.

He couldn’t look away—entranced by her mouth, by the way she gave herself so willingly.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, voice thick with lust.

When he finally pulled his thumb free, it came out with a soft pop, a string of saliva clinging to her lip.

Rin's breath hitched.

“I want to touch you,” she whispered, voice rough with hunger. Her fingers gripped the waist of his trousers, and he traced the line of her jaw with the back of his knuckles, slow and reverent—like he already belonged to her.

“Fuck.” Obito raked a hand down his face, voice rough and low, watching her trembling fingers reach for his waistband.

She had no idea what she was doing—but she wanted to.

Desperately.

Not just to please him, but to claim him.

To carve herself into every part of him, until no memory of anyone else remained.

When their eyes met, there was so much unspoken need in hers, it made her press her thighs together, aching.

“You can do anything you want with me, lamb,” he said, voice tender, brushing a hand through her hair. “I’m yours.”

Rin’s fingers worked clumsily at the buttons of his trousers.

Obito stayed still, watching her, not rushing a single moment.

When she finally loosened the last button and slid the fabric down, her breath caught.

She froze.

She swallowed hard at the first sight of his length.

She eased his trousers lower until his cock sprang free—and froze, breath catching.

Her fingers hovered before touching him. He was beautiful. And warm. And real. Her curiosity overrode her nerves.

He was softer than she’d expected—velvety, heavy in her palm, and growing harder by the second. Her touch was unsure, but reverent.

Rin wrapped her hand around his length, squeezing gently, her thumb unable to meet her fingers. Obito hissed through clenched teeth, his hips twitching at the contact.

She slowly began to move, stroking him from base to tip with careful precision, testing the weight and feel of him. Her strokes grew more confident as his grip in her hair tightened.

“I want to taste you,” she whispered, her voice shaky but certain.

Obito groaned, burying his fingers deeper into her scalp.

“Gods, lamb... please,” he rasped. “I’ve dreamed of that mouth. I’ve fucking ached for it.”

Rin stared at his cock, and she was so intimidated by the size of him her breath catching. He was bigger than she’d imagined—beautiful and daunting all at once.

She didn’t know exactly what to do, but she knew what she wanted. She wanted to feel him on her tongue the way she’d just felt his thumb between her lips.

She wanted to give him the kind of pleasure that made him forget anyone else had ever existed.

She licked her lips and moved closer to him, glancing up at him just as she ran her tongue over his tip.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice hoarse with restraint as his grip in her hair tightened.

Rin ran her tongue along the underside of his cock, savoring the heat and weight of him. His thigh trembled beneath her hand.

“Am I doing this right?” she asked, her voice breathless and uncertain.

Obito let out a ragged breath and laughed softly—a deep, rough sound. “There’s nothing you could do that would ever be wrong, love. However, you want to touch me… taste me… it’s more than I ever dared beg of you.”

His words lit a fire inside her. Encouraged, Rin wrapped her lips around the tip of him, her cheeks flushing as she took him into her mouth. He felt impossibly thick, and her mouth stretched to accommodate him. She flattened her tongue along the underside of his length, feeling every pulse, every twitch.

Slowly, she began to take him deeper. Inch by inch, she swallowed him, her lips gliding lower, cheeks hollowed with effort and want.

When he hit the back of her throat, she gagged softly—but didn’t pull away. Her fingers gripped his thighs as she steadied herself, determined to please him, to claim him in the most intimate way she could.

“Fuck, Rin,” Obito groaned, his voice a thunderous rasp. His grip tightened in her hair as he pulled her head back, only to guide her down again with a slow, deliberate thrust of his hips. Again. And again.

Each movement grew hungrier, sloppier—as if the last shreds of his control were unraveling right before her eyes.

And then he truly began to move.

His cock slammed against the back of her throat in rhythmic, possessive thrusts, until he suddenly pulled out completely. Rin gasped, her eyes wide and shining, chest heaving.

She had never been so turned on in her entire life.

Obito was beautiful like this—raw and unguarded, a vision of restrained savagery and divine hunger. A god with his hands tangled in her hair and his pleasure dripping from his lips.

“Look at me,” he commanded through a broken groan.

She obeyed, her hand sliding away from his length to grip his thigh. He thrust back into her mouth with a pace that made her entire body shake, and she stared up at him—watching him fall apart with every second, watching herself come undone in his eyes.

Rin's hand reached beneath her skirt, her fingers slipping through her soaked folds to the place where he’d touched her before.

Her legs trembled immediately from the contact.

She was already close—so close she could barely breathe.

Obito’s cock in her mouth, the taste of him, the sound of his groans—it was all too much.

She gathered her arousal and circled her clit in slow, precise motions.

Obito saw.

And something inside him snapped.

His thrusts became brutal. Desperate. One hand gripped her hair, the other cupped her jaw as he fucked her mouth with wild need, his thumb stroking her flushed cheek in a broken attempt at tenderness.

“I’m going to fucking come, lamb,” he growled, his voice ragged with warning.

She moaned around him, the vibration of it sending him closer to the edge—just as her own body raced toward climax.

She sucked him harder, faster, letting him use her mouth however he needed, and just as her own orgasm began to crash over her—white-hot and consuming—she felt him spill into her throat.

He roared her name as his release hit, thick and hot, and she drank down every drop while her own body convulsed from pleasure, her fingers struggling to keep up with the ecstasy rushing through her.

Obito’s pace slowed, his breathing unsteady as he came down from the high. He gently pulled free from her mouth and ran a thumb over her swollen, slick lips.

“Are you all right, lamb?”

Rin could only nod. Words felt impossible.

He chuckled softly, his voice husky with affection. Slipping his hands under her arms, he lifted her easily to her unsteady feet.

“That’s my good girl.”

He kissed her—slow, deep, reverent—before tucking himself away and wrapping an arm around her waist.

They turned toward the door, ready to leave the study.

But not before Obito paused.

His head turned slowly—deliberately—toward the shadows at the edge of the room.

Where Kakashi sat.

Silent. Watching.

Obito’s Sharingan flared in the dark like a blade catching firelight.

A message.

A warning.

A claim.

Kakashi’s chest tightened.

Shame and longing twisted in his gut like a knife.

His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

He had watched it all.

Every moan.

Every kiss.

Every thrust.

He had watched Rin—his Rin—offer herself to Obito like she never had to him.

He had seen her break apart at Obito’s hands.

At his mouth.

At his cock.

And she had loved every second of it.

There had been no room left for denial.

No way to pretend this meant nothing.

Rin was his once—or so he thought—but now she belonged to someone else entirely.

Kakashi stayed in the shadows, suffocating beneath the weight of everything he had lost.

His face was a mask of disbelief, jealousy, and something far more dangerous.

Heartbreak.

Obito held Rin against his side, never breaking eye contact with Kakashi as they stepped out of the room.

His eyes burned with triumph.

Mine.

Chapter 17: IZUMI/RIN/BENEATH THE MOONLESS SKY/OBITO/NARUTO/NARUTO

                                                                                    IZUMI

 

The gates of Akatsuki Land groaned open as the royal convoy passed through, the sun dipping low on the horizon and casting long shadows across the crimson walls.

The air smelled of dust and horses, of tired leather and sweat—but also of home.

But before the dust had even settled, a breathless servant ran toward them across the courtyard, her eyes wide with urgency.

They hadn’t even dismounted when a breathless Alfred burst from the main corridor, breath caught in panic.

“My Majesties, my lords, my ladies—Lady Izumi—she’s in labor!”

Everything stopped.

The burden of politics, espionage, and war evaporated like mist. In its place surged something more primal—urgent, immediate, terrifying, and beautiful.

The group stood stunned for a breath, and then chaos bloomed.

Without waiting for orders, Tsubaki was already sprinting toward the palace. “Come on!” she shouted over her shoulder.

Rin and Sakura exchanged a look, didn’t need convincing then bolted after her. Boots slapping stone, hearts thundering with urgency.

Inside the palace, the corridors echoed with the sounds of hurried footsteps and quiet panic. The air was thick with the scent of warm herbs and sweat. Maids and midwives moved in and out of the birthing chamber, their hands full of linens and buckets of water.

Candles burned low along the walls.

Izumi lay curled on a thick mat, soaked in linens, her skin glistening, lips parted in agony. Her long hair was wet and clinging to her face, eyes wide and wild with pain.

Queen Mikoto knelt beside her, sleeves rolled up, face calm but taut with concentration. She murmured steady reassurances as she examined the position of the baby.

Izumi’s mother sat behind her daughter, cradling her shoulders, murmuring old prayers under her breath.

They reached the birthing chamber just as a scream tore through it.

When the girls burst in, Queen Mikoto glanced up, relief and command glimmering in her eyes.

“Thank the gods—you’re here.”

Tsubaki immediately moved to Izumi’s right side and clasped her hand tightly.

“You’re doing amazing,” she whispered, brushing wet hair from her sister-in-law’s brow.

Izumi’s pain-stricken eyes blinked, and she gave a tiny nod, the tears falling freely now.

Rin knelt beside Mikoto, heart pounding already reaching for clean linens. Her training with her father surged forward—calm under pressure. “Tell me what you need, Your Majesty.”

“We’re close,” Mikoto said. “Very close. The doctor hasn’t arrived yet. Sakura, I need you on breath work and timing. Rin, apply pressure just here.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” both girls responded in perfect unison.

Sakura took Izumi’s free hand, guiding her through breaths with soft, firm authority. “In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Good. Again. Just like that Izumi.”

Rin pressed where Mikoto showed her—low, firm, countering the pressure of the contractions. Izumi’s knuckles turned white around her friends’ hands.

And then—

The door opened with a groan. A figure entered slowly, hunched with age but sharp-eyed as ever.

“Ah, about time.” Queen Mikoto stood. “Master Ishikawa.”

The elderly doctor walked in with the unbothered calm of a man who had seen a hundred births and feared none. “I suppose another royal babe couldn’t wait for an old man’s knees,” he grumbled. “Let’s see what we’re working with. I delivered all four of your boys, My Queen Mikoto. Even the stubborn one—what was his name again?”

“Sasuke,” she muttered, rubbing her temple. “Took three days.”

“I remember. Like trying to wrestle a fish out of a waterfall.” He gave a raspy laugh, “Three days, you say? I was half-convinced Her Majesty would finally bear a daughter, the way that stubborn babe clung to the shadows. But alas—another prince to keep the palace loud.”

He gave a raspy, theatrical sigh, then turned to Izumi with a softened expression. “Now, let’s meet your baby, hm?”

Queen Mikoto chuckled, shaking her head fondly. “You never change, Master Ishikawa.”

The corridor was lined with shadows and murmurs. King Fugaku stood like a statue, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the double doors.

Minato, ever the gentler soul, had his fingers entwined in prayer beads, lips moving in silent reverence.

Lord Tenma, Izumi’s father, paced with the practiced anxiety of a seasoned warrior rendered helpless.

General Haruto and General Ryou stood nearby; their usual banter silenced in favor of tense quiet. Even they, the fiercest of men, couldn’t hide the way their eyes flicked toward the chamber with each sound.

The heavy doors at the end of the corridor opened—and boots echoed against the polished stone floors.

They had returned.

Obito led the group, still in his black fighting leathers, travel-worn and dusted with sand from Kumogakure’s desert winds. His eyes swept over the gathering before locking on his father’s face.

He said nothing, but the set of his jaw softened. He stepped beside King Fugaku, shoulders squared, his presence grounding.

Shisui followed behind, cloak fluttering as he moved with quiet urgency. He spotted Itachi on the bench and immediately crossed the room, crouching beside him. His hand gripped Itachi’s shoulder—not in greeting, but in silent strength.
Sasuke came next, visibly tense but saying nothing. He knelt beside his brother and nephew, resting his forearms on his thighs, eyes flicking toward the door like he could will it to open.

His voice was low. “We came as fast as we could.”

Naruto was still catching his breath, windblown and flushed from the flight. “Did we miss it?” he asked, glancing between the faces.

No answer came, but he saw the look in Minato’s eyes—and he knew. He sank against the wall beside Sasuke, unusually quiet.

Sai remained standing, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. But he watched Itachi and Yuri carefully, eyes flickering with something softer than usual. He took a position beside Commander Shien without a word.

Commander Shien himself stepped forward and gave King Fugaku a crisp bow. “All accounted for, Your Majesty. No incidents on the journey.”

Itachi sat at the edge of the hallway bench, his four-year-old son Yuri curled in his lap, blinking sleepily. The boy clutched a toy wooden kunai, unaware of the storm of anticipation around him.

“Is Mama okay?” he asked quietly.

Itachi pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“She’s very strong,” he murmured, brushing the child’s hair back. “Just like you. She’s bringing your baby brother or sister into the world.”

The brothers—Obito, Shisui, and Sasuke—closed in around him, forming a silent wall of support. Not as princes. Not as warriors. Just as family.

And together, they waited.

Inside, pain swelled to its final peak.

Izumi’s screams became rhythmic. Tsubaki cried softly as she kissed her friend’s damp temple, whispering, “You’re almost there, Izumi. Just one more push.”

Rin wiped sweat from Izumi’s brow, her other hand clutching a wet cloth, heart aching at every scream her friend let loose.

“Almost... there we are…” Master Ishikawa said softly.

Izumi screamed—her body arching, breath ragged.

Then came the moment—a final cry, a deep exhale—and the sound of a newborn’s wail filled the chamber like music.

The doctor’s old hands cradled the newborn, and for the first time in hours, he smiled.

“A boy,” he announced. “A strong one. Healthy as an ox”

The room fell into silence—then erupted into quiet sobs and laughter.

Izumi collapsed against the pillows, tears leaking from her eyes. Tsubaki wept openly, both hands covering her mouth. Mikoto closed her eyes, exhaling with trembling shoulders.

Rin sat back, her eyes burning, hard pressed to her chest. She had witnessed death in war—but this… this was life in its purest form.

Its most sacred.

The chamber had fallen quiet, save for the soft, hiccupping cries of the newborn. The scent of sweat, lavender water, and warm linen hung in the air like a fragile veil.

The baby was already wrapped in soft white cloths, his skin flushed pink, his tiny fingers curling into the air as if reaching for the world he’d just entered.

Izumi sobbed quietly as the baby was placed gently onto her chest. Her arms, though trembling, found strength as they wrapped around him. Her lips brushed the crown of his damp, dark hair.

“My son,” she whispered hoarsely, overwhelmed with love and exhaustion. “My sweet boy…”

Tsubaki had sunk to her knees beside her, tears streaking her cheeks. One hand rested over her heart, the other still gripping Izumi’s. “You did it,” she breathed. “Gods, Izumi, he’s perfect.”

Rin leaned back on her heels; her palms pressed together against her lips. Her eyes shimmered with emotion, not just at the miracle of life but at the raw love that had taken shape in the small bundle nestled in Izumi’s arms.

She glanced at Sakura, who was wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist, her usual composure cracked by joy.

Queen Mikoto knelt beside her daughter-in-law, silent tears trailing down her cheeks. She rested a hand on Izumi’s shoulder, her voice thick. “You were so brave, my dear. So strong.”

The old doctor, Master Ishikawa, stood at the foot of the mat, scribbling something onto a parchment scroll before glancing up with a smirk. “Came out yelling like his father, this one.”

Izumi laughed through her tears. “He’s nothing like Itachi.”

“On the contrary,” Mikoto said softly, brushing the baby's cheek with the back of her finger. “He already has his father’s strength. And his mother’s fire.”

A few minutes later, the birthing room door creaked open.

Master Ishikawa in the doorway, smiling so wide it looked like sunlight had spilled into the corridor.

“Your Majesty, Prince Itachi,” he said gently, with a graceful bow. “The child is a healthy boy. Her Ladyship and the newborn are both doing well.”

Silence.

Itachi stood slowly, his entire body trembling—not from fear, but reverence. For one beat, he looked vulnerable, young. He bent low to Yuri’s ear.

“Ready to meet your brother?”

The little boy nodded sleepily.

And so, hand-in-hand, father and son walked toward the beginning of someone else’s story.

The birthing chamber had fallen into a heavy, hushed stillness. The kind that only comes after a storm.

Izumi was trembling—her body weak, her hair clinging to her damp temples, skin flushed and glowing with exhaustion.

And yet, her arms never faltered.

They remained cradled around the impossibly small bundle resting on her chest, their newborn son, swaddled and softly whimpering, his breath new to this world.

The heavy doors creaked open.

Itachi entered first, still carrying Yuri in his arms. He was pale and silent, his dark eyes locked onto Izumi and the bundle in her arms.

The scent of sweat, blood, and sage clung to the air, thick and grounding. Mikoto turned quietly, offering her son a gentle nod before moving aside to give them space.

Rin and Sakura backed away as well, silently retreating toward the far wall, hearts aching from the beauty of what they were witnessing.

For a long moment, he didn’t move.

His feet felt rooted to the earth, as if he were standing before something holy.

His breath hitched.

The whole world seemed to still around him.

She looked so small.

So fragile.

So devastatingly alive.

His heart ached in his chest.

He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until it rushed out of him, quiet and shaken.

Izumi looked up at him, eyes glassy, but smiling.

“Itachi…” she whispered; her voice hoarse, raw with everything she couldn’t say aloud.

He crossed the room slowly, as though afraid the moment would vanish if he moved too fast. And he was by her side.

“You did it,” he breathed. “Another son.”

She nodded slowly, cradling the baby closer to her chest. “He’s perfect.”

“He’s perfect,” Itachi whispered, voice thick with emotion. “But not more than you… or Yuri.”

His throat constricted.

His eyes burned with unshed tears, the mask of the stoic prince dissolving with each step. He knelt at her side, setting Yuri gently on the floor.

Yuri toddled forward and peeked over his mother’s arms; his eyes wide. “That’s my baby brother?”

Izumi nodded with a teary smile. “Would you like to say hello?”

“He’s small.” Itachi murmured, his voice breaking.

“And loud,” Yuri said, reached out a tiny hand, touching the baby’s fingers

Izumi looked at him, her heart stammering at the vulnerability in his face. “Would you like to hold him?”

He blinked, then nodded, stunned.

Very carefully, she lifted the baby and passed him into his father’s waiting arms. He choked on a breath, staring at the boy’s tiny face—his delicate lashes, his pursed mouth, the little black tuft of hair curling at the crown of his head.

Itachi cradled his newborn son as though the child were made of starlight.

The baby’s cries softened into coos as he nestled against his father’s chest.

Itachi smiled.

“Hello,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re here… you’re finally here.”

Behind him, Fugaku stepped into the room. The mighty king’s eyes, normally so sharp and distant, shimmered with quiet pride. Minato followed, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. General Tenma and General Ryou stood respectfully behind them, their expressions softening.

Tsubaki’s father broke into a grin and elbowed Tenma. “Bet he’ll be walking by winter.”

“Running,” Tenma replied with a low chuckle.

Behind him, Fugaku stepped into the room. The mighty king’s eyes, normally so sharp and distant, shimmered with quiet pride. Minato followed, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

General Tenma and General Ryou stood respectfully behind them, their expressions softening.

Tsubaki’s father broke into a grin and elbowed Tenma. “Bet he’ll be walking by winter.”

“Running,” Tenma replied with a low chuckle.

Rin stepped back to give the family room, but Mikoto caught her hand before she could retreat.

“Stay,” the queen said gently.

Rin nodded, overwhelmed.

Just then, the doorway stirred again—and the rest of the group entered, still dusty from the journey back from Kumogakure.

Obito walked in first, his tall frame cloaked in black leathers, shoulders tense, hair tousled by desert wind. He paused as soon as he stepped into the warmth of the chamber.

His eyes swept over the gathered family—the newborn in Itachi’s arms, the joy, then—it landed on her.

She stood near Mikoto, hands still at her sides, caught between reverence and retreat.

Her breath hitched when their eyes met.

It wasn’t a stare of fury or affection.

Just something raw.

Unfiltered.

Neither moved.

Neither spoke.

And yet the weight of the journey clung to them —the memory of her mouth on him, of his fingers tangled in her hair, of the way he whispered that he loved her, the way neither of them spoke of it after—hung heavy in the space between them.

His fingers twitched at his side like he almost reached for her.

Almost.

Instead, they stood still, hearts full of things unspoken.

All of it buried beneath the desert, sealed behind silence, trembling just beneath the surface.

Then Obito blinked, jaw flexing, and turned his attention toward Itachi and the baby.

Shisui followed him in, quiet and soft-eyed, and made his way toward his brother.

Sasuke came next, brushing wind-tossed hair from his eyes as he leaned down to ruffle Yuri’s head. Naruto, breathless and pink-cheeked, trailed behind, his usual grin subdued by awe.

Sai and Kakashi lingered by the door, eyes respectfully low. Kakashi gave Rin a brief nod—quiet, unreadable—before turning to look at the child.

But Rin barely noticed.

Her heart still thundered with the echo of Obito’s stare.

Izumi leaned her head back against the pillows. “Have we… thought of a name?”

Itachi looked up, brow creasing. “Do you have one in mind?”

She smiled at him. “I was thinking…Yuske.”

He looked down at his son, then at her. “Yusuke,” he repeated softly. “Yes. That’s his name.”

The room erupted in soft murmurs of agreement and joy.

The fire crackled low in the hearth. The candles flickered like stars. And in that moment, there was no war, no politics, no sorrow—only family, only life, only love.

A new prince had been born.

 

                           RIN

 

The night was still. Most of Akatsuki Palace had fallen into a rare hush—no strategy meetings, no scrolls being passed between commanders, no footsteps pounding in anxious rhythm. Just a peace that came from new life.

Rin sat in the quiet nursery, rocking gently in the crescent-shaped chair beside the crib. Her hands cradled the newborn boy, swaddled tight in linen and sleeping soundly in the crook of her arm.

A soft hum vibrated from her lips—a lullaby her mother used to sing.

Something old.

Something gentle.

Her voice was low, barely a whisper:

"Sleep, little firefly, hush your bright wings,
The moon will guard you 'til morning sings..."

The lantern by the wall flickered with a gentle crackle. The room was warm, glowing with the golden light of oil and love. A faint scent of lavender clung to the air, soothing and clean.

She rocked slowly, instinctively, letting the gentle sway settle her own heart.

Rin looked down at the baby in her arms—Itachi and Izumi’s second son—and her heart ached in the most beautiful way.

His fingers were so small, his chest rose and fell with perfect innocence.

For a moment, she let herself imagine what it might feel like to hold a child of her own. A child with Obito’s hair. A child who looked at her with his eyes.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

She didn’t hear the door open.

“You have a beautiful voice,” came a soft voice behind her.

Rin’s eyes snapped open.

She turned.

"Touching, really."

Jun stood in the doorway, shrouded in shadow, her arms folded casually over her silk robes. Her expression was unreadable, but there was something cruel curling at the corner of her lips.

"Didn’t mean to interrupt your maternal performance," Jun said, strolling in uninvited, eyes flicking toward the sleeping infant.

Rin rose to her feet slowly, adjusting the baby against her chest. Her voice was quiet but firm.

“What are you doing here?” Rin’s voice was low, guarded.

Jun tilted her head, taking slow steps into the room. “I couldn’t sleep. I heard there was a new addition to the family. Thought I’d see the little prince for myself.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“You shouldn’t be in here. This nursery is for family”. Rin said sharply.

Jun raised her eyebrows. “And you think that includes you?”

Rin didn’t answer. She rocked the baby gently in her arms, unwilling to raise her voice and disturb him.

Jun’s eyes dropped to the bundle, then flicked up to Rin’s face.

“They say you and Obito went to Kumogakure together… quite the romantic desert escape, wasn’t it?”

Rin said nothing.

Jun took another step, her voice dropping lower. “They say you spoke to the Forgotten One. Face to face. I’m curious... what did it show you?”

Rin's grip on the child tightened. “That’s none of your business.”

Jun smirked.

“You’re right. But I do wonder… did it show you what happens to the last female jinchuriki?”

Silence.

Jun leaned in, her voice a whisper now. “It devoured her. Tore her apart in front of her mate. They say, she too was pregnant. And he—he was so protective, poor fool. Just like him.”

Her voice dipped into mocking, low and cruel: “So protective.”

Rin’s voice, when it came, was steel. “You talk too much for someone so irrelevant.”

Jun blinked, caught off guard.

She opened her mouth, but the sound of the door slamming open cut her off.

Obito stepped into the nursery, still in his black leathers, his presence a storm against the soft glow of the room.

His eyes locked on Jun.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice was ice.

Jun gave a slow smile, tilting her head. “Just visiting.”

“Get out,” Obito said, voice low and dangerous. His Sharingan flared in his eye, burning red. “Now.”

Jun’s smile faltered.

She glanced at Rin, then at the baby, and offered a last, bitter smirk before slipping past him.

The door shut behind her with a soft click.

Obito exhaled hard and turned to Rin.

She was still holding the baby, arms tense, gaze distant.

He moved closer. “Are you okay? What did she say?”

Rin hesitated, then nodded once. “She asked about the Forgotten One. And then she said something…” Her voice was quieter now, confused. “She told me that it once devoured a jinchuriki in front of her mate. And she said… ‘He was so protective. Just like him.’”

Obito went utterly still.

The Forgotten One had said those exact words to him—and only to him.

Obito’s blood ran cold.

His mind reeled. But he forced the questions away for now.

Later.

He’d deal with it later.

“I’m fine now,” she said quietly. “He’s okay too.”

Obito glanced at the baby, blinking up sleepily in her arms. “He’s perfect.”

She smiled. “He is.”

He stood beside her, his hands awkward at his sides.

“You want to hold him?” she asked.

Obito recoiled slightly. “No, no. I—I don’t hold newborns.”

Rin raised a brow.

“I didn’t even hold Yuri until he was almost a toddler. Like—eighteen months.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not.”

“Obito,” she said, stepping closer, “he’s just a baby.”

He shook his head. “He’s so small. What if I drop him?”

“You won’t.”

“I could.”

“You won’t.” She smiled, warm and stubborn. “You held a sword before you held a spoon. You can hold a baby.”

He blinked. “That’s not reassuring.”

She stepped close again, gently taking one of his large hands and guiding it beneath the baby. “Here. Like this. Support the head.”

Obito’s breath hitched as the baby settled into his arms. The tiny weight, warm and soft, felt like nothing—and everything.

The baby stirred, little fingers curling around Obito’s leather strap.

His heart skipped.

Rin watched him, her expression unreadable.

“You’re doing fine,” she whispered.

Obito stared down, completely transfixed.

The moment stretched.

Grew heavier.

He looked up at Rin, and in the low candlelight, she looked so beautiful—barefoot, tired, radiant. A mother without being one. The memory of that boy—their boy—lingered behind her eyes.

“I know the Forgotten One showed you a boy, but…” Obito’s voice caught, gravel-soft. “Do you want children, love?”

Rin’s breath hitched. She looked down at the baby still tucked against his chest, then back at him. “I do,” she said quietly. “Maybe two or three. And you?”

The baby gave a soft cry, stirring in his arms. Obito instinctively reached out, his hands gentle as he rocked the child. Rin leaned in, murmuring a soothing hush against the baby’s ear, and together they eased him back into slumber.

Obito’s gaze lingered on the tiny, sleeping face. Then he looked up at her.

“As many as you’d give me, lamb,” he whispered.

Her lips parted—just slightly, like she was breathing in the moment.

Their eyes locked, and in that space between them, something unspoken surged. It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t fear. It was something deeper. A raw, aching want braided with tenderness and promise.

Obito leaned in.

Slow. Unhurried. As though giving her the chance to stop it—though he knew she wouldn’t.

Rin’s breath caught, but she didn’t move away. Her lashes fluttered, her heart a war drum beneath her ribs.

And then, he kissed her.

Softly.

Reverently.

As if the world had gone quiet just to hold this one sacred moment.

Her hand lifted—uncertain at first—then found his jaw, rough with the unshaven scrape of travel and exhaustion. Her thumb brushed along the coarse edge of stubble, anchoring herself to him as she kissed him back.

And there, in the candlelit hush of the nursery, surrounded by lullabies and the scent of milk and cedarwood, two hearts trembled in sync.

Not with doubt.

But with hope.

 

                                                                                                 BENEATH THE MOONLESS SKY

 

Beneath the grand estate of Akatsuki Land, far below the polished marble floors and the candlelit corridors, there was a door that did not exist on any map.

A door with no lock, no handle—only a seam in the stone where one might mistake shadow for structure.

But tonight, that door yawned open.

Three figures descended into the dark.

The stairwell was narrow and slick with ancient moisture, the stone walls breathing cold against their skin. No torches lit their way, yet they moved with ease—as if they had walked this path many times before.

Their cloaks swept the ground like whispers.

Far below, at the end of the stairwell, a chamber pulsed with faint red light.

He waited there.

The man in the cloak was not one of them. His clothes were caked in desert dust, and he smelled of iron and blood and something older. He did not speak when they entered. He only turned his head slightly, revealing a pale, bone-carved mask that covered his face entirely save for a
slit where his mouth might have been.

"You were told not to contact us here," the middle figure said—sharper than the others, though none dared raise their voice. "It's dangerous."

"You were told," the masked man rasped, "to obey. And yet you question."

A silence followed. Heavy. Tense.

The tallest of the three stepped forward, voice honeyed and calm.

"We only meant to keep the kingdom unaware. The walls here have ears."

The masked man turned to a stone table in the center of the chamber. A scroll lay there sealed with wax in the shape of a twisted tree.

“From Father,” he said, tapping it with one gloved finger. “His will.”

The smallest figure among them—a girl with a graceful, practiced stillness—reached for the scroll. Her hands did not tremble, though her breath caught when her fingers touched the seal.

“What does he want?” she asked.

“To accelerate,” the man answered. “The jinchuriki girl is blooming faster than expected. Her bond with the heir threatens the plan.”

“She’s nothing,” the sharper voice hissed. “She’s only a girl.”

“She’s more than that now,” the man said. “She has spoken the Forgotten One. Heard its voice.”

That sent a ripple through them. The smallest figure lowered her hand from the scroll.

“And what of the boy?” the tallest asked. “The heir?”

“He is in love,” the masked man said simply, with venom in his tone. “That will be his ruin Fathers plan.”

A soft chuckle passed between the figures.

“We can use that,” one whispered. “Love makes fools of even the sharpest minds.”

The masked man inclined his head. “Then begin. Tonight. Plant doubt. Feed it. When the time comes, the kingdom will fall not from sword or fire—but from rot within the walls.”

“And when it does?” the tallest asked.

“Then the tree shall bloom again.”

They bowed their heads. Not to him—but to the message. To the Father who sent it.

“Tell him,” the softest voice said, almost reverent, “we are faithful. We are patient. And we are ready.”

The masked man turned and vanished through the stone wall without a sound.

And the three traitors remained behind for a moment longer, standing in a triangle around the scroll like worshippers at an altar.

They did not touch one another, yet they were bound—by blood, by secrets, by an oath no light would ever sanctify.

Their plan was no longer merely a betrayal.

It was their prophecy.

 

 

                                                                              OBITO

 

“Are you sure you saw her?”

Obito’s voice was low, hard-edged with something colder than anger—certainty wrapped in suspicion.

Shisui didn’t answer right away. He sat at the long obsidian table, forearms braced on the surface, eyes narrowed in thought.

Around him, the war room buzzed softly with the flicker of candlelight and the hum of late-night tension.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” Shisui said, finally. “It was just a flash of movement. A figure with long hair, too far to make out clearly. I thought I imagined it.”

“But now?” Obito pressed.

Shisui’s jaw clenched. “Now, I’m certain. After you told me what Rin said—I realized I’d seen her that same night. The words… they match.”

At the head of the table, King Fugaku remained silent, his gaze sharp beneath the weight of his crown. Beside him stood General Tenma, his expression tight, and General Ryou with his arms crossed in quiet fury.

Minato leaned forward, the soft golden strands of his hair glinting in the candlelight, eyes attentive and calculating.

Commander Shien stood in the shadows near the windows, arms folded, his presence like a blade waiting to be drawn.

Tsubaki sat near the center of the table, her sharingan eyes flickering from anger, catching every nuance, every breath.

“Let’s go over it again,” Itachi said, his voice steady. “Everything the Forgotten One said. All of it.”

Obito nodded. “It didn’t speak plainly. Not once. Only riddles. But some of the words—‘so protective’… ‘just like him’—were spoken to me directly. Alone. And that’s what she repeated to Rin tonight. The exact same phrasing.”

Sasuke leaned forward, frowning. “You’re saying someone else heard what the Forgotten One said to you alone?”

Obito gave a slow nod. “Which means either the Forgotten One lied to me... or someone is closer to it than we realized.”

A sharp silence followed, broken only by the soft creak of the torchwood above.

“I don’t like this,” Minato muttered. “If even one of them has been in contact with that creature… everything could be compromised.”

King Fugaku raised a hand, voice deep and unyielding. “We still don’t name them. Not yet.”

Obito agreed. “We don’t reveal anything. Not until, we’re sure. No accusations without proof.”

Tsubaki nodded slowly. “Then we trap them. Draw them out. Whoever it is—they’re bold. Arrogant. They’ll slip.”

“We’ll need your help,” Obito said, his sharingan meeting her gaze. “To investigate. Discreetly. Interrogate when needed. Follow threads others might miss. Just like good old days.”

Tsubaki’s sharingan eyes gleamed with familiar sharpness.

“I’ll need full access,” she replied. “Servants. Guards. Records. No one will know what I’m doing.”

Her lips curled into a sly smile. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the fun.”

“You’ll have it,” King Fugaku said.

“And Jericho?” Sasuke asked. “Think he might have anything?”

Obito’s lips twitched into a grim smile. “If there’s anyone who knows which shadows are whispering, it’s Jericho. I’ll send a raven.”

“Or” Naruto cut in, grinning, “you could send us.”

Obito arched a brow. “You’re volunteering?”

Naruto shrugged with mock innocence. “What? It just so happens that Saint Bellanu is on the way to the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows…”

Shisui chuckled. “You’re hopeless.”

“It’s called romance, thank you very much.”

Minato sighed but smiled fondly at his son’s antics.

Obito gave a nod. “Fine. You and Sai will leave by dawn. Visit Jericho first. Then you can visit your princess.”

Naruto pumped a fist silently, already imagining Hinata’s smile. Sai blinked slowly beside him, already calculating flight logistics.

As the candle flames danced higher, the war table fell into quieter conversations—strategies whispered, suspicions tightened.

Outside, the moon rose high over the palace, casting long shadows through the arched windows.

And beneath those shadows, the brothers of Akatsuki Land planned not for war… but for revelation.

A storm was coming.

 

                                                                          NARUTO

 

Dawn broke over the palace, its light soft and golden across the spires of Akatsuki Land. The sky was clear, and the desert wind was unusually calm—as if the world itself had granted them safe passage for what was to come.

Naruto stood at the edge of the courtyard, adjusting the straps on his gear while grinning like a fool. “Sai, hurry up, will you? The sooner we get to Bellanu, the sooner we get back. You know… for reasons.”

Sai, ever calm, glanced up from his scrolls and inkbrushes as he finished sealing them away into his travel pouch. “You mean Hinata.”

Naruto flushed. “What—no. I mean yes. But also, the mission. We’re doing something important; you know.”

Sai smirked faintly. “You’ve mentioned her seven times in the last ten minutes. Are you planning to give her a mission report or a bouquet?”

Naruto’s ears burned. “Both.”

They mounted Sai’s Super Beast scroll, the ink transforming into a massive bird with gleaming wings and sharp talons. With a gust of wind and a thunderclap of wings, they soared into the sky.

Below, Obito watched from a high balcony, arms crossed, his crimson Sharingan eyes glowing softly as, as the bird vanished into the clouds.

Tsubaki joined him silently, her own Sharingan narrowed in thought. “They’ll be safe,” she said.

“They’d better be,” Obito muttered, though his tone softened. “Naruto may be an idiot, but he’s, our idiot. And Sai’s sharp. Jericho will know something—we need answers.”

 

                                                         NARUTO

 

The desert and plains blurred beneath them in rippling heat and dashes of green farmland. They flew in long, measured silences, broken only by Naruto’s excited ramblings.

Naruto leaned back against the beast’s spine, wind whipping through his hair.

He looked toward the east, toward the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows.

Soon, he was going to see his princess soon.

“I wonder if Hinata’s wearing the moonstone pendant I sent her. Or if she braided her hair the way she said she would. Or if—”

“Naruto.”

“What?”

Sai pointed ahead. “We’re approaching the border of Saint Bellanu. Quiet now.”

Saint Bellanu shimmered in the distance like a dream. A city of knowledge, secrets, and shadows.

They turned down an alley barely wide enough for two men to walk side by side. Ahead, nestled between a collapsed apothecary and a burnt-out tailor’s shop, stood The Drunken Deity Tavern—a place Obito had warned them was “safe, as long as you never ask for water.”

The Drunken Deity Tavern smelled like spilled whiskey, pipe smoke, and the kind of danger that clung to the walls long after the bodies were dragged out.

The floor was sticky. The air thick. Somewhere in the corner, a bard tuned a cracked lute with two broken strings.

Naruto wrinkled his nose as they entered, but Sai didn’t even blink. His eyes swept the room in a slow, methodical scan—every window, every door, every face—and landed with precision on the man seated in the shadowed corner booth.

Naruto tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “This place gives me the creeps and this place is disgusting."

“Good,” Sai replied calmly, his eyes sweeping the shadows. “It means you’re finally learning to pay attention.”

Sai whispered to Naruto. “Far corner. Back booth. Alone. Face too clean for this place.”

Naruto nodded and followed him.

They moved toward the farthest booth tucked beneath a warped lantern. Jericho sat with one boot propped on the bench, his coat draped like a ragged curtain, a dagger lazily spinning between his fingers.
Jericho looked exactly how Obito had described them. Roguishly handsome, he looked up, one eye cloudy, the other sharp enough to flay a man. He wore a tattered coat that hung heavy with dust and secrets.
Without a word, Naruto marched up and dropped a leather pouch on the table with a heavy thud. Gold coins spilled from the loose drawstring.

“From Obito,” he said. “He said to get straight to business.”
"Well, well. So, the wolf prince sends pups now. Cute.” As he reached for the coin pouch.

Sai sat beside Naruto, calm and blank-faced. “Obito said to skip pleasantries,” he said, “He needs information.”

Jericho chuckled. “He always does.”

He leaned forward, his breath reeking of cinnamon and alcohol. "Tell your prince I miss his brooding. What do you want?"

Naruto crossed his arms. "Traitor. Mimics. Forgotten One. And anything you've heard about Father."

The room felt colder at the name.

At the mention of that name, Jericho’s smirk dropped. He leaned forward slowly, lowering his voice.

“There are whispers,” he said. “Odd movements in the eastern ports. A shipment of something unnatural arrived a fortnight ago—sealed crates, guarded by masked men. No insignia. The locals said the air around the ship felt… wrong.”

He took another sip.

“I’ve got men watching. But whoever this ‘Father’ is, he’s careful. Always two steps ahead. Leaves nothing behind but questions and silence.”

Sai leaned in slightly, tone quiet but firm. “Then we’ll need to be louder than his silence.”

Naruto grinned. “And faster than his two steps.”

The candles flickered as someone opened the tavern door briefly. A shadow slipped in, but Jericho didn’t look up.

“My little birdies are also chirping that this ‘Father’ is recruiting,” Jericho said, swirling the amber liquid in his chipped glass. “Soldiers. Mercenaries. Word is, he’s got deep pockets—pays in gold.”

Sai’s voice cut through the haze like a blade. “Then why haven’t you sold your services to him?”

Jericho grinned, slow and sharp. “Because I’m a loyal mutt, see? And this old dog still fetches bones for Obito.”

He tipped his glass back with a wink that didn’t quite reach his scarred eye.

“They’re accelerating,” Jericho said without preamble. “Whoever the traitors are… they’ve received another message from the Forgotten One’s network. I couldn’t trace it fully—it came from somewhere beneath the western cliffs, near Akatsuki territory.”

Naruto stiffened. “So close?”

Jericho nodded grimly.

“They’re planning something. And they’re not working alone.”

He passed Sai a sealed scroll, laced with wax and an unfamiliar sigil.

“This came through an intercepted courier. It’s in a cipher I haven’t cracked yet.”

Sai slipped it into his satchel. “We’ll get this to Obito.”

Jericho leaned back. “There’s more. A name surfaced—something whispered in an abandoned temple beneath Bellanu. The ‘Child of Light.’ A title. Perhaps a person. Perhaps a code.”

Naruto and Sai exchanged a glance.

“Do you know who it could be?” Naruto asked.

Jericho shrugged. "If I did, I'd charge you a thousand times this coin or I'd already be dead.”

Sai didn’t move to leave. His gaze lingered on a figure across the tavern—a man nursing a drink, back too straight for a drunkard, watching them from the reflection of a brass wall sconce.

“Someone’s listening,” Sai murmured to Naruto without moving his lips.

Naruto didn’t flinch. “Let them.”

Jericho stood. "Tell Obito to watch his back and to check the stones beneath his feet. The rot doesn't rise. It creeps."

And with that, he disappeared into the smoke.

Naruto stood to leave, but Sai lingered, eyes scanning the room one last time. A man at the bar had been nursing the same drink for far too long. Another slipped out the front door with barely a whisper.

“We’re being watched,” Sai said as they exited. “Two sets of footsteps behind us. Different pacing.”

Naruto nodded. “Let’s not lead them home.”

The rain had returned without warning—cold, needle-fine, and sharp as regret. It fell from a sky bruised in shades of purple and ash, hissing against the rooftops, stitching silver lines across the slick cobblestones.

It dripped from the eaves like the ticking of an unseen clock, each drop landing with eerie intent. The kind of rain that made the air feel too still—too silent.

Forgotten.

Haunted.

Sai’s voice cut through the silence. “We’re being followed.”

Naruto didn’t even blink. “Yeah. Three... no, four sets of footsteps. At least one on the roof.”

“Five,” Sai corrected, eyes narrowing. “Two flanking. One high. One behind.”

They turned down a side alley, slipping into a narrow passage between broken walls and shuttered shops. Rainwater pooled in uneven cobblestones, reflecting lanternlight like shards of glass.

Sai caught a flicker of movement.

“Above!” he barked, shoving Naruto hard.

A blade hissed through the air where Naruto’s throat had just been. It struck a post behind them, splintering wood like paper.

Then they came—shadows peeling from rooftops and alleys, cloaked figures in black and bone-white masks painted with jagged obsidian patterns.

No insignias.

No words.

Until one stepped forward.

“Come quietly, boy.” the voice rasped, distorted by the mask. “And your companion lives.”

“Yeah?” Naruto cracked his knuckles. “Then I guess you're out of luck.”

“The gods smile upon us,” the masked man said, voice hushed with reverence—as if he were beholding a divine weapon rather than a boy.

“We never expected to find the Nine-Tails jinchuriki… here, in Saint Bellanu.”

He took a step forward, head tilting ever so slightly.

“You’re just as the whispers described. The golden one. Eyes like wildfire. Power of the nine-tail fox and his fury in your blood. The weight of the beast in your gaze.”

Naruto froze. “How the hell do you know I’m the Nine-Tails jinchuriki?” Eyes narrowed, the hair on his neck rising. “That’s not common knowledge.”

The masked man chuckled—low, cold.

He tilted his head, as if studying a sacred relic. “You’re even more radiant than the whispers described.”

There was a flicker in Sai’s eyes—subtle, calculating. “What did you say?”

The masked man didn’t respond.

Sai’s eyes narrowed. “What whispers?”

Still no answer.

Sai’s voice dropped a shade colder. “You didn’t guess his identity. You knew it. And not from records. From description.”

Naruto’s expression darkened. “You mean someone from our side.”

Before he could charge, one of the masked attackers lunged from the side—silent, fast, precise.

Naruto turned just in time, but the blade sliced across his ribs, drawing a crimson line beneath his cloak.

“Don’t kill him!” another snapped. “Father needs the jinchuriki alive for the ritual!”

Naruto’s eyes widened, not from pain—but rage. “Ritual? You psychos working for that fucking freak too?”

Sai was already moving, twin tanto drawn. He slid low, slicing into the calf of one attacker before flipping backward, narrowly avoiding a thrown dagger laced with poison.

Three enemies surrounded them now. One behind Sai, two trying to pin Naruto to the alley wall. Another figure dropped from the roof, landing with a splash between the two of them, blades drawn and glowing faintly with some eerie enchantment.

Sai moved like shadow—silent, efficient, elegant. One attacker lunged and Sai caught him mid-strike, driving a blade into the soft spot beneath the arm. Blood sprayed across the alley wall.

Naruto fought like a wildfire let loose—fast, reckless, and devastating. Twin daggers flashed in his hands, carving arcs of silver through the rain-slicked air. Every strike was brutal; one blade sank into a throat, the other slashed across a ribcage. He moved with instinct and rage,

kicking off a crumbling barrel and vaulting over a stunned attacker.

He caught two assassins in a single motion—one with a dagger to the gut, the other with a rising uppercut that cracked bone and sent the man flying into a brick wall.

The impact shattered the plaster, knocking loose a crooked rain pipe and sending tiles crashing from the roof above.

The masks cracked. A sliver of pale, bloodied skin beneath.

But the rest kept coming. One swung a sickle toward Sai’s back—Naruto blocked it with a swirling Rasengan, the force blasting the weapon into pieces.

“They’re not fighting to win,” Sai said, ducking under a swipe. “They’re trying to delay us. Tire us out.”

Naruto’s eyes gleamed with fury, rain streaking his face as he gripped a broken dagger in each fist. “Then let’s end this fast.”

With a snarl, he launched himself forward—not upward, but straight into the nearest attacker. His shoulder crashed into the man’s chest, driving him backward into a stack of rotted crates that exploded in splinters. As another enemy lunged in, Naruto twisted and flung one of his daggers. It buried itself hilt-deep in the man’s thigh, sending him toppling with a scream.

Sai moved like a ghost beside him—no wasted motion, just cold precision. Two slashes opened one attacker’s arm and side, and a sharp upward elbow knocked the man into a wall, dazed. Sai swept low, knocked another’s legs out from under him, and landed a brutal kick to the temple.

The masked figure slumped, unmoving.

Naruto turned, panting, knuckles scraped and bleeding—but his eyes still burned with fire and defiance.

The last attacker staggered backward, blood streaming from his mask. He clawed toward the wall, hand slick with crimson.

He slapped his palm against the seal.

A burst of smoke.

Gone.

Only silence remained, broken by Naruto’s breathing and the swing of a broken lantern overhead. Blood mixed with the rain, running in rivulets between the cobblestones.

The figure vanished in a burst of black mist, leaving behind only a symbol etched into the wall in blood: a crooked sun with jagged teeth.

Naruto cursed. "That’s not good."

Sai crouched, already copying the symbol into his notebook.

"We report to Obito. And show this to Tsubaki."

Naruto stared at the blood symbol. It pulsed faintly.

"Whoever Father is... he knows we're looking." Sai said.

Naruto wiped rain and blood from his brow, scanning the rooftops. “That wasn’t random. That was a coordinated hit.”

“They underestimated us,” Sai said.

“They won’t next time,” Naruto replied grimly.

Naruto looked up at the night sky, the rain falling harder now, masking their retreat.

They vanished into the dark.

The crooked sun bled in silence behind them.

Chapter 18: NARUTO/SAI/The Mourning Prophet

                                                                  NARUTO

 

The sky had deepened to a lavender haze as Naruto and Sai soared over the mist-veiled mountains, the glowing lanterns of the capital city below flickering like a thousand fireflies caught in glass.

The Kingdom of Stars and Shadows shimmered beneath them—ancient temples with sweeping roofs, willow trees bowing in the breeze, gardens of lotus and plum blossom stretching like whispered poetry through every courtyard.

The palace, nestled atop a lake-cradled hill, glowed in gold and blue, a palace built with starlight in mind. Graceful bridges arched over still water, koi darting beneath their shadows.

“It’s more beautiful than I imagined,” Naruto breathed, eyes wide.

Sai nodded but said nothing. He had never been to this kingdom before either, yet he felt the stillness of it settle in his chest—a hush that demanded reverence.

The guards shift uneasily as a scroll-bird lands with the Uchiha royal seal.

The moment their feet touched the polished stones of the palace’s front courtyard, attendants in soft blue robes appeared with bows and gentle words, welcoming them in the name of Emperor Hiashi Hyuga.

They were escorted toward the guest wing, but Naruto, ever impatient, grinned and leaned toward one of the guards. “Hey, is Hinata around?”

The guard gave a small bow. “Princess Hinata is in the lotus gardens with Lady Ino. Shall I inform them of your arrival?”

“Nah,” Naruto waved. “Surprise is better.”

Sai didn’t speak, but something in the name Ino gave him pause. He’d heard it before.

A friend of Hinata’s.

Daughter of Lord Inoichi Yamanaka—the emperor’s closest confidant.

They found the girls beneath the weeping branches of a moonlit tree, sitting on silken mats with porcelain teacups between them. Hinata looked up first and brightened, her smile soft and radiant.

“Ino,” she whispered, nudging her.

The blonde turned lazily—then froze mid-laugh, her fan still half-open before her lips.

Her eyes landed on Sai with practiced indifference, but something in her posture sharpened.

But Sai had not expected her to be—

—so beautiful.

Naruto laughed loudly and ran to Hinata, arms open. “Told you I’d come visit!”

Hinata rose to meet him, blushing and brushing invisible dust from her sleeves.

Their reunion was sweet, quiet, shy.

Naruto didn’t slow down. He reached her in a few strides, sweeping her into a warm hug that lifted her feet slightly off the ground. The scent of wind and smoke clung to his black fighting leathers, the dark fabric still creased from travel.

When he set her down, his hands lingered at her waist. She looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted in a breathless smile.

Hinata’s heart fluttered. She barely had time to answer before Naruto leaned in, his forehead brushing hers— and then, before either of them could overthink it, Naruto leaned in and kissed her.

It was soft and clumsy, sweet and full of unspoken longing. Her fingers curled against the edge of his collar, and for a heartbeat, the world around them melted away.

Sai, meanwhile, remained where he was—silent as ever.

Ino stood slowly, smoothing her jade-green robes. Her long hair, tied back with a ribbon the color of dawn, shimmered under the lanterns.

She approached Sai with a measured grace.

“You must be Sai,” she said at last, voice as smooth as silk and twice as sharp. “The quiet one who always draws.”

Sai tilted his head. “How do you know I draw?”

She smiled—cunning and sly.

“Hinata talks. And I… listen.”

Sai blinked, unsure how to respond.

“And you must be Lord Inoichi Yamanaka youngest daughter, Lady Ino Yamanaka.”

Her beauty wasn’t soft like Hinata’s.

It was Sunfire. Sharp edges and moonlit danger. Her gaze was direct, unafraid of silence.

“You stare,” she added, arching a brow.

“I was admiring the color of your eyes,” he replied bluntly. “They remind me of wisteria petals, just before they fall.”

Ino blinked. Her fan twitched.

Hinata stifled a laugh.

“Well,” Ino said, recovering, “flattery won’t get you very far with me.”

“I wasn’t flattering you,” Sai said. “It was an observation.”

She smiled wider but gave him her back. “Then observe from a distance, artist.”

Naruto watched the exchange, blinking between them. “Did… something just happen?”

Hinata smiled, curled against the edge of his leather collar. “I think it did.”

Naruto blinked. “Did what?”

She didn’t answer, just looked at him with that same gentle warmth that always made his chest tighten—like she saw something in him no one else did.

A soft chime rang in the distance—delicate and musical. One of the servants approached with a small bow.

“Princess Hinata, Lady Ino—lunch is ready. You may dine in the jasmine courtyard if you wish. The breeze is favorable.”

Hinata turned to Naruto, her smile still lingering. “Would you like to join us?”

He lit up instantly. “Would I? Gods, yes please! I’m starving!”

Ino glanced over her shoulder, catching Sai’s gaze lingering a moment too long. Her eyes narrowed—not with discomfort, but with mild intrigue.

She turned back toward the path, her fan snapping shut with a flick of her wrist.

A beat passed.

Then she said lightly, over her shoulder, “Are you coming or not?”

Sai blinked. “…Yes.”

He followed, silently, still watching the sway of her silk robes as if committing it to memory.

Naruto whispered, “He’s totally staring.”

Hinata just smiled.

The courtyard was a dream painted in marble and pale sunlight. Archways framed with creeping jasmine vines curved overhead, and a koi pond shimmered beside them, mirroring the sway of parasols held by silent attendants.

The air carried the soft perfume of citrus and honeysuckle.

A low table was set beneath the flowering boughs of a cherry tree, its surface laid with lacquered trays: rice wrapped in lotus leaves, pale dumplings shaped like blossoms, steaming bowls of bone broth laced with wild herbs, and pitchers of chilled plum juice glistening with
condensation.

They settled onto embroidered cushions around the table. Naruto wasted no time—he reached for a dumpling and popped it into his mouth whole.

Hinata laughed softly. “You’re supposed to admire it first.”

“I am admiring it,” he said around a full mouth. “Admiring it straight into my stomach.”

Sai took a more measured approach, selecting a slice of fruit and tasting it without expression. He chewed slowly, his posture upright, his gaze drifting across the table—but never far from Ino, though he didn’t speak.

Ino noticed, of course. She always noticed.

But she said nothing, only sipped her juice and let the silence breathe between them.

“You don’t talk much,” she said eventually, her tone light, but her eyes curious.

“I talk when there’s something worth saying,” Sai replied without looking at her.

Ino arched a brow. “And was there something worth saying earlier? When you called my eyes wisteria?”

Sai turned his gaze to her, unflinching. “Yes. It made you pause.”

Her lips quirked. “You’re not very good at this.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

For a moment, they simply stared at one another.

Ino’s expression unreadable.

Sai’s completely calm.

Then she gave a low, bemused hum and returned to her tea.

“Impossible,” she muttered.

Across the table, Naruto leaned closer to Hinata, lowering his voice. “Sorry I didn’t send word ahead. We left Saint Bellanu in a hurry. I wasn’t sure we’d even get a chance to come here…”

“But you did,” Hinata said softly. Her eyes met his. “And I’m glad.”

There was something in her voice—something shy but sure. Her fingers played with the edge of her sleeve; eyes downcast for a moment before flicking back up to him.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he whispered.

For a little while, they all sat in that suspended moment—sharing warmth, quiet glances, and the kind of stillness that only lives between chaos.

Sai drank quietly.

Observed.

And said nothing more.

But he didn’t stop watching her.

Hinata’s voice broke the quiet.

“So… what was Saint Bellanu like?”

Naruto blinked, then smiled.

“Cold. And full of scams and scholars. They talk a lot. Like, a lot a lot.”

Ino smirked. “Sounds dreadful.”

Sai shook his head. “It was orderly. Efficient. Peaceful in its own way.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” Ino said, turning her gaze to him directly.

“I did,” Sai replied evenly. “You asked what it was like.”

Naruto cleared his throat. “There were some weird rumors floating around. Nothing worth repeating.”

Hinata tilted her head. “Nothing at all?”

Sai met her gaze. “Not that concerns your kingdom.”

A pause stretched between them.

“Fair enough,” Hinata said, smiling gently. “I suppose if it did, we’d hear about it from my father.”

“Or mine,” Ino added, voice like a thread of silk.

Naruto changed the subject quickly.

“But the food there was terrible. This is my first time trying the dumplings here, and gods—they live up to the legend.”

Hinata blushed faintly. “You like them?”

“I don’t like them, I love them.” he said.

Sai looked down into his teacup.

Ino caught the shift in mood and leaned slightly forward.

“And what about your journey back?” she asked, tone casual. “Any strange encounters on the road?”

“Only Sai talking in his sleep,” Naruto muttered. “Apparently I’m in his dreams, too.”

“I was not dreaming,” Sai corrected. “I was calculating possible outcomes aloud. You snore too loudly for dreaming.”

Ino laughed. It was brief, surprising even herself.

Naruto chuckled. “You see what I’ve been dealing with?”

“I think I like him,” Ino said, still smiling.

Sai blinked. “That’s inefficient.”

“No,” she said, “that’s honest.”

A rustle of silk and the soft rhythm of boots on stone announced a new arrival.

They turned as Prince Neji stepped into the courtyard, fresh from training. His hair was damp, tied back in a low ribbon, and his tunic bore the faint creases of disciplined movement—swordplay, perhaps, or one of the palace’s elite martial forms.

“Ladies,” Neji said with a nod, his voice composed as ever. “Gentlemen.”

“Brother,” Hinata greeted, offering a warm smile. “Won’t you join us?”

“Gladly, Sister,” Neji replied, lowering himself with practiced grace onto an open cushion beside Ino. A servant appeared without a word, pouring tea into his cup with flawless precision.

“You missed Sai insulting Naruto’s dreams,” Ino said dryly, lifting her own cup with a smirk.

“Correction,” Sai interjected. “I was simply clarifying the limits of reality.”

Neji chuckled softly, lifting his tea. “I didn’t realize Naruto was expected, Hinata.”

“She wasn’t,” Naruto said before Hinata could answer. “Sai and I were coming back from Saint Bellanu. I thought I’d surprise her.”

He reached under the low table, fingers brushing gently against Hinata’s hand.

Hinata’s blush deepened, but she smiled and squeezed his fingers back.

“It was a lovely surprise.”

Neji’s lips curved faintly. “As riveting as that sounds, I wanted to ask—will you both be joining the Uchiha royals for the royal wedding in the Kingdom of Fire?”

Naruto blinked. “Prince Asuma and Lady Kurenai?”

Neji nodded. “The invitations are being sent soon. The ceremony will be held near the Fire Plains Temple. I hear the Akatsuki royal family is attending in full.”

Naruto glanced at Sai. “Well, I mean… we haven’t heard much about it yet. It’s a few months away, right?”

“Roughly,” Neji replied. “But it’s expected to be a major political event. A chance for many nations to show face.”

“It depends on our orders,” Sai said calmly.

“Well, we shall cross that bridge when the day comes.” Neji says. “I’m going hunting in the next upcoming days, would you gentlemen like to join me and my party?”

Naruto opened his mouth to answer with excitement, but Sai answered first “We’re only on a short stop here.”

“Well,” Neji said with a composed smile, “we shall cross that bridge when the day comes. I’m planning a hunting excursion in the coming days—would you gentlemen care to join my party?”

Naruto lit up, already opening his mouth to accept with enthusiasm.

“We’re only making a short stop here,” Sai cut in calmly, beating him to it. Naruto frowned slightly. “Right…”

Naruto’s shoulders slumped. “He always does that,” he muttered.

Sai looked at him. “Obito is expecting us to return soon. He said not to linger. We’re still needed back home.”

Naruto gave a soft sigh. “Yeah, I know. I mean, it’s our first time here. I wanted to see more of it, take it in a little longer.”

Hinata’s expression dimmed slightly. “You only just arrived.”

“I know,” Naruto said, softer. “But duty doesn’t wait.”

Neji sipped his tea, watching them all with his usual, unreadable calm. “Even so, perhaps you’ll have time to return before the wedding. The stars change quickly.”

Sai nodded once but didn’t say anything.

 

                                     

 

                                                           SAI

 

Later that evening, Sai sat alone beneath the curved eaves of a quiet veranda, half-hidden behind silk drapes that swayed gently in the warm night breeze.

The palace garden beyond was bathed in silver—moonlight spilling across polished stones, swaying reeds, and the soft ripple of a koi pond.

Fireflies blinked lazily between the lanterns, their glow soft and rhythmic, like breath.

Sketchbook in hand, he found himself drawing her eyes.

He hadn’t meant to.

He never did.

He should have been meditating.

Or practicing his calligraphy drills.

Or anything productive, really.

But instead, he found himself staring down at his open sketchbook, pencil in hand, halfway through shading the curve of a smile he hadn’t meant to draw.

Her eyes again.

Sharp. Soft. Infuriating.

And yet… there she was. Her eyes, her mouth, the tilt of her head when she teased him.

The drawing unfolded from his hand without permission, blooming in charcoal strokes across the page like something half-remembered and half-obsessed.

“Inaccurate,” a voice chimed lightly behind him. “My lashes are longer.”

Sai startled—actually startled, heart leaping in his chest.

He hadn’t heard her approach.

He always heard people approaching. That was the point.

That was what his father, his brother, his mentors had beaten into him from the time he could walk barefoot on silent stone floors. Be aware. Always.

But somehow Ino had slipped past his guard like a breeze.

She stood behind the bench, moonlight catching the gold in her hair as she leaned in slightly to peek over his shoulder, her grin entirely too pleased.

“How long have you been there?” Sai asked flatly, still recovering from the blow to his pride.

“Long enough,” she said, eyes twinkling. “You were in a trance. I even waved. Twice.”

He closed the book quickly, pressing his palm over it.

Her grin deepened. “What, you draw all the girls like that?”

“I wasn’t—”

“Liar,” she cut in cheerfully, stepping around the bench and plopping down beside him, far too close.

“You weren’t what? Drawing me? Because that—” she reached out before he could stop her, fingers fast and practiced, and snatched the sketchbook out from under his hand “—looks a lot like my nose. And that’s definitely my braid.”

“Ino.” His voice was calm, even. But his ears were burning.

“Hmm.” She flipped through the pages with nimble fingers, pausing at another sketch. “This one’s good. I look kind of...dangerous. I like it.”

“You’re not supposed to look at those.”

“Why not?” she asked, genuinely curious. “You drew them. Isn’t that what art is for? To be seen?”

Sai didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked to the koi pond ahead, the way the moon shimmered across the water. He could feel her eyes on him.

“They’re not finished,” he said finally.

Ino didn’t buy that for a second—but she didn’t press. Instead, she resumed flipping.

One page.

Another.

A smirk at a sketch of her sticking her tongue out.

A quiet hum at one where her eyes were closed.

Then—

She stopped.

“…What the hell?”

It was like falling into a nightmare.

The sketch was darker than the others, almost violent in the way the charcoal had been dragged across the paper.

Lines twisted and spiraled in impossible ways, forming something vaguely human—if human limbs bent like insect legs and spines jutted from skin like thorns.

Its eyes—too many—were hollow pits, and its mouth was stretched in a grin that shouldn’t exist, wide enough to split the jaw. Behind it loomed something… larger. Like a throne, but made of flesh and bone, black veins crawling through it like roots through rot.

Ino stared.

The longer she looked, the harder it was to breathe.

“What is this supposed to be?” she whispered. “Why did you draw this?”

Sai looked at her. This time, he didn’t dodge the question.

“That’s what the Forgotten One showed me.”

Her skin prickled. “The… what?”

“The Forgotten One,” he said again, voice calm, as if speaking about the weather. “In the dungeons beneath Kumogakure. When we were there.”

Ino blinked hard, trying to make sense of it. “Wait. You’re serious? You saw it?”

Sai nodded.

“But—I thought that was just a myth. A creepy story they tell kids to scare them out of wandering into dark places. You’re saying it’s real?”

“I’m saying I looked it in the eye.”

Ino stared at the drawing again. “This… this is what it showed you?”

“Yes.”

She closed the book gently, her hands suddenly colder than they’d been a moment ago. “That’s horrifying.”

“I thought so too,” Sai said. “That’s why I had to draw it. So, it wouldn’t stay inside me.”

Ino looked at him sharply then—really looked at him. There was something in his eyes.

Not fear, exactly. But… residue.

Like he hadn’t fully returned from whatever that thing had whispered to him.

“…What did it say to you?”

Sai paused.

“It said I was empty. That I was a vessel waiting to be filled. That if I wasn’t careful, I would become that.”

Ino’s chest tightened. “You’re not empty.”

“You’re not the first person to say that. But he didn’t lie.”

“He’s not a he,” she snapped. “He’s a monster. A twisted thing that feeds on fear and madness and gods-know-what-else. You can’t believe something like that.”

“I don’t believe everything,” Sai said. “But I believe some of it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the garden too quiet now. Even the crickets had gone still.

“…Why me?” Ino said suddenly. “Why don’t you want me to see your drawings?”

Sai looked at her, eyes steady.

“Because when you look at them… you see more than I meant to show.”

Ino’s breath caught in her throat.

“You’re not as mysterious as you think, you know,” she said, voice softer, but not soft. “You keep drawing me like I’m some kind of puzzle, but maybe you’re the one that doesn’t make sense.”

Sai didn’t reply. His expression didn’t shift.

He just looked at her with that same unreadable expression. Calm. Detached. Distant.

Like he hadn’t heard the weight in her voice at all.

Ino waited.

Waited a little longer.

Her smirk faltered. Her hand dropped away.

Ino let out a quiet scoff and stood up. “Of course. Nothing to say unless it’s drawing your monsters and pretending, they’re not part of you.”

She held out the notebook to him, her grip looser than before. “Here. Try sketching someone who wants to be looked at next time.”

Sai took it from her carefully. “I thought you said you liked the drawing.”

“I did. That’s not the problem.”

She turned, braid swinging behind her as she walked off into the darkened corridor.

He watched her go.

Then glanced down at the closed sketchbook.

Page after page of her, and still—he didn’t know what she meant.

The palace courtyard was still, its quiet serenity broken only by the rustling of silk banners and the soft shuffle of attendants seeing them off.

Stone lions stood sentinel beside the gate, their carved eyes watching as Sai adjusted the strap of his travel pack and Naruto bounced on his heels, already fidgeting with impatience.

"Could've stayed one more day," Naruto mumbled, glancing over his shoulder. “Just one.”

Sai didn’t answer. He was still staring at the paper crane tucked into his sketchbook—pressed there by a pair of pale hands the night before.

She hadn’t said much. Just smiled, sly and unreadable, before slipping the folded note into his palm and whispering, “For the next time you draw me.”

He hadn’t even realized Ino knew he’d kept drawing her.

She always did notice things he didn’t expect.

Naruto groaned dramatically, throwing his arms over his head. “Hinata didn’t even get to show me the rest of the palace gardens. And I think her dad finally stopped looking at me like I was a walking disgrace.”

“You tripped over a bonsai tree,” Sai replied dryly. “Twice.”

“It was dark!” Naruto protested. “And those little trees are dangerous, okay?”

Sai let the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Just barely.

They passed through the arched gate, the scent of blooming yuzu trees fading behind them.

Their escorts—two palace guards dressed in layered navy robes—bowed and then disappeared behind the stone doors.

Just like that, they were alone again.

Two Raven soldiers from the far west, walking the winding road back to the red mountains of Akatsuki Land.

"You think they'll be okay without us?" Naruto asked suddenly. "Hinata... Ino... Bee’s people… they’ve got the Creator locked up, but who knows for how long.”

Sai was silent for a moment, boots crunching gravel as he walked. Then: “They’re strong. Maybe stronger than us in different ways.”

Naruto glanced sideways. “You’ve been weird since we left, you know that?”

“I’m always weird,” Sai said without missing a beat.

“Yeah, but this is...like, extra weird. Did Ino say something to you?”

Sai hesitated.

“She didn’t have to,” he said finally. “She just saw more than I expected her to.”

Naruto squinted. “Is that your way of saying she got under your skin?”

Sai looked straight ahead, unmoved. “I don’t have skin.”

“Liar!” Naruto elbowed him with a grin. “She’s totally in your head. You were staring at your sketchbook all morning.”

Sai didn’t deny it.

Instead, he slowed, gaze drifting toward the horizon—where the mist was thinning into golden light.

“I didn’t know someone could feel like… a page I hadn’t drawn yet,” he murmured. “And now I can’t stop sketching what that might look like.”

Naruto blinked at him. “Okay, that’s either the most poetic or most cursed thing you’ve ever said.”

Sai shrugged. “Probably both.”

They kept walking.

“Think they missed us?” Naruto asked after a while.

Sai glanced at him. “Obito might’ve. If only so he could yell at you.”

Naruto grinned. “Yeah. Can’t wait.”

But beneath the smile, there was something quieter in both of them. A shift neither wanted to name.

Because home wasn’t the same place they’d left. Not after meeting Jericho. Not after speaking with the Forgotten One.

Not after the whispers of traitors and the weight of all they’d seen in the stars and shadows.

Still, they walked on—toward the red clouds painted on the sky.

Toward Akatsuki Land.

Toward home.

 

 

                                                               The Mourning Prophet

 

Ancient Prayer of the Hollow Temple

“Before the world was fire,
There were nine.
Nine vessels.
Nine hearts.
Nine gods chained in flesh.
They walked the earth as storms,
Wearing skin of men,
And all who feared them called them beasts—
But we called them divine.
First was the Fang.
Then came the Flame.
Then came the Mirror.
Then came the Name.
The world forgot,
But we remembered.
The gods were bound,
But we remembered.
Their rage was buried—
But we remembered.
So we bleed in their name.
So we bow to the roar.
So we carve the path
With bone and war.
Break the chains.
Feed the flame.
Raise the vessels.
Speak the name.
Let their voices rise through us—
Let the false kings fall to dust.”

The ruined temple had no bells to ring, no priests to preach, and yet the faithful gathered.

The flickering blue flames of the wall sconces cast long shadows across the cracked mosaic floor.

The temple’s once-holy murals had faded into stains. Moss covered stone saints. Water dripped from unseen cracks above, pooling quietly beneath their knees.

The inner sanctum pulsed with a sick, unyielding energy. Cracked stained glass filtered moonlight into fractured halos. Moss covered the statues of dead gods.

And yet the faithful gathered.

They came in silence, cloaked in peach and cream robes, their hoods damp with rain and time.

They knelt in a perfect circle around the altar, their foreheads lowered, hands clasped.

Then—one breath, one voice, one soul—they spoke the ancient prayer:

“Before the world was fire,
There were nine.
Nine vessels.
Nine hearts.
Nine gods chained in flesh...”

The chant filled the temple like smoke, curling into every stone and crevice. Their voices were low and rhythmic, neither rushed nor sluggish—each syllable pronounced with sacred intent. The language was old, but it flowed easily from their tongues.

This was not a prayer of mercy. It was a summoning.

As the final line echoed—*“Let the false kings fall to dust”—*the blue flames flared in the sconces, then flickered low.

And into that silence stepped Father.

Clad in black and red, his robes whispered across the wet stone floor like a shadow come to life.

Before him, laid carefully on a stone altar, were nine silver daggers. Each etched with the mark of a Tailed Beast. Each blade sharpened to a whisper.

“The stars move again,” Father said, voice low and rasping like dust through the bones of old cathedrals. And the winds carry whispers of a wedding.”

A low murmur rippled through the followers.

“The prince weds,” murmured a woman kneeling nearest the altar. Her peach hood dipped forward, hiding her mouth but not her smile.

“A celebration in the Land and Kingdom of Fire,” another hooded woman said. Her voice was husky, amused. “Nobles and generals all drunk on rose wine and false security.”

“The halls will be filled,” said another. “Generals. Nobles. Old alliances... ripe for undoing.”

“And he will be there,” came a voice from the back. “The lovebird prince.”

Father’s lip curled into something that almost resembled a smile.

“The lovebird prince, yes. Obito.”

The name was spoken like a curse. A breath of venom.

“He interfered once,” Father said, lifting one of the daggers from the altar. “He stole from our table.” The warmth in his voice chilling.

A hush followed.

“He has fire,” whispered the tall follower beside him. “But fire is a fool’s weapon. Unstable. Emotional.”

“And easily smothered,” said the woman in cream.

“And he burns for her,” whispered another.

A soft hiss of laughter wound through the chamber.

“Then let him burn.”

They all watched as Father moved in a slow, predatory circle within the ring of kneeling devotees, his black and red robes brushing the ground like the sweep of judgment.

“We will not strike yet,” he said, voice like silk wrapped around a blade. “Not until the music plays. Not until the flowers are placed, and the banners are raised, and the false joy of the wedding drowns their caution.”

He paused behind one of them—smaller than the others, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Father extended the dagger, placing it gently in her palm.

“You will attend the celebration,” he murmured, voice close to her ear, placing the dagger in their waiting hands. “As a guest. A shadow. A ghost. As a friend. As nothing at all. You will wait until I give the word.”

She bowed her head deeper. “Yes, Master.”

A murmur of assent echoed around him. Fists pressed to chests. Foreheads bowed to stone.

“And when the moment comes,” Father said, voice soft and awful, “we cut out the heart of the serpent.”

A gust of wind tore through the hollow chamber, extinguishing one of the flames. The room went darker. Colder.

“And what of the girl?” one follower dared to ask. “The one the prince burns for?”

For a moment, the only sound was the dripping water, the distant shuffle of vermin.

Then Father’s head turned slowly.

Then he smiled, “She is his weakness,” he said, almost gently. “She will come to us,” he said. “One way or another.”

No one spoke after that.

He turned back to the altar, laying his hand over the center blade.

“When the wedding bells ring,” he said softly, “the kingdom will be too busy dancing to hear the knife.”

And all around him, the followers in peach and cream pressed their foreheads to the cold stone, whispering the only vow they’d ever meant:

“Before the world was fire,

There were nine.

Nine vessels.

Nine hearts.

Nine gods chained in flesh...”

Chapter 19: OBITO/RIN

                               OBITO

 

The war room smelled of parchment, steel, and the faint bite of ink and fire. Maps were spread across the main table like open wounds—marked in red and gold pins, threads trailing from capital cities to contested borders.

A hearth crackled quietly against one wall, throwing orange light across the stone.

Obito stood at the head of the table, draped in his black fighting leathers— arms crossed behind his back.

The Uchiha crest burned embroidered across his back. Beside him sat his brothers: Shisui, arms folded with casual ease; Itachi, still and watchful; Sasuke stood, quiet in the shadows.

On the far side of the chamber, King Fugaku sat in his obsidian-carved throne, silver circlet glinting beneath the firelight.

At his right hand sat Minato—calm, composed, the king’s most trusted advisor and silent sword.

Flanking them were the kingdom’s highest-ranking generals: Haruto, Ryou, and Tenma, their dark armor marked with Uchiha crests, crimson sashes draped with silent authority.

The doors groaned open.

Naruto and Sai entered, escorted by a pair of Raven guards. Travel dust clung to their boots, and the tension of the road still echoed in their steps.

The edge of exhaustion clung to them.

“You’re late,” Shisui said lightly, ever the first to break silence. “Thought maybe you got married under a lotus tree.”

Naruto managed a crooked smile. “Almost. We were tempted,” Naruto quipped, brushing road dust from his cloak. “But someone had to come back and tell you all what we saw.”

Sai said nothing.

“Of course,” Shien muttered from his seat with a smirk. “And here I thought you’d matured.”

Obito didn’t smile. “Sai report.”

Naruto straightened. Sai stood silently at his side; a scroll tucked beneath one arm.

Tsubaki entered quietly behind them, dressed in deep plum and black. Her eyes were sharp, unreadable. She nodded to Obito and took a seat beside Shisui, who was already lounging with his usual amused detachment. His face lit up the moment she sat beside him, a flicker of softness that vanished as soon as it appeared.

“Well?” Obito asked. “Start from the beginning.”

Sai stepped forward, voice cool and clear. “According to Jericho, the traitors are accelerating their plans. His sources believe they’ve been receiving messages from whoever this ‘Father’ figure is. But the trail isn’t clean. The last known signal came from somewhere beneath the western cliffs, just inside Akatsuki territory.

“For what purpose?” Shien asked, brow furrowed.

Naruto glanced at him, then at Obito. “We don’t know yet. But Jericho said the tone’s changed. In Saint Bellanu, people are speaking in whispers. Rumors. Prophecies. The kind that sounds like prayer... or warning.”

“Saint Bellanu has always been superstitious,” Minato said calmly.

“But this was different,” Sai added. “This wasn’t fear. It was expectation. Like they’re waiting for something.”

Obito’s jaw tightened. “What else?”

Naruto leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table. “Jericho also said ‘Father’ is recruiting. Soldiers, mercenaries, deserters from smaller border kingdoms. And he’s paying them well.”

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating.

Then Naruto cleared his throat. “And, uh… Jericho told me to tell you something else, Obito.”

Obito tilted his head, waiting.

Naruto shifted. “Jericho also wanted me to pass along a message saying that he’s still your loyal mutt and he won’t betray you.”

Obito’s expression didn’t change. But something behind his eyes went darker.

Naruto’s grin faded. “Also… we were attacked.”

Everyone turned their heads to Naruto, their necks almost snaped.

Even Fugaku sat forward.

“Say that again,” Obito said quietly

Sai stepped in. “We were ambushed in a narrow street. They didn’t expect us to fight back. Their coordination was good—but their intel was flawed. I don’t think they knew who we were. Not at first.”

“But one of them looked at Naruto,” Sai added, voice darkening, “and said, ‘The whispers described you.’”

A pause. A breath held by everyone.

“And what did you do?” Itachi asked, voice low.

“We killed them,” Sai answered simply.

Tsubaki leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “Either those bastards have balls the size of mountains or brains the size of dust mites.”

“They’re getting desperate,” Shien murmured.

“No,” Obito said. “They’re getting confident.”

Sai unrolled a second scroll and stepped toward Obito.

“Well, what is it.” Lord Minato asked.

“There was one more message from Jericho,” he said, voice quieter now. “For you, specifically.”

He placed the scroll on the table with deliberate care.

Obito broke the seal.

Sai’s voice followed the action. “‘Tell Obito to watch his back… and to check the stones beneath his feet. The rot doesn’t rise. It creeps.’”

Obito’s fingers stilled over the parchment.

That sentence felt colder than the mountain wind.

Then he opened the scroll fully.

And froze.

“What is it?” Minato asked, sitting forward.

Obito didn’t answer right away. His eyes roved over the page—slowing at the edges, scanning the ink for something hidden.

“It’s a map,” he said at last. “To the lost Underground Oasis.”

The table went silent.

General Ryou’s brow furrowed. “The Oasis? That city is myth.”

“No,” Obito said. “It’s real. And Jericho wouldn’t hand this over unless it meant something.”

“Did he say who gave it to him?” asked Fugaku.

Naruto frowned. “No. We figured…Obito would know what it means.”

A silence fell. Heavier now.

Obito rolled the scroll closed.

“Then it’s a trap,” General Ryou said flatly.

“Jericho wouldn’t risk this for legend. He wants me to come.”

“I’m coming with you,” Shisui said immediately.

“So am I,” Itachi echoed.

“Me too.” Sasuke added.

“Absolutely not,” Obito said. “This isn’t a diplomatic visit. It’s a message. Meant for me. I’ll go alone.”

“You’re not—” Sasuke started.

“I’m going alone.” Obito’s voice cut through the room like steel.

Silence fell again.

Then, softer, Obito added, “If Jericho wanted to tell the truth, he would have passed the message with Naruto and Sai.”

Obito stared at the parchment for a long time.

A beat of silence.

Then Obito turned his attention back to Sai and Naruto. “Thank you. You did well.”

Sai gave a respectful bow. Naruto grinned.

Shisui nodded once. “And in the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows?”

Naruto exhaled slowly. “Still beautiful. Peaceful. But…”

Sai finished it: “Too peaceful. There’s a kind of poised silence. Like they’re pretending they don’t feel the knife hovering over their throats.”

Shisui tilted his head. “That kingdom was the first I ever visited. Obito and I were just boys. Neji was barely a month old. Even then, it felt… timeless.”

Obito’s voice was quieter now. “It was. I remember the cherry trees. The starlight on the lake. It’s not the kind of place that rattles easily.”

Naruto hesitated, then smirked. “Well, something did rattle while we were there.”

“Oh?” Shisui asked.

Naruto nudged Sai with an elbow. “Sai discovered he has a heart.”

The room fell dead silent.

Even Shien blinked.

General Haruto arched one dark brow. “A heart?”

Sai said nothing.

“He met a girl,” Naruto continued gleefully. “Lady Ino Yamanaka. Daughter of Lord Inoichi. Gorgeous, terrifying, smarter than she lets on—he’s been sketching her for three days straight. I’m pretty sure he’s in love.”

“I’m not,” Sai said flatly. “But she is… difficult to ignore.”

Shien burst out laughing. “That’s the closest thing to a confession I’ve ever heard from you!”

“She’s a distraction,” General Haruto said.

Sai met his father’s gaze. “A dangerous one. But not an unworthy one.”

That earned a brief flicker of surprise from both the General and Shien.

“She’s made him witty,” Shien gasped. “Gods, what’s next—flirting?”

“I did not flirt,” Sai replied calmly.

“You drew twenty portraits of her eyelashes,” Naruto said. “You flirted in ink.”

Even Obito cracked a faint smile. “Enough. We’ll deal with your romantic crisis later.”

The laughter faded, the mood turning cold again as Obito looked to Tsubaki.

“Tsubaki, status? Any progress?”

Tsubaki shifted subtly in her chair. She stepped forward, placing a rolled scroll beside the map.

“A message was intercepted in the eastern wing. Hand-delivered. No crest, no seal—just a strip of silk, marked with the Hollow Temple’s prayer.”

She opened the scroll. Inside was a simple symbol—nine dots in a spiral. At its center: a thorned crown inked in dried blood.

“It was hidden in the shipment sent to the palace kitchens,” she said. “Under a sack of dried figs.”

“And the traitors?” Obito asked.

Tsubaki’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Still quiet. Too quiet. They’re careful and whoever they’re working with. No written notes. No meetings in the same place twice. No names used aloud.”

“But you suspect someone,” King Fugaku said, voice sharp.

Tsubaki nodded. “We suspect several. But we can’t afford a misstep. I must be deliberate.”

“Be cruel,” Obito said.

“I intend to,” she replied coolly.

Tsubaki’s eyes narrowed. “There’s more. One of my informants in the lower district claims to have seen a masked figure near the rear gate two nights ago. He didn’t recognize the man, but he was dressed in noble garb. Peach robes. Cream sash.”

The room went still.

Peach and cream.

Obito’s eyes sharpened. “And you’re sure it wasn’t one of ours?”

“No,” she said. “But I’ll find them.”

“We’re running out of time,” Shien said.

“Now,” Obito continued, voice darker, “I want eyes on the palace gates. I want every messenger checked. Every servant vetted again. No one enters or leaves without clearance.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Tsubaki said, already rising. “And I’ll continue shadowing the suspects. I won’t give them a moment’s peace.”

Shien murmured, “Still feels like the walls are thinner lately.”

“They are,” Obito said. “And we’re going to find out who’s pulling at the seams.”

Obito looked at her for a moment, then nodded.

“Be careful, Tsubaki.”

Her lips quirked. “Always, my prince.”

The mood in the room lightened slightly—but only slightly.

As the council began to disperse, Shisui clapped Naruto on the shoulder. “Seriously though. You missed your calling as a diplomat. You managed to discover a political shift and embarrass your brother in front of the whole royal court.”

Sai blinked. “I’m not embarrassed.”

Shien grinned. “That’s because your face doesn’t know how to express emotion.”

Naruto howled. “Exactly! It’s terrifying! You don’t even blink when you’re being complimented.”

Sai replied calmly, “I blink an average of 17 times per minute.”

“Oh gods, he counted.”

Obito sighed but didn’t hide the faint amusement in his eyes as he turned back toward the maps. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning. Dismissed.”

As everyone stood and began to filter out, Tsubaki lingered at the door, her eyes catching Obito’s.

Quietly, she said, “We suspect who it is. You know that don’t you?”

Obito’s expression hardened. “Yes.”

“And?”

“I want proof,” he said. “I want them to fall by our hands, not suspicion.”

Tsubaki nodded. “Then I’ll make them bleed it.”

Obito moved like a shadow through the palace corridors, his boots silent against polished stone.

The war room had emptied, but the weight of the conversation still clung to him—Naruto’s shaken voice, Sai’s quiet honesty, the word traitor hanging in the air like smoke that wouldn’t clear.

But his mind was somewhere else.

Someone else.

He didn’t remember how fast his feet had carried him here.

He only realized where he was when he reached the door to her chambers.

He hesitated, just for a breath.

Then knocked—once, sharply.

No answer.

“Rin?”

His voice was low, but urgent.

Still nothing.

He opened the door.

Empty.

The room was untouched—moonlight streaming through the arched windows, the scent of lavender still clinging to the air, her shawl tossed carelessly over the edge of the bed.

A book lay face-down on the nightstand, her slippers tucked neatly beneath the chair.

But no sign of her.

His heart gave a single, hard beat.

He stepped inside, scanned the room again as if he might’ve missed her—tucked behind a curtain, curled in a corner.

But it was still.

Too still.

“Rin,” he called again, more softly now, not out of gentleness—but because something cold had begun to slither through him.

No answer.

He turned, left the room, and headed toward the library. If she couldn’t sleep, maybe she went there.

She often did.

The walk felt longer than usual, every step echoing too loudly.

The palace was silent at this hour, wrapped in the hush of a warm summer night—but to Obito, it felt wrong. Off. Like something was watching.

Waiting.

He reached the arched doorway to the library. The doors were slightly ajar. Warm light flickered inside.

He stepped through.

The scent of aged parchment and candle wax filled the air. Bookshelves towered around him like sleeping giants. Lanterns glowed in their sconces, untouched.

A teacup sat on the side table near the far window. Still warm.

And the chair was pushed out, angled slightly as if someone had stood up only moments ago.

She had been here.

But where had she gone?

Obito stared at the chair for a long beat, his fingers curling into a fist at his side.

A pulse of dread throbbed at the base of his throat.

He told himself not to overreact.

She had her guards.

He’d assigned them himself. Two of his best. They never left her side.

She was safe.

Probably walking.

Maybe down by the gardens, where the jasmine bloomed at night and the koi pond glimmered beneath the moonlight.

He left the library, trying to slow his breath, and descended toward the lower courtyards.

The path curved around open balconies and torchlit archways, the cool stone beneath his boots a strange contrast to the rising heat beneath his skin.

He passed the grand stairwell, about to head down to the gardens—when he heard voices.

Soft. Familiar.

He turned a corner and came upon Sasuke and Sakura, walking leisurely beneath the pale glow of paper lanterns, their fingers brushing occasionally, holding.

They looked up as he approached.

“You’re both still awake?” Obito asked.

Sasuke gave a slight shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Sakura smiled. “It’s a beautiful night. Feels like something out of a story.”

Obito didn’t return the smile. “Have either of you seen Rin?”

Sakura’s brow lifted. “Yes, just a few minutes ago. She passed us on the way down to the gardens. Said she wanted to walk near the pond before bed.”

“Was she alone?”

“No,” Sakura replied. “Her two guards were with her.”

Obito nodded once, tension easing—but only slightly. “Thank you.”

Sasuke tilted his head. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I just… need to speak with her.”

Sakura watched him more closely now. He didn’t meet her eyes.

He turned and made his way down the wide steps toward the gardens, where lanterns swayed gently in the summer breeze.

The air was warm and soft, filled with the perfume of night-blooming flowers. Crickets whispered in the grass.

It should’ve felt peaceful.

But it didn’t.

Something in him was screaming.

He didn’t know why. He couldn’t explain it. But the unease from earlier had sunk its teeth in now. It wrapped around his chest, coiled tight.

He passed the rose trellis. The hydrangea grove. The low stone wall that overlooked the koi pond.

And then—

a scream.

High. Sharp. Female.

Rin.

 

 

                              RIN

 

The heat of the day had finally faded, leaving behind a breeze that kissed her skin like silk. The garden shimmered under the moonlight—lanterns swaying gently from iron hooks, casting soft glows across stone paths and flowering hedges

The palace garden was unusually quiet—too quiet for a night so beautiful.

But maybe that’s why Rin came here.

She walked the stone path slowly, trailing her fingers along the low hedge beside her. Her silk robe whispered as she moved, the hem brushing her ankles.

Lanterns bobbed overhead, their soft gold glow pooling on the garden’s edges, casting shadows that danced like ghosts.

Her guards followed at a respectful distance—two seasoned men in black Uchiha armor, their swords at their sides, eyes always scanning.

She didn’t know their names.

She wished she had asked.

The koi pond rippled beside her, the water catching silver reflections of the moon.

She paused to watch the fish—lazy swishes of tail, the occasional flicker of red and gold.

She felt... alone, but not lonely.

But lately her thoughts had been elsewhere.

On him.

He had returned from his latest mission less than a day ago—tired, armored, tense—but not once had she seen him.

Not his face.

Not even his shadow.

Only his letters.

He left them like whispers—tucked between pages of her books, slipped beneath her door, folded neatly into the hems of her robes when she wasn’t looking.

They were always brief.

“I’m back.”
“I’m thinking of you.”
“Stay in the palace tonight. Don’t go far. I love you. ”

She pressed the most recent one between her fingers now, folded and softened by rereading.

He always wrote to her. But he never said where he was going next. Or how to reach him.

She didn’t know where to write back.

And gods, she wanted to.

Desperately.

Even now, her thoughts kept circling back to him. The way he’d looked that night in the study—his voice low, his hands trembling just slightly when she undid the buckle of his belt.

She hadn’t planned it. She didn’t even know where the courage came from.

She remembered everything.

The taste of him.

The way his body trembled.

The way he’d buried his hands in her hair, gritted her name through clenched teeth, and broken in her mouth with a groan that almost sounded like prayer.

How he told her he loved her.

How she’d swallowed him like a vow.

How it felt like something sacred.

And she was alone.

Now, she hadn’t even seen his face.

Rin sighed and stopped at the edge of the pond, staring at her reflection.

Her chest ached with the weight of it. With the words she never got to say.

“I miss you,” she whispered aloud, barely audible.

A breeze stirred the trees.

She reached the koi pond and stopped, watching the moonlight ripple over the water’s surface.

The lilies floated like ghosts. The reflection of the lanterns danced and wavered.

It was small at first—barely a whisper in the air. A change in rhythm. A pressure. Her spine stiffened, a flicker of instinct crawling up her back.

She turned. “Is something—”

One of the guards held up a hand, his voice sharp. “Stay behind us, my lady.”

The second had already drawn his blade.

Rin froze.

Figures emerged from the hedges. From behind trees. From the roof above. Cloaked. Masked. Blades gleaming.

Twelve men.

No banners. No words.

Rin gasped and stumbled back as the circle tightened around them.

The guards moved instantly, placing themselves between her and the threat.

“In the name of the Uchiha Crown, STAND DOWN!” one of them barked.

The attackers didn’t flinch.

They rushed.

The first guard met them like fire—two blades drawn, spinning into the chaos like a man with nothing left to lose. The second guard followed, striking fast, blocking, twisting, driving his sword through the ribs of the nearest enemy.

It wasn’t enough.

There were too many.

Three swarmed one guard—overpowering him in seconds. A sword sank into his side. Then another. He roared in defiance, still swinging—

And then he fell, crimson blooming beneath him like a flower.

“NO!” Rin screamed, backing away.

The second guard gritted his teeth, covered in blood that wasn’t his, and shouted over his shoulder, “RUN!”

She turned—but another attacker was already there.

A masked man lunged, catching her wrist in a crushing grip. Another came from behind, grabbing her waist. She kicked and screamed, fought like an animal—

A cloth was shoved toward her face. Something damp. Sickly sweet.

“Don’t—TOUCH ME—”

One attacker hissed in her ear. “We only need you alive jinchuriki.”

The scent on the cloth was thick, dizzying—

She twisted violently, her fingernails raking down the masked man’s cheek, catching skin.

He recoiled with a grunt.

That’s when she heard it.

“RIN!”

The voice was a roar.

A command.

A curse.

A promise.

He didn’t appear—he descended.

Like death.

His sword cleaved the first attacker clean in two. Blood sprayed the path.

He grabbed the second by the throat and slammed him against the wall hard enough to shatter bone.

Then he turned to the man holding Rin.

And the scream that came from that man’s mouth didn’t last long.

Obito drove his blade into the side of his neck, twisting as he pulled it free.

Blood gushed over his black leathers. His eyes—blazing red, Sharingan spinning wildly—locked on the next target without hesitation.

Rin fell to her knees, trembling.

More men came at him.

Obito didn’t hesitate.

He became rage incarnate.

His blade danced—sharp, vicious, without mercy. One after another fell at his feet.

Throats torn.

Chests split open.

Limbs crushed.

The garden became soaked in blood, the lanterns flickering above a battlefield of bodies.

Still, they came.

But then—

Sasuke dropped into the clearing from above, his sword already drawn.

“Tch. And here I thought you’d need my help.”

He sliced into two men at once precise and fast. Obito gave him no reply. His entire being was locked on the remaining enemies.

A third figure sprinted into the garden—

Sakura.

“RIN!”

She dropped beside her in the grass, her hands glowing, already scanning for wounds.

“I—I’m fine,” Rin gasped. “I think—I—”

“No, you’re not,” Sakura said sharply. “But I’ve got you.”

The final attacker tried to run.

He didn’t get far.

Obito hurled a blade that embedded itself straight between the man’s shoulders.

He fell with a grunt.

Silence.

The garden was a graveyard.

Rin looked up—her body shaking, blood splattered across her arm.

This Obito was wrath.

His eyes blazed crimson, Sharingan spinning wildly, reflecting fire and murder.

Obito stood there, covered in crimson.

Chest heaving. Eyes still burning.

He turned—slowly.

Their eyes met.

And her breath caught.

Because in that look, in those eyes, in that bloodied expression—

She saw what he would become if he ever lost her.

And she realized…

He wasn’t just a man in love.

He was a man who would destroy the world for her and everyone in it.

The silence rang louder than the screams.

Bodies lay strewn across the garden like broken marionettes. The scent of blood choked the summer air, drowning the jasmine.

The pond rippled in the distance, disturbed by nothing more than wind—and death.

And Rin—

Rin sat in the middle of it all.

Her knees dug into the stone path, her hands trembled, but her mind felt strangely… distant. Like she was underwater.

Everything muffled.

Everything far away.

She hadn’t moved since it ended.

She couldn’t.

Her ears rang.

Obito stood several feet away, soaked in blood that wasn’t his.

The Sharingan still spun in his eyes like burning wheels, his chest heaving, his blade lowered but still clenched tight in his grip.

He looked like something torn from a battlefield painting. A war god summoned by rage alone.

But he wasn’t moving.

Not towards her.

Not towards anyone.

“Obito…” she whispered.

He turned.

His eyes found hers.

His eyes—still red—were glassy now, flickering with something that had nothing to do with fury and everything to do with terror.

Terror of her hurt.

Terror of being too late.

He dropped his sword.

It hit the ground with a sharp clang—but she didn’t flinch.

He walked toward her—slowly, like approaching something fragile.

He dropped to his knees.

She reached out.

Her hand brushed his face. His jaw. The place just below his eye, where his skin was split from a glancing blade.

He flinched—but didn’t pull away.

Her thumb traced the edge of the wound.

Slowly.

Gently.

His forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling, both of them still shaking.

She could still see the red in his eyes—fading now, slowly, replaced by something else. Something soft. Shattering.

And then, in a breath—

He kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t sweet.

It was desperate.

His mouth crashed into hers like it was the only way to be sure she was real.

Her hands fisted in his leathers, dragging him closer. His hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her like a man who’d come back from the dead.

And she kissed him back like he was the only reason she was still breathing.

They didn’t stop.

Not right away.

Not until the air ran out and the tears took over and their foreheads fell together, breaths ragged, lips trembling.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I know,” she said. “I love you too.”

 

They lay in silence for a moment, staring at each other in the dark. The storm of earlier felt distant now.

There were still bloodstains on his gloves by the fire. Her wrist still ached beneath the bandage Sakura had wrapped.

But here, in this room—there was only quiet.

She’d only just started to shift out of his arms—just started to move from the edge of the bed—when Obito’s hand caught her wrist.

“Where are you going?” he asked, voice low, firm.

Rin froze.

“I thought… I should return to my room,” she said, glancing toward the door. “You’ve already done enough for me tonight. I don’t want to give people something to gossip about.”

Obito’s expression didn’t change.

“So let them gossip,” he said. “Let them think the crown prince keeps his woman close.”

Her mouth parted. “Obito—”

He rose and crossed the room in two long strides, opening the door. Two guards stood just outside—stoic, silent, ready.

“No one enters. No one touches her. And she doesn’t leave unless I say so.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He shut the door. Locked it.

Rin stared at him, incredulous. “You posted guards?”

“I did.”

“You don’t usually.”

“I do now,” he said, turning to her again. “You’re not sleeping in that room alone. Not tonight. Not Ever.”

“Obito,” she started carefully, “you know how this looks. I’m not your mistress. We’re not even engaged—”

“So what?” he interrupted, his voice still calm, but edged with steel. “So, what if you were?”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s not proper. People will talk.”

He shrugged. “Let them talk.”

“No!” she snapped. “I’m not going to be the girl who’s sleeping with the prince just because he saved her life.”

His eyes darkened—but not with anger. With something closer to disbelief.

“I don’t want to be a scandal,” she whispered. “If I ever sleep with you, Obito—it won’t be because I felt guilty or scared. It’ll be because you asked me. Because it meant something.”

“I am asking,” he said, quietly.

Her breath caught.

He stepped closer.

“Marry me.”

She blinked.

“No.”

Obito’s brow twitched. “No?”

“No,” she repeated. “Not because I don’t want to. But because you’re only asking because I said that.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

Silence stretched between them. Then—

He smirked, slow and wicked. “You had no problem with it in Kumogakure. You didn’t seem concerned about your reputation then.”

Rin’s cheeks flushed. “That was different.”

“Oh?” His voice was teasing now, coaxing her into defensiveness. “You mean when you got on your knees in the study, sucked my cock until I came down your throat—that was different?”

Her face burned hotter. “We had just seen the Forgotten One! My emotions were all over the place! I was panicked, vulnerable, overwhelmed.”

“So, you swallow when you’re overwhelmed?”

She slapped his chest. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re a tease lamb,” he said, catching her hand. “You practically tore my clothes off on that desk.”

“It was the heat of the moment,” she muttered, playing innocent. “Same as the Crimson Love Festival when I got drunk.”

“You mean when you got naked,” he corrected, voice low now. “Tried to seduce me. And you offered yourself up like a gift. Remember what you said?”

She buried her face in her hands. “Stop.”

“You said, ‘I want you to be my first.’” His hand tilted her chin up. “You were so determined. Until I made you drink the sleeping elixir and put my shirt on you.”

She muttered into her palms, “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He turned and walked to his wardrobe. Pulled out another one of his black button-up shirts—the same oversized one she’d worn that morning so long ago.

He tossed it to her. “Change.”

She hesitated. “Turn around.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“You literally undressed in front of me during the Crimson Festival. You’ve had your mouth around me. And now you’re shy?”

She clutched the shirt to her chest, glaring.

He sighed, rolled his and dramatically turning his back. “Fine.”

She slipped out of her bloodied nightgown and into his shirt, buttoning it quickly.

It still smelled like him. Still felt like safety.

“All right,” she said, flustered. “Done.”

He turned. His eyes roamed over her—slowly, reverently.

Then, without warning, he shed his own shirt, stepped forward, and scooped her up into his arms.

She gasped. “Obito—”

“You’re not sleeping anywhere else,” he said, carrying her effortlessly to the bed. “And you’re not arguing again tonight.”

He laid her down gently, then slid in beside her.

Pulled her into him.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his bare chest. Her head rested against his shoulder.

“I still hate you,” she murmured.

He kissed her temple. “I love you too.”

They kissed—slowly, sweetly, like a promise.

And this time, when she fell asleep in his bed, she didn’t worry about what the world would say.

Because his arms were around her.

And she finally felt home.

Warmth.

That was the first thing she felt.

Not the weight of worry.

Not the ghost of fear.

Just… warmth.

Rin stirred beneath the embroidered blankets, blinking against the hazy gold of morning light that pooled softly across Obito’s chamber floor.

The scent of sandalwood and steel clung to the air—and to the sheets.

She blinked again, slower this time.

And realized she wasn’t alone.

Obito lay beside her, still asleep.

The sight made her breath catch.

Obito lay on his stomach, half-turned toward her, the blanket slung low across his hips. His back was bare, long and strong and riddled with faint scars—stories she didn’t know, battles he never talked about.

One arm was draped loosely across the bed, fingers curled as if still reaching for her even in sleep.

She had never seen him like this.

Soft.

Peaceful.

Beautiful in a way that felt almost sacred.

His thick lashes cast delicate shadows across his cheeks. His lips—those lips that had bruised hers with hunger only hours before—were parted slightly, breaths deep and slow.

A faint stubble darkened his jaw, sharp and strong.

He looked like a painting left unfinished by the gods.

He was the Crown Prince of Akatsuki Land. The most feared warrior in the realm. The storm behind every battle horn.

But right now, he was just a man.

A man who had watched her fall asleep and stayed awake just to make sure she was safe.

This man would burn the world for her.

Not just protect her.

Not just fight for her.

But worship her—without hesitation.

Not despite the beast inside her, but because of it.

Because he saw her whole and still chose her.

Not her family, not the elders, not the nobles who once whispered behind her back like her existence was an inconvenience wrapped in silk.

But Obito?

Obito looked at her like she was a goddess summoned from starlight.

Rin’s chest tightened. A lump formed in her throat.

She turned slightly, careful not to wake him, and just… let herself feel it. This safety. This belonging. This precious, quiet morning that no one could steal from her.

A moment later, Obito stirred.

His breath deepened. Then—

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice low and ruined from sleep.

Rin’s heart fluttered. “Hi.”

His hand found her waist beneath the blankets, pulling her gently into his chest. He buried his face in the crook of her neck with a contented sigh.

“Gods… I haven’t slept like that in years,” he murmured.

She blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“Mhm.” He kissed her shoulder. “Can’t even remember the last time I didn’t wake up to chaos. I don’t think I’ve ever slept this long.”

He paused, fingers tightening slightly on her side.

“Not since I was a boy. Not since before the war. And never…” He shifted to look at her, voice quieter now. “Never with someone beside me.”

She pressed a hand over his heart. “You sleep easier with me here?”

His eyes softened. “I don’t sleep without you.”

Rin didn’t know what to say.

So, she kissed him instead.

He deepened it—slow, possessive, reverent.

His hand skimmed her thigh beneath the blankets, dragging slowly upward.

Her breath hitched.

“Obito…”

His mouth trailed lazy, worshipful kisses along her jaw, her throat, the swell of her shoulder.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, the words rasping against her skin.

Before she could reply, he said it again—quieter this time, like it hurt to admit. “I am so undeserving.”

Her heart twisted. “Obito—”

“I am so undeserving,” he repeated, almost desperate now, his lips finding hers in a slow, searing kiss that made her toes curl.

His hand slid over her waist, pulling her closer until she could feel the steady, hard thrum of his heartbeat against her ribs. “And yet… here you are.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp, and the sound he made was almost a growl. His palm skimmed up her thigh, heat pooling low in her belly as he eased her onto her back.

His weight pressed into her, heavy and grounding, and his gaze locked on hers like he was memorizing every breath.

“Obito…” she whispered, but it came out as more of a plea than a warning.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, lips brushing hers, their noses barely touching.

His hand slid higher, fingertips grazing over the thin barrier of fabric between them, stealing the breath from her lungs.

And then—

In one fluid motion, he pulled her shirt over her head, baring her to the golden warmth of the morning.

His gaze devoured her, slow and unhurried, as though committing every inch of her to memory.

“You are so perfect,” he murmured, the words low and reverent.

Obito rose, fingers already tugging at the waistband of his trousers. He made quick work of them, pushing the fabric down over his hips before kicking them aside without a thought.

Rin’s breath hitched, her eyes stared at his cock in his own hand—hard, flushed, and aching. Her pulse pounded in her ears as he stepped forward, his knee brushing hers, then nudging her thighs apart.

Slowly, deliberately, he sank down between them, the heat of his body caging her in.

His fingers hooked into the delicate band of her underwear, the pad of his thumb grazing the soft skin of her hip as he inched them downward.

The fabric kissed every inch of her skin before slipping free, leaving her bare to him—exactly how he wanted her.

Obito’s gaze swept over her like a man starved, his jaw tightening as if it took everything in him not to just take her right then.

Before she could catch her breath, his hand was back on her—broad, warm, claiming—fingers sliding over her folds before pressing firmly against her clit.

A shiver tore through her, muscles fluttering in helpless response.

The sound she made—soft, needy—sent a pulse of hunger straight through him. His fingers began to circle, slow and deliberate, each motion stoking the fire between her thighs until her breath came in shallow bursts.

“Fuck, lamb…” Obito’s voice was low, strained, almost reverent, like he was worshiping her with every touch.

Her hips rolled helplessly into his hand, chasing that friction. Her lips parted, ready to say his name—only to lose it in a soft moan when the thick heat of his cock pressed against her folds.

Not inside.
Not yet.

Just the heavy drag of him along her clit, slow and deliberate, the head of him catching against her every time he moved.

She clutched at the sheets, breath catching in little bursts, the tension in her core tightening with each lazy grind of his hips.

He wasn’t rushing.

He wanted her like this—strung out, needy, melting into his hands.

He bent down, mouth at her ear, teeth grazing her skin.

“Tell me you want me to keep going,” he murmured, thrusting forward just enough for her to feel every thick inch glide along her swollen clit.

Her answer came in a broken whimper, hips lifting, giving herself over to the rhythm he was building—one that promised more, but not yet.

“Obito…” her voice cracked, desperation leaking through.

“I know,” he murmured, grinding against her again, the head of his cock catching perfectly on her clit before gliding back. “I know what you need.”

Every drag made her wetter, every brush over her swollen clit another push toward the edge.

Her thighs shook against his hips, the tension curling hot and tight in her belly, her breath coming in little shuddering gasps.

But still—he didn’t push inside. He just kept her on that razor’s edge, the heat building higher and higher, until—

“Good morning, Your Highness—Lady Rin—”

The voice was so wrong for the moment that Rin’s eyes flew open.

Alfred stood in the archway from the adjoining office, two maids behind him carrying silver trays of food and neatly folded garments.

Pure reflex took over—she shoved Obito off her so hard he hit the floor with a vicious thud.

His knee hit the floor just as she grabbed the blanket and yanked it up to her chin, burying herself under the covers like they might erase the last thirty seconds.

“What the fuck, Rin?!” he snarled from the ground, glaring up at her before snapping his attention to the intruders.

The maids froze in place, eyes glued anywhere but the bed.
Alfred, however, just adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves like walking in on the crown prince naked in bed with a woman was a daily occurrence.

“I have taken the liberty,” Alfred continued in that maddeningly even tone, “of bringing you breakfast and clean clothes to your rooms. Since it’s clear you were… occupied.” His gaze flicked once—pointedly—over Obito’s bare back, then to Rin’s flushed face under the covers. “Not the first time I’ve had to work around this.”

Rin’s face went scarlet underneath the covers.

Obito’s head snapped toward the old man like a predator spotting prey.

“I—” Obito growled, “Alfred, do you fucking mind?”

“Oh, my apologies, Your Highness,” Alfred said, not looking apologetic in the slightest. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.” He gestured briskly to the maids. “Set the trays in the office. And the linens, there.”

“Get. Out.” Obito’s voice was low, lethal, and carried the kind of promise that sent one of the maids stumbling backward.

Alfred didn’t even blink. “Of course, Your Highness. Though if you wish for uninterrupted mornings, perhaps a lock on the outer door would be wise.”

The maids ducked out, trying not to laugh. Alfred followed at a maddeningly slow pace, closing the office door with deliberate care.

Rin slowly peeked her head out from beneath the covers, her face redder than the Uchiha crest. “I am never leaving this room again,” she muttered, half to herself.

Still sprawled on the floor, Obito’s jaw ticked. “That old bastard has been serving since my grandfather’s reign. Won’t die, refuses to retire, and apparently won’t knock like a fucking normal person.”

Rin didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

Her face burned so hot it hurt, and her stomach twisted in humiliation.

“Oh gods…” she whispered, pulling the blankets over her head completely. “The maids are going to talk. Everyone’s going to talk. This is what I was afraid…”

Obito’s mouth curved slowly, dangerously. “Well… we could get married now.” He chuckled low under his breath.

The pillow hit him dead in the groin.

“FUCK!” Obito folded over instantly, both hands clutching himself, a strangled groan escaping.

“That,” Rin hissed, still red as a cherry, “is for teasing me right now.”

He stayed hunched, still on the floor. “You’re lucky I love you, lamb…”

 

 

Chapter 20: OBITO/RIN/TSUBAKI

                                                                  OBITO

 

A few days had passed since the attack in the palace gardens, but the memory of blood and blades still lingered like smoke on Rin’s skin

Her scent clung to the pillows, the linens, the oversized black shirt she now claimed as her own.

She told herself it was for safety.

For precaution. But deep down, she knew the truth.

She felt safer near him than anywhere else.

The morning sun filtered through the high arched windows, gilding the room in soft gold as Rin sat perched at the edge of Obito’s massive bed, brushing out her damp hair.

Behind her, Obito was fastening the last of his leather belts, the smooth clink of the buckles somehow louder than it should have been.

Full travel gear—black leather coat draped across his shoulders, swords strapped to his back, boots freshly polished. His hair was damp too, like he’d just finished washing it.

The scent of cedar and steel hit her like a memory she wasn’t ready to let go of.

Her heart sank.

She turned slowly, watching the way the early light caught the curve of his jaw, the tired tension in his shoulders.

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question.

Obito’s eyes softened as he approached. He crouched in front of her, resting a gloved hand on her knee.

“Just for a few days. Just a quick trip. Nothing to worry about.”

“Where?”

His eyes flicked to her, unreadable. “Somewhere I need to be.”

She frowned. “So… you're not going to tell me.”

She hated how vague he was. Hated how calm he sounded, like it didn’t tear something in both every time he left.

“I’ll be back before the moon turns,” he added gently. “I’ll write when I can. I swear it.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “You always say that.”

“And I always come back, don’t I?” His fingers brushed her cheek. “I’ll always come back to you, love.”

Before she could answer, there was a knock.

“They’re here,” he said. “Come on.”

Then the door opened to reveal a palace guard and a woman in crimson robes, flanked by two silent disciples robed in white, heads bowed.

Priestess Karin Uzumaki swept into the royal wing like wildfire wrapped in velvet.

Rin blinked.

The woman’s hair blazed like blood under the morning sun. Her eyes—sharp, and her sharp amber eyes scanned the room with the quiet judgment of someone who had seen too much.

“This is the one?” Karin asked, gaze flicking toward Rin.

Obito nodded.

“This is Rin. My—” he hesitated, glancing at Rin, then cleared his throat. “She’s the jinchuriki we spoke about.”

Rin gave a polite bow. “It’s an honor, Priestess.”

“Priestess Karin Uzumaki,” he said. “Head of the Holy Red Temple in Akatsuki Land. She’s here to help.”

Rin’s brows furrowed. “Help… with what?”

“With you.” Obito stepped aside as Karin entered, her robes sweeping across the marble floors.

“Karin will be placing a protective barrier on our rooms—one that only you and I can enter or leave. No one else. Not unless the barrier is broken by either priest or priestess.”

Rin glanced around. “Why? What are you—”

“It’s for your safety,” Obito said firmly. “You’ll be here while I’m gone. I want to make sure no one can even step foot near you unless I allow it.”

Karin gave her a knowing look. “Besides, I’m also here to help you begin your training.”

“Training…?”

“To understand and control your tailed beast,” Obito said. “It’s time.”

Rin’s breath hitched.

She’d almost forgotten.

The power that simmered beneath her skin—the second heart that beat inside her.

She didn’t even know which tailed beast it was.

No one did.

Karin stepped forward. “You are a jinchuriki, Lady Rin. That means you’re more than just a vessel—you are a host of divine power. And it’s time we unlocked it.”

Before Rin could reply, another voice rang out.

“Well damn,” Naruto said as he strolled in with Kakashi behind him. “I heard the Holy Red Temple was sending their best. I didn’t think it’d be my cousin.”

Karin smirked. “I didn’t think they let off your leash long enough to visit, Naruto."

Naruto laughed and threw his arm around Rin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ve been through this. She helped me train with the Nine-Tails. You’ve got this. I’ll be here too, helping when I can. You’re not alone in this, okay? We jinchuriki gotta stick together.”

Rin nodded, her heart swelling at the unexpected kindness. “Thank you.”

Kakashi said nothing at first, only gave a polite bow to Karin and a small nod to Obito and Rin.

He remained near the door, hands in his pockets. “And I’ll be keeping an eye on her while you're gone.”

A muscle ticked in Obito’s jaw, and his arms slowly crossed over his chest. His voice was calm, but cold. “Did I ask you to?”

“No.” Kakashi didn’t blink. “But I thought it was important. I promised her brother I would.”

“That’s convenient,” Obito said “You seem to have a lot of promises that involve her.”

Kakashi didn’t flinch. “And you seem to think I need your permission to keep them.”

A pause. Then a smile—bitter and sharp—touched Obito’s lips. “Then we’ll both be monsters, won’t we?”

Finally, Karin cleared her throat. “Are we done measuring dicks, or do I need to bless the room twice?”

Naruto choked on a laugh. Rin shot Obito a glare.

As Rin thanked Naruto and Karin for their support, Kakashi lingered behind the others, standing with arms crossed near the door—watchful, quiet.

Obito turned, fastening the last of his gloves. His gaze flicked briefly to Kakashi,

Kakashi, half-swallowed in shadow, the silver of his hair catching stray light like a shard of moonlight.

He hadn't moved since entering.

He didn’t need to.

His eye was on her.

She stood at the center of the room, smiling nervously as Karin explained the sealing process. Naruto was beside her, bright and eager.

Kakashi said nothing.

He watched.

The way a starving man might watch a feast he would never touch.

Obito saw it.

He crossed the room without a word, every step slow, deliberate measured like a countdown.

His cloak whispered behind him, brushing the marble floor as if echoing his mood: quiet, cold, final.

He stopped just beside Kakashi.

Neither of them looked at each other at first.

Then—

“She’s not yours to look at like that,” Obito said, voice low and venom laced.

Kakashi’s jaw tensed. “She’s not an object.”

“No,” Obito agreed smoothly. “She’s not. But she’s also not your regret to cradle.”

A long pause.

Then Obito turned to face him, eyes dark as obsidian and twice as cutting. “Tell me something Hatake. That night in my study… Did you enjoy what you saw?

Kakashi flinched—not outwardly, not enough for anyone else to notice.

But Obito felt it.

“You were there,” Obito said, softer now, crueler. “Sitting in the shadows. Breathing like a ghost. Did you touch yourself after? Or were you too ashamed?”

Kakashi’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sick.”

Obito smiled. It was a cold, mocking curve of his lips. “No. I’m honest.”

He stepped closer—just enough to drop his voice.

“You sat there in the dark while I had her mouth full of me — breathing it in, pretending you weren’t hard from it. I let you watch because I wanted you to know… she never belonged to you. No matter how long you’ve been at her side, she’ll still crawl to me. And you’ll never touch her the way I do.”

The words hung heavy in the air between them, rancid and raw.

Silence.

Long.

Frozen.

Then Obito turned his back.

“She’s training now,” he said, his voice returning to a calm, cold register. “She’ll be vulnerable. And I’m trusting you to watch over her, like you gave your word.”

Obito didn’t wait for an answer.

Behind him, Kakashi stood frozen in place—still in the dark.

The one place he’d always belonged.

And Rin, smiling at Naruto and Karin, never once turned around.

Obito’s gaze tracked Kakashi until the man disappeared around the corner, jaw tight. Then, without looking at her, he said, “Walk with me.”

She followed him down the hall, past the high windows spilling pale light over the polished floors. When they reached the alcove outside their chamber, he stopped and finally turned to her.

“Saint Bellanu,” he said without preamble. “That’s where I’m going.”

Rin blinked at him. “You’re… telling me?”

“I don’t like keeping things from you,” he said, voice low. “But I also don’t like you worrying yourself sick over every detail. I’ll be careful. I’ll be back.”

She searched his face, trying to read the things he wasn’t saying. “Why go yourself? You could have sent—”

“Because they asked for me alone, lamb. It’s my burden to carry.” His gloved hand swept a loose strand from her cheek, lingering there a moment. “I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t. You’ll have to trust me. The sooner I go, the sooner I’m back where I belong — with you.”

Her throat tightened. “I’ll miss you.”

“I know.” His mouth softened into the faintest smile. “But you won’t have time to dwell on it. Karin’s here to start your training. You’ll have Naruto’s support — and Kakashi keeping watch.

The way he said Kakashi’s name carried a weight she didn’t understand, though the look in his eyes made her heartbeat faster.

“Obito…”

He stepped closer, tilting her chin so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “You’re stronger than you think, Rin. Strong enough to master what’s inside you. I believe that.”

She felt the sting of tears but refused to let them fall. “You really think I can do this?”

“I know you can.” His thumb traced her jaw before he leaned in and kissed her — slow, deliberate, sealing the words between them.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate, but it held that quiet promise she had learned to trust he always came back.

When he drew back, his eyes lingered on her a moment longer before shifting past her shoulder.

She followed his gaze — Kakashi had returned, standing in the hall, silent as ever.

Obito’s expression hardened. The Sharingan flared in his left eye, glinting like a drawn blade. It was only for a second, but the message was unmistakable.

Kakashi didn’t flinch.

Obito turned back to Rin, smoothing the edge of his cloak.

“Stay safe. Train hard. I’ll be back before you know it.”

And with that, he was gone.

 

            

                                                                  RIN

 

The echo of Obito’s footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving the room wrapped in a stillness that felt heavier than silence.

Rin’s hand lifted to her lips before she could stop herself, fingertips brushing the ghost of his kiss.

Her chest ached in that strange, warm way that was equal parts longing and steadiness. She took a breath, exhaled slowly, and turned.

Karin stood by the tall arched window, crimson robes catching the sunlight like spilled wine. Two young women flanked her — the quiet poise of disciples who had already seen more than their years should allow

Naruto leaned against the wall with the restless energy of someone who had never mastered stillness, his familiar grin tugging at the tension in the room.

“You ready for this?” Naruto asked, pushing off the wall. “Karin helped me with Kurama back when I couldn’t tell if I was controlling him… or if he was controlling me. She knows what she’s doing.”

Rin gave him a small smile. “If you survived it, I guess I can too.”

That’s the spirit.” His grin widened. “And hey, I’ll be right there with you. We jinchuriki have to stick together.”

Karin’s gaze was sharper than her calm tone suggested. “Naruto’s right. This will not be easy. It will test you physically, mentally, and spiritually. I will take you to the edge of yourself — and then I will show you how to stand there without falling.”

Rin swallowed, nodding once. “I understand.”

They began the climb to the Holy Red Temple at first light. Rain slicked the narrow mountain path, turning each step into a cautious press of boot to stone.

Mist curled down from the high ridges, threading between the pines like pale, silent serpents. Far below, the river wound away into a gray valley, its voice lost beneath the steady, rising roar of the waterfall ahead.

Rin kept her hood up, though the damp still clung to her hair. Karin walked ahead with her two disciples, their crimson robes catching flecks of silver spray.

The younger of the two women carried a bundle of carved wooden talismans; the elder held a long staff wound with strips of faded parchment covered in painted symbols.

Naruto strode just behind Karin, hands clasped behind his head as though this were a stroll and not a pilgrimage.

“You’re gonna like this place,” he said over his shoulder, grinning. “It’s where I stopped running. Where I… met mine for real.” His grin softened into something almost nostalgic.

Kakashi brought up the rear. Even in the damp, he looked untouched by it — silver hair sharp against the gray sky, posture loose but watchful.

His gaze slid past the temple roof barely visible through the mist, then to Rin, lingering for a fraction longer than it needed to.

Halfway up the path, Karin slowed. She glanced back at Rin, eyes assessing, then spoke in a tone that carried over the rush of the waterfall.

“The place we’re going… the ancients called it The Abyssal Veil. A space that isn’t water or air, life or death — but something in between. The stories say the gods themselves carved it at the dawn of the first tide. It was their vault, their menagerie. When the great beasts were born, that is where they anchored them — so their souls would always have a home, even inside a mortal host.”

Rin frowned beneath her hood. “A… vault?”

Karin’s lips curved faintly. “A sanctuary. And a prison. Both at once.”

Naruto nodded, his tone quiet now. “It’s different for everyone. You’ll see things the way your beast sees them. Feel what it wants you to feel. But there’s one thing that’s always the same…” He shot her a sidelong glance. “You can’t lie there. Not to it, and not to yourself.”

The rest of the climb was steep. When they finally stepped into the clearing, the temple loomed against the cliffside as if the mountain itself had birthed it.

Its crimson pillars were weathered smooth, the paint faded but unyielding against the years. Great stone stairs led to a wide veranda open to the waterfall, where silver spray drifted through the air like breath in winter.

Inside, the air was cooler and heavy with incense. Thin ribbons of smoke curled from bronze bowls, sweet and heady. At the temple’s heart lay a perfect circle of carved stone, encircled by a shallow moat fed directly from the falls.

The water was so still it reflected the painted constellations above as if a second night sky slept at their feet.

“This is where the veil thins,” Karin said, her voice low but carrying. “When you stand here, you are close enough to reach the one within you — if it chooses to answer.”

Rin hesitated at the edge of the circle, her stomach tightening. She had never cared to meet whatever lived inside her.

The beast had always been a curse — the reason people crossed streets to avoid her, the reason whispers followed her through markets and courts.

Even her own kin had looked at her sometimes as though she were something fragile and dangerous all at once, a vessel that might shatter.

She had never thought of the beast as anything, but the shadow chained to her life.

Except Obito.

He had never flinched. He didn’t run from her — he ran to her. He looked at her as though the thing inside her made her rarer, more precious, not tainted. It was a kind of worship she didn’t know how to hold.

Naruto crouched by the moat, peering into the mirrored water. “Don’t force it. Let it see you. Let it decide.”

Kakashi stood back by one of the pillars, his posture deceptively loose, his single eye fixed on her with that unreadable calm.

Rin stepped onto the circle. The air seemed to press against her skin, thick and expectant.

Karin knelt and touched the water. Ripples spread, distorting the painted stars below. Her disciples joined her, and together they began a low, steady chant.

The sound wound through the hall, mingling with the waterfall’s roar until Rin felt it in her bones.

“Close your eyes,” Karin murmured.

The air shifted. The scent of incense became salt on Rin’s tongue. The sound of the falls deepened into a vast, slow heartbeat.

When she opened her eyes, the temple was gone.

She stood on the ocean floor beneath a sky of water. Sunlight filtered down in wavering beams, gilding the sand in molten gold. The sea was calm here, but heavy, as if each drop carried the weight of centuries.

Then he appeared.

The Three-Tails loomed before her, his shell a fortress of jagged ridges and moss-covered plates. His eyes were deep pools of molten amber, heavy with the weight of storms she could not name.

Three massive tails drifted lazily behind him like great sea serpents, stirring the current with every subtle movement.

Rin froze, breathless. She had never once considered that she might be the host of this. She had never cared enough to wonder.

Yet here he was — vast and ancient, a god-beast whose presence made the very water feel alive around her.

“You are smaller than I expected,” The tailed beast voice rolled through the sand, deep and resonant.

Rin’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. “And you’re… more than I imagined.”

He tilted his massive head. “You did not come before. Why now?”

“I didn’t know how,” she admitted. “And I didn’t know if you’d even want me here.”

His eyes narrowed, a low rumble curling through the water. “I have waited longer than you have lived. The gate was always there. You were the one who would not walk through.”

“I’m here now,” she said, steadier this time. “Because I need to understand you. Not control you. Not use you. I want us to fight for the same things.”

He studied her for a long moment, and in that gaze, she felt the pull of tides, the patience of coral reefs, the silent rage of storms beneath the surface.

“We will see if your heart holds steady when the tide turns against you.”

Far away, muffled and faint, came Naruto’s voice: Rin… can you hear me?

Light fractured through the water, breaking the ocean apart.

When she blinked, she was back beneath the painted constellations. The water at her feet lay still as glass. Karin watched her with measured interest; Naruto with an open, knowing pride.

And Kakashi… watched her like a sentry at the mouth of a narrow pa Rin’s heart thudded in the heavy stillness between them.

The water pressed around her, warm and endless, but her hands felt cold at her sides. She swallowed, forcing her voice to find shape.

“My name is—”

“I know who you are.”

The words cut through the water like a deep current. Not loud — he didn’t need to be — but resonant enough to leave her ribs trembling. His gaze did not waver, the molten amber of his eyes pinning her in place.

He leaned forward slightly, and the movement alone sent the sand curling upward in soft clouds.

“The question,” he rumbled, “is… do you know who you are?”

Rin’s mouth went dry. She didn’t answer. The truth was… she wasn’t sure she did. Not in the way he meant.

When she found her voice again, it came out quieter. “What’s your name?”

For a long moment, he regarded her as though weighing whether she deserved to know. Then the corner of his vast mouth curved — something between a smile and a tide rolling in.

“My name,” he said slowly, “is Isobu.”

The syllables seemed to stir the very water.

The syllables seemed to stir the very water. They settled in her bones like a name she’d heard in a dream long ago.

“I was born,” he continued, “when the gods broke the first mountain to make the first ocean. They shaped me from coral and storm, from the shell of the world itself, and placed me where the deepest currents run. My purpose was to guard the Gates of the Abyssal Veil — to keep what should never wake from waking.”

Images swam through Rin’s mind unbidden — black stone archways yawning on the seafloor, vast shadows curling beyond them, and Isobu coiled before them like a living fortress.

“But the ages change,” he went on, the weight of his voice both patient and unyielding. “Wars, greed, and hunger drew me from my post. I have been slain. I have been reborn. Again, and again. Each life bound to a mortal vessel. Some embraced my strength. Others feared me. All were temporary.”

His eyes narrowed, studying her with something unreadable. “You are my newest vessel. My first female in… many lifetimes.”

Rin’s brows drew together. “First female?”

A shadow crossed his gaze, and the water seemed to cool around them.

“The last,” he said, “was taken by the one you call the Forgotten One. She burned bright… and was devoured.”

As the Forgotten One had told them in the dungeons buried deep beneath the palace of Kumogakure, it had grinned at her with a hunger that was almost human, demanding her blood as payment.

Even now, Rin still wakes in the grip of those nightmares.

The words were simple, but the weight behind them pressed into her chest. She didn’t know this woman, didn’t even know her name, yet grief rippled faintly in her bones, carried in Isobu’s memory.

She wet her lips. “And now… me.”

“You,” Isobu said, “were not chosen by chance. I have been watching you since the moment the seal took hold. Watching you push against the weight others placed upon you. Your people call you cursed. Even your blood has doubted you.” His gaze sharpened. “Yet there is one who runs toward you when all others flee.”

She knew who he meant.

The thought of Obito’s eyes on her — steady, unflinching — made something twist in her chest.

“This is new to you,” Isobu said, his voice dropping to something almost like a whisper, though the water carried it as if it were everywhere at once.

“Few mortals ever stand here. Fewer still see me and live to speak of it. You are not here by accident.”

Rin took a breath, the motion strange without lungs pulling air. “And what happens now?”

“That,” Isobu said, “depends on whether you wish to carry my power as a burden… or as a bond.”

She stared at him, feeling the enormity of it — of him. This was not the mindless curse she had been taught to fear.

This was a thinking, feeling, ancient being with storms in his veins and the memory of oceans in his voice.

And now… they were bound.

“I don’t want to just carry you,” she said softly. “I want to understand you. Fight with you. Not as weapon and wielder. As something more.”

His tails shifted, stirring the sand in great spirals. “We will see if those words hold when the tide turns against you, Rin of Konoha.”

Somewhere far away, the sound of Naruto’s voice reached her again — faint, but insistent. Rin… can you hear me?

Light began to fracture through the water, shards of gold breaking the ocean apart.

Isobu’s eyes did not leave hers as the Abyssal Veil dissolved.

When she blinked, she was back in the temple, the constellations painted above her unmoving and eternal.

The water in the moat was perfectly still. Karin’s gaze was sharp and knowing; Naruto’s was full of pride.

And Kakashi… still watched her like a sentry guarding a pass no enemy would ever breach without stepping over his body.

Naruto was the first to break the silence. He stepped closer, his grin wide but edged with curiosity. “So? You met them, didn’t you?”

Rin’s lips parted, the name still heavy on her tongue. “Yes.”

Naruto’s eyes lit up. “Which one?”

Her voice was steady, though inside the echo of the meeting still reverberated like a wave striking stone. “The Three-Tails. His name is Isobu.”

Naruto let out a low whistle, half impressed, half awed. “Hah… Isobu. Haven’t heard that name in a long time.” He gave her a look that was both congratulatory and understanding. “He’s… not an easy one to face.”

Rin’s gaze flicked to Karin, who had stepped forward, her expression unreadable.

“You passed the first test,” Karin said, her tone calm but threaded with significance. “That is no small thing. Isobu has accepted you enough to let you leave the Veil with your mind intact. But acceptance is only the first step.”

Rin straightened, pulse quickening. “The second?”

Karin’s lips curved faintly. “You’ve seen him in his realm. Now you must prove to him you can hold his power in this one. That… is a trial far less forgiving.”

The incense in the temple seemed heavier suddenly, the painted constellations above pressing down like the weight of deep water.

Rin’s mind was still half in that otherworld, the salt on her tongue, the feel of the tidal wave looming over her.

But now… the idea of a second test lit something else in her chest — a spark of determination, sharper than fear.

Naruto glanced between them, his grin returning but softer now. “Don’t worry. You’re stronger than you think. Just remember what he showed you.”

Karin’s gaze lingered on Rin a moment longer before she stepped back, motioning for her disciples to clear the space. “Rest tonight. At dawn… we begin.”

The words settled in Rin’s mind like the low toll of a bell.

Dawn.

Another threshold to cross. Another tide to face.

And somewhere, deep beneath the surface of her thoughts, she felt Isobu’s voice stir — not speaking, but watching, waiting.

The temple lay wrapped in the deep blue hush before dawn. Mist curled over the veranda, drifting through the open columns like ghostly fingers, slipping between the crimson pillars like slow-moving spirits.

The waterfall’s roar seemed deeper in this hour, its spray catching the first pale thread of sunlight cresting the mountains — as though the whole mountain was listening.

Rin stood barefoot on the cold stone of the training platform behind the temple, the air sharp with the scent of rain and distant pine. Her breath fogged faintly in the chill air, her heartbeat a steady, thin drum in her ears.

Karin’s two disciples moved around her with measured precision, laying smooth river stones into a perfect ring.

At each cardinal point, the older of the two placed carved talismans inked with sigils, murmuring in a language that sounded older than the mountains themselves.

Karin emerged from the shadows, the hem of her crimson robe whispering over the floor like a streak of blood.

“The Abyssal Veil is where you meet your beast,” she said, her voice calm but edged. “This place—” she tapped her staff against the stone beneath their feet “—is where you prove to him that you can bear him.”

Rin’s pulse quickened. “And if I can’t?”

Karin’s lips curved faintly. “Then he will reclaim what is his… and leave you hollow.”

Naruto leaned against one of the veranda pillars, arms folded, eyes warm but alert.

“You’ve got this,” he said. “Just keep your head clear. And don’t fight him like he’s your enemy.”

Kakashi stood further back, in the shadows. Silent. Watching. Always watching.

Karin motioned to her disciples. They withdrew to the edges as the circle came alive — not with light, but with a deep, thrumming vibration that sank into Rin’s bones.

The air grew heavy, her next breath weighted. The roar of the waterfall seemed to fade until there was only the pounding of her heartbeat.

“Call him,” Karin instructed.

Rin closed her eyes and went inward, past the scatter of surface thoughts, past the rhythm of her pulse, into the fathomless dark where she could feel him — vast, patient, unblinking.

So, Isobu’s voice entered her mind like a slow tide, ancient and certain, you’ve returned.

“Yes,” she thought back.

The stone beneath her feet shifted. Darkened.

Slickened into wet sand. When she opened her eyes, the temple was gone.

She stood on a black shore beneath a bruised sky, the horizon trembling under the weight of an oncoming storm.

This is not the Veil, Isobu rumbled in her skull. Here, there is no mercy. Here… you can drown.

The ocean swelled. A wave began to rise from the deep — not a wave, but a wall of water as high as a palace, racing toward her with the sound of mountains collapsing.

Two choices, he said. Run… or stand.

Her body screamed to move.

The water’s shadow fell over her, and in it came voices — memories sharpened into knives.

“Curse-born.”
“Don’t touch her, she carries death in her blood.”
“She’ll bring ruin to anyone foolish enough to love her.”

She saw her father’s back as he walked away from her in the palace courtyard.

Her cousin’s smirk as he told her no one would ever want her. The way strangers pulled their children aside when she passed.

They will never see more than the vessel, Isobu’s voice pressed, deep and unrelenting. To them, you are a danger to endure, not a force to follow.

And then, cutting through the noise — Obito’s gaze, from that night in the study. Not pitying. Not afraid. The look of a man staring into a storm and choosing to walk straight in.

The wave thundered closer.

Rin’s muscles coiled.

She planted her feet.

The water struck like a beast’s jaws clamping shut. Cold slammed over her skull, crushing the air from her lungs.

The current seized her, dragged her under, spun her through a black that had no bottom.

She fought upward, but the weight was everywhere, pressing her down.

You want my strength? Isobu’s voice growled inside her mind, beneath the roar. Then breathe where no air exists. Find the stillness inside the storm.

Her chest burned.

Memories whipped past her — a child crying when she entered a room, a courtier whispering she should have been drowned at birth, the nights she lay awake praying she could cut the beast from her and be free.

She stopped fighting.

Let the water take her.

In the silent black, she felt it — the slow, immense pulse of the deep. A rhythm that matched the beat of her own heart. The current stopped pushing her away; it held her instead.

When she opened her eyes again, she stood on the black shore. The storm raged above, lightning breaking against Isobu’s massive shell

You did not flee. You did not break, his voice rolled through her, heavy and certain. When the tide rose, you rose with it.

He lowered his head until those amber eyes filled her vision.

When the sky burns and the sea turns black, he said, his tone dropping into prophecy, remember — the gate is not always locked from the outside.

The black shore dissolved.

Rin was back in the temple’s circle, her bare feet on cold stone, hair dripping with saltwater that had no right to exist here.

Karin studied her, the corners of her mouth tilting in the faintest nod. “He accepts you… for now.”

Naruto’s grin split his face. “Told you.”

Kakashi’s gaze lingered a heartbeat longer — steady, unreadable — before he turned away.

Rin exhaled slowly, tasting the salt still on her tongue.

Deep within, Isobu’s presence settled like the weight of the tide — not docile, but closer than before.

Watching. Waiting.

 

 

                                                                       TSUBAKI

 

The palace slept. Aboveground, moonlight washed over tiled roofs and rain-slicked courtyards, glinting off the lacquered edges of carved railings.

Guards made their rounds at a steady, predictable pace — too predictable for anyone who had studied their rhythm long enough.

But beneath the palace, the air was different.

Here, in the gut of the stone, the shadows breathed slower, heavier.

The scent was damp and metallic, the kind of cold that never left, no matter the season.

Weeks ago, Tsubaki had walked these same hidden arteries. Not by chance — by design.

She had been in the archives, sifting through neglected records, following a suspicion that had gnawed at her for years.

Strange incidents — noises in locked wings, fresh mud tracked into sealed storerooms, unexplained drafts in dead-end corridors — had whispered of places in the palace that no one spoke about.

Her hunt had ended with a pile of forgotten vellum maps, brittle enough to crack at the edges, their ink faded to the color of dried blood.

They did not match the palace’s current plans.

These were older. Much older.

They revealed an entire network of underground passages built by the first architects over a thousand years ago — escape routes, supply tunnels, hidden observation points carved for wars long past.

Most nobles would have seen them as a curiosity.

Tsubaki saw a battlefield.

She memorized every bend, every choke point, every forgotten exit. Then she seeded them with traps — small, surgical devices designed not to kill but to ruin.

They were hidden so well that even a seasoned infiltrator would pass over them without a second thought.

She told no one. Not even Shisui.

And now, her patience was paying off.

The rat moved like he belonged there.

Footsteps soft, even, controlled — every placement chosen to avoid loose grit or uneven stone.

He had traveled these passages many times before, without leaving a trace.

The tunnels were old friends to him, his twists and turns mapped into muscle memory.

Tonight was supposed to be the same.

The message had been clear: Obito gone on urgent business, the palace’s attention scattered by missions, and the jinchuriki sleeping alone in his chambers. Easy prey.
A perfect night.

His breathing was steady. His pace quick but unhurried

The tunnel ahead narrowed into a choke point — a short squeeze before the wider storage hall.

From there, it would be a straight shot to the surface door and the hidden stair up to the west wing.

He didn’t know Tsubaki was already there, melted into the shadow behind the bend, waiting.

The faintest shift underfoot. A subtle give in the stone. Just enough to register before—

SNAP.

The sound was sharp but quick — the mechanical finality of a predator’s jaw closing.

Pain followed a half-beat later.

Two crescent-shaped blades burst from the walls at ankle height with brutal precision.

The first bit deep into the flesh above the left ankle; the second carved clean through the right foot.

The metal wasn’t smooth — it was blackened iron, its edges lined with tiny, backward-facing hooks.

Shock froze him in place.

Then the pain hit.

A ragged, high scream tore from his throat, ricocheting down the stone corridor.

Instinct made him lunge forward, but it was the wrong move — the hooks dragged free, ripping ribbons of muscle as they went.

Blood sprayed in a hot arc, splattering the wall before pattering onto the floor in thick, steaming drops.

His right boot slipped halfway off; the foot inside bent at an angle that made bile rise in his throat.

The left leg refused to bear weight, the torn tendons curling like wet rope.

He gasped in shallow bursts, vision tunneling. Fingers scrabbled at the slick floor, trying to drag themselves forward, but each movement was answered with a flare of agony and the wet, sucking sound of shredded flesh on stone.

Something shifted in the darkness behind them.

Slow.

Unhurried.

A shadow detached itself from the wall, and Tsubaki stepped into view.

Her blade was already in hand, though she didn’t lift it. She didn’t need to.

The rat tried to roll onto his side to face her, but the motion pulled at the ruin of their leg. Another scream tore loose, thinner now, trembling at the edges.

Tsubaki crouched beside him, calm and silent. She pressed two fingers to his neck, feeling for the pulse as if assessing the freshness of caught game.

“Too easy,” she murmured, her tone so mild it was almost polite.

Her hand reached up, fingers finding a recess in the wall above.

She tapped a small silver bell hidden in the stone — its chime delicate, almost pretty.

The sound didn’t carry far, but in these tunnels, it traveled through the walls in a way that made the rat’s skin crawl.

Only a handful of guards in the palace knew that signal. And they did not come to save.

Blood loss was pulling them under. The edges of the world blurred, narrowing to Tsubaki’s face — impassive, cold, memorizing them like one would memorize the shape of a trophy.

The darkness closed in.

By the time anyone else heard of the capture, the rat would already be chained in the deepest cell beneath the palace.

And Tsubaki… would still be the only one who knew just how she’d cornered him.

 

Chapter 21: OBITO/IN THE COURT OF SHADOWS

                                                                    OBITO

The streets of Saint Bellanu glistened with rain and shadow, every surface slick as black glass. Lanterns swayed in the wind, their flames bowing and stretching, casting warped light that slid over uneven cobblestones.

The air was heavy with the scent of wet iron, mingling with the bitter smoke curling from the harbor’s ceaseless fires.

The city slept, but not peacefully. A crooked lantern post creaked in the gusts, throwing a thin blade of light across shuttered windows and silent doorways.

The few figures still wandering hugged the walls, their steps quick, their faces hidden beneath dripping hoods—each one carefully avoiding the tall, dark-clad figure cutting a deliberate path through the rain-slick streets.

A figure moved through the narrow lanes with the sure-footed silence of someone who belonged in dangerous places.

He kept his hood low, his black leathers darkened to a near matte sheen, every step a shadow swallowed by the night.

His face was hidden behind a crimson Oni half-mask — carved into a snarling grin with bared teeth and ivory fangs, the polished wood catching each flicker of passing light.

The mask made him unrecognizable to the casual eye, but anyone who knew better would still feel the weight of his presence.

The Uchiha heir carried an aura that pressed on the skin like heat before a wildfire.

The Drunken Deity Tavern squatted at the end of the lane, its warped sign swaying gently in the breeze.

Inside, the air was thick with pipe smoke and the tang of spilt liquor.

A few regulars hunched over their drinks, muttering in low voices, but the place was quieter than usual — this was the dead hour before dawn, when only the sleepless and the dangerous still lingered.

Jericho was exactly where Obito expected him to be — the back booth, where the wall was at his back and the rest of the room in his view.

His dark hair was pulled back, a glass of something amber in hand, eyes sharp despite the lazy posture.

The smirk that touched his mouth as Obito approached wasn’t surprised. It was recognition.

Obito sat without a word, the mask’s shadow cutting across the table between them. He set a heavy leather pouch down with a dull thud. Gold clinked inside. Payment — the same way, every time.

Jericho reached for it without looking away from him. “Always punctual. I take it the little gift I sent found its mark.”

Obito slid the mask free, setting it beside him. His face was unreadable. “The map. Explain.”

Jericho leaned back, swirling his drink. “Found it in my possession two nights before your boys came knocking. It was left for me. No courier. No coin. Just sitting on my table one morning like a cat dropped it there. Along with a note — ‘the loverbird prince’ — and a crest pressed in the corner.”

Obito’s eyes narrowed. “Uchiha?”

Jericho’s smirk sharpened. “The only clan crest worth getting my head split over. Which told me who it was meant for, and that it wasn’t meant for me.”

“Who sent it?”

“That’s the problem,” Jericho said, setting the glass down. “I don’t know. And I don’t like not knowing. I’ve got my little birds doubling their work, but it’s a clean drop — no trail, no whispers. Either someone’s very, very good, or they have the kind of reach where no one dares talk.”

Obito leaned forward slightly. “And your guess?”

Jericho’s gaze flickered toward the table’s edge, as though weighing whether to say it aloud.

“Father’s been busy. Hiring more blades — mercenaries, killers, the sort that don’t ask questions. If I had to wager, I’d say this map is bait. Or a summons. And if it’s the Underground Oasis, maybe both.”

Obito’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer immediately.

Jericho tapped the table with one finger.

“Could be he wants you there. Could be he’s hoping you’ll bring exactly what he needs. Or…” his eyes glinted, “maybe someone else wants you to see something before he does.”

The tavern’s door creaked behind them, a gust of cool air rolling through. Obito glanced to the side — and froze.

Through the smoke-hazed window, a black shape perched on the sill. A raven, sleek and still, its head tilting just enough for one glossy eye to catch the light.

Not just any raven. Palace-trained. A messenger.

Jericho took a slow sip, his sharp eyes narrowing on Obito over the rim of his cup. “Are you planning to visit the ancient city?”

Obito didn’t answer right away, his mind moving through possibilities. “I don’t know yet. I might.”

Jericho set his drink down, the wooden cup hitting the table with a muted thud.

“Then listen to me, old mate—if you go, keep your head on a swivel. Could be bait. Places like that… they don’t just swallow the unwary, they make you think you walked in by choice.”

Obito’s gaze held steady, but Jericho leaned forward, lowering his voice.

“Don’t go alone. And if you smell something wrong, you turn around—no matter how close you think you are to whatever you’re chasing. Dead men don’t solve mysteries.”

By the time Jericho finished his drink, Obito was already on his feet, the mask back in place. He stepped outside into the cold, and the bird launched from the sill, circling once before landing neatly on his forearm. Its talons gripped leather, wings folding close.

A small scroll was bound to its leg. He untied it, the knot familiar beneath his fingers.

Four words stared back at him in dark, urgent ink:

The rat has been caught.

Obito’s grip tightened.

The raven gave a single, sharp caw — as if to punctuate the message — before taking off into the night.

 

 

                                                                               IN THE COURT OF SHADOWS

 

The first thing he tasted was blood.

It clung to his teeth, bitter and metallic, pooling at the back of his throat until he swallowed it down with a wince.

The second thing he felt was the ache — deep, marrow-deep — in his ribs, his jaw, his legs. Each breath dragged splinters of pain through him. Bruises burned in slow, throbbing pulses.

He didn’t know how long he’d been here.
Hours? A day? More?

Every time his mind had clawed its way toward consciousness, fists and boots had driven him back under. Sometimes it was a guard’s knuckles, sometimes the butt of a spear, each blow blurring the line between waking and nothingness until time became meaningless.

Cold stone pressed against his cheek. His wrists ached where rope had rubbed his skin raw.

The air was damp, smelling of iron and oil, with something faintly sweet threading through it — almost out of place in a dungeon.

A shadow shifted in front of him.

Boots.
Black leather, polished to a muted gleam. Steady. Unmoving.

His gaze traveled upward.

She sat there like a queen in a throne she didn’t need — legs crossed, black leather molding to her frame, the low torchlight gilding the sharp edges of her presence.

Her long, black hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders in inky waves. She held a file in one hand, lazily tending to her nails as though she were waiting for tea, not overseeing a prisoner.

Her eyes lifted from her work and met his.

Sharingan.

Then she snapped her fingers.

The sound was sharp, final — like the crack of a whip.

Two guards moved instantly, each seizing one of his arms in an iron grip. They hauled him upright with no more care than they’d give to a sack of grain and slammed him down into the wooden chair.

The legs scraped against the stone floor with a harsh groan before stopping dead.

Behind her, a wall of silent power loomed — Shisui, Obito, Itachi, Sasuke, Commander Shien.

Predators in human form, each carrying the quiet lethality of a blade already drawn.

The man knew their faces. Princes. Killers. War-forged leaders whose very names could still the air in a tavern. Sharingan eyes glowed like molten embers in the gloom.

Yet somehow, they weren’t the ones he feared most.

No.

The room belonged to her.

Her presence pressed against him like a physical weight. She didn’t move toward him — she didn’t have to. It was enough that her gaze found his, pinning him harder than the guards’ hands ever could.

There was no heat in her stare, no kindness, no anger. Just an unflinching, dissecting stillness, as if she were already peeling back the layers of his mind and picking through them piece by piece.

“About time you woke up,” Tsubaki said, her voice smooth, unhurried.

He ignored her. Stared at the wall instead.

Her smirk barely lifted one corner of her mouth. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Fuck… you… bitch,” he rasped, his voice raw and cracked.

The faintest twitch crossed Shisui’s jaw, but his voice carried the quiet authority of a man who commanded death.
“You will address her with respect — I’ll carve the disrespect out of you."

Tsubaki didn’t so much as blink. She snapped her fingers once, a sharp crack of sound in the still air.

A guard stepped forward, carrying a battered tin cup and a clay jug. Water sloshed inside, clear in the torchlight.

The man’s throat screamed for it.

The guard tipped the cup to his mouth, and he drank greedily, gulping down the cool liquid until it slid down his aching throat.

Tsubaki smiled — cold, patient.

Commander Shien spoke first, his voice level. “State your name.”

The prisoner stared back, silent.

Tsubaki’s gaze sharpened like the snap of a blade. “Answer him.”

It was instinct, not choice, that forced the words out of his mouth. “Karo.”

The name left his lips before his mind could clamp down on it.

A slow frown formed between his brows.

His tongue felt… strange. Loose. Too willing. Something was wrong.

That’s when it hit him.

His eyes went wide. “Wha—” He choked, trying to spit out the drink already swallowed, as if it burned like consecrated fire. “What did you give me?”

The men behind her didn’t flinch. Their faces were carved from stone, but their eyes traded quick, knowing glances. Even they wondered—after all these years—how Tsubaki always got people to talk. The most disciplined assassins. The most loyal soldiers. Men who’d taken secrets to the grave… until they crossed her. No one had ever uncovered her method.

Until now.

Daughter of a general.

Shisui used to call her “little demon” or “little devil” when they needed her unrivaled assassin’s touch.

Now she was married to a Uchiha prince—her reach even deadlier.

Tsubaki’s smirk was a blade’s edge—cold, merciless. “Why? You like it?”

The man clamped his jaw shut, refusing to answer. No one in the room moved, but even the princes couldn’t mask the flicker of shock in their eyes.

“I call it Death’s Lullaby,” she said, almost gently. “My own invention—a truth serum so soft it could pass for mountain spring water. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t sting. It soothes the mind like silk… greasing the path from question to confession until lying is no longer possible. And you'll be dead in forty-eight hours.”

“You… lying bitch,” he spat.

He never made it to his feet.

Shisui’s dagger flew in a blur, burying itself deep in the man’s shoulder. Blood welled instantly, dark against his tunic

The guards slammed him back into the chair, pinning him hard, the dagger still lodged in his flesh as his breath hissed through clenched teeth.

Obito stepped forward, his voice low, edged with steel. “You’re going to answer everything we ask you. Every lie you’ve ever told ends here.”

Karo sneered up at him. “I don’t take orders from—”
“—you do now,” Obito cut in, voice sharp enough to draw blood.

Itachi’s gaze didn’t waver from the prisoner’s face. “Jun and her family,” he said quietly, but the weight behind the words pressed like a blade at the throat. “How deep are they in?”

“Yes,” the answer slipped out before Karo could stop it. His eyes widened slightly — a crack in the armor. “They’ve worked with me. With Father. I’m just a mercenary. Hired muscle. I don’t know who Father is — none of us do.”

Sasuke’s voice was colder than the stone walls. “What do they give you?”

Karo’s jaw clenched, but the words came anyway. “Information. Access. They keep the palace blind. But if you think you’re going to get them now, you’re stupider than I thought. They’ll be gone. They’re smarter than you think. By now—”

Tsubaki cut him off, her tone a blade wrapped in silk. “The night we took you, Jun, Mira, and their entire family were put under house arrest. They’re in the cells beneath this very floor.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. It was small — but everyone in the room saw it.

Deep down, beneath the bruises and the bravado, panic flared in his eyes.

And Tsubaki… smiled.

Obito moved in closer, his shadow falling across Karo’s battered frame.

“Then let’s start there,” he said, voice low, measured. “The network. How many of you are in Akatsuki Land right now?”

Karo’s lips curled. “Enough to gut this kingdom before sunrise.”

The answer slipped out too easily, and the flicker of realization in his eyes was almost satisfying. He tried to bite it back, but Death’s Lullaby left no room for silence.

Itachi’s voice cut through the air — quiet but unyielding. “Names.”

“Don’t—” Karo began, but the serum greased the path again, and the words spilled.

“Two handlers, both from the Western Cliffs. Three stationed in the merchant quarter. One embedded in the palace kitchens.”

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed. “The kitchens?”

“Poisons are cleaner than blades,” Karo said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Tsubaki leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on her knee, her smirk never faltering. “How do they pass messages?”

Karo hesitated — or tried to. His jaw worked, grinding against the truth that insisted on clawing its way free.

“Through the market bells. One toll at dawn, two at dusk. Codes shift weekly. If a bell falls silent for more than a minute, it’s a kill order.

A ripple of tension passed through the room.

Obito’s gaze darkened. “And Father?”

“I don’t know who he is.” The words came in a rush. “No one does. We don’t meet him. Orders come through couriers in bone masks. Payment’s always in gold, no faces, no names.”

Itachi’s head tilted slightly. “Yet you follow him.”

Karo’s teeth bared in something between a sneer and a grimace. “Because every man who’s tried to betray him… died screaming.”

Sasuke stepped forward, his voice cool as steel left in the snow. “You’ve seen it?”

Karo’s eyes flickered — and that was answer enough. “Once,” he admitted. “Never again.”

Tsubaki’s gaze didn’t move from his face. “You’re afraid.”

He laughed, a dry, broken sound. “You’d be too, princess.”

Obito crouched until he was eye level with him. “No. You’re afraid because you know this is the end of your road. Father won’t save you. And your little friends upstairs? They can’t run anymore.”

That struck deeper than the punches had. Karo’s expression shifted — the smallest falter, but there all the same.

Tsubaki caught it instantly, leaning back with a slow, deliberate smile. “And now,” she said, “you understand what Death’s Lullaby truly means. You’ll tell us everything… and you won’t even be able to lie to yourself about it.”

Karo’s glare locked on Tsubaki, hate simmering in the edges of his pupils.

“You think this is clever? That smile? You’ve got no idea what you’ve walked into.”

Sasuke’s lip curled. “Enlighten us.”

Karo’s cracked lips twisted into something like a smile. “Jun’s clever. Father’s cleverer. They’ve got reach you can’t imagine.”

Itachi’s voice was low, cutting. “Reach where?”

The man hesitated — not from choice, but because his mind fought against the pull of the serum. His shoulders jerked once before the words tore out.

“Somewhere far. Somewhere deep. One of the other mercenaries… he told me he heard Father speaking in the old tongue. Called someone an ‘Oasian.’”

Karo’s laugh came out as a broken rattle, flecked with copper.

“Then I guess Father’s a ghost whisperer… or the truth got lost in your precious archives.”

Obito’s boots clicked against the stone as he closed the distance, his shadow stretching over Karo like a dark tide. His voice was iron, each syllable a weight.

“What else do you know about them?”

Karo’s head tipped back against the chair, eyes narrowing with that same stubborn glint — but the truth kept clawing up his throat regardless. “That’s it,” he ground out. “I don’t even know if the man I saw was Oasian — just that Father spoke to him like they were old friends. Gave him orders I couldn’t understand. And whatever he said… it made the man smile.”

Tsubaki’s gaze sharpened, her expression unreadable. She leaned forward slightly, the torchlight catching in the black pools of her eyes. Her voice was soft, but it carried an edge that could cut through bone.

“And where did this meeting happen?”

His jaw worked, hesitation flickering over his bruised features. Then, as though the dam inside him cracked, the truth spilled out fast.

“Somewhere under the desert. My contact called it ‘the city that sleeps.’ Said it’s a place no map dares show, because it’s older than any kingdom standing now.”

A ripple of unease passed between the men behind her. Itachi’s eyes shifted, just barely, toward Obito.

“The Underground Oasis,” he said quietly, as if speaking the name too loud might summon it.

For a moment, no one moved. The name hung there — stale and heavy in the dungeon air — carrying with it the weight of half-buried nightmares.

Karo’s grin widened just enough to show a blood-stained tooth. “Now you’re asking the right questions…” His voice was little more than a rasp, but it carried a twisted satisfaction. “…too bad you’re asking them too late.”

Karo’s grin still lingered, but Obito didn’t let it sit long. He stepped forward again, boots scraping against the stone floor, and leaned in just far enough for the prisoner to feel the weight of his presence

“What does Father want with the jinchūriki?” Obito’s voice was steady, but there was a dangerous undertone to it — the kind that made even seasoned soldiers think twice before answering wrong. “What does he plan to do with them?”

Karo’s smile faltered. He drew in a slow breath, letting it burn in his lungs before exhaling through split lips. “You think he tells me?” he asked, voice thick with mockery. “I’m just the muscle. I bring the bodies in, I keep them breathing until he’s done. That’s it.”

Obito’s gaze didn’t waver. “You expect me to believe you’ve worked for him this long and never asked why?”

Karo’s head rolled against the back of the chair, eyes half-lidded. “I’ve learned not to ask questions. Men who do… don’t live long enough to regret it.”

Sasuke’s voice cut in, sharp and skeptical. “Convenient.”

Karo barked a short, humorless laugh. “Realistic. You think Father’s going to hand me a master plan wrapped up in a bow? No. I’m a blade in his hand, nothing more.”

Itachi tilted his head slightly, his tone unreadable but precise.

“And yet you’ve seen enough to know he’s working with people thought extinct for centuries.”

Karo’s gaze flicked toward him, and for the first time since the questioning began, there was the faintest tremor in his composure.

“I told you what I know. That’s more than most who cross him can say.”

Obito straightened, letting his shadow lift off the man, but his voice stayed cold.

“Then hear this — if I find out you’re holding back, if I learn one drop of blood is spilled because you thought you could play coy…” He let the sentence trail off, the silence saying more than the threat itself.

Karo’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing. The torchlight danced in his eyes — and for just a moment, there was no defiance there.

Only calculation.

The guards escorted Jun, Mira, and their father down the narrow hall, boots clapping against the flagstones. Shadows leaned long against the walls, stretching from the flicker of the torches.

The smell was an old one — stone, oil, and the faint trace of iron rust that came from the cells.

Jun walked like she owned the place. Shackled wrists or not, her chin was high, her steps measured, and her smirk dared anyone to think she was afraid.

Mira kept close to her sister, her gaze darting between the guards and the door ahead. Their father followed, shoulders straight, jaw tight, the practiced posture of a man who once knew power.

Shadows clung to the walls, stretching long with the torchlight. The air was cool, tinged with stone, oil, and the metallic ghost of old blood.

At the end of the hall, the heavy iron door was opened with a slow groan of hinges. Inside, the chamber was lit by a single row of torches along the walls.

A table sat in the middle, its surface bare but for a single carafe of water and three empty cups.

Obito and Shisui stood behind Tsubaki, hands clasped behind his back, still as stone but radiating the weight of command. Shisui

Sasuke leaned against the far wall, shadow cutting across half his face. Itachi waited near the table, posture perfect, gaze unreadable.

“Sit,” Tsubaki said.

Jun’s smirk slid into place. “Funny, I don’t recall ever taking orders from you.”

“Then start,” Tsubaki replied without missing a beat.

Mira hesitated, then pulled out a chair. Their father followed, eyes flicking between the Uchihas in the room, lowering himself into the seat with deliberate control.

Jun made them wait, dragging her chair back with a long scrape of wood on stone before sitting, crossing one leg over the other like she was entertaining guests.

“You’re here,” Tsubaki began, “because we have reason to believe you’ve been working against the crown.”

Jun’s laugh was low, taunting. “Reason to believe. Not proof. That’s a bad hand to play, Princess.”

Sasuke’s eyes tracked her from the shadows. “Sometimes bad hands win games.”

“Or they fold before the stakes get too high,” Jun shot back.

Itachi’s voice slid into the space between them — quiet, but sharp. “Depends on who’s at the table.”

Tsubaki leaned forward slightly, fingers resting on the tabletop. “Your father was once a respected noble, trusted by the king and his advisors. Until greed and gambling made him a liability. He lost his place here… and now, he’s clawing his way back into the king’s good graces.”

Jun’s mouth curved, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You make it sound so desperate.”

“Careful,” Shisui said softly, though there was nothing gentle in his tone.

“And yet here you are,” Tsubaki said, “playing double agent for a man you don’t even know. ‘Father.’ That’s what you call him, isn’t it?”

Mira shifted in her seat, the movement small, but Itachi’s eyes flicked toward her and then back to Jun — filing the tell away.

Jun didn’t flinch. “If you’re talking about this so-called ‘Father,’ then your spies are wasting your coin. We don’t even know who he is.”

Obito moved from behind Tsubaki, stepping into the light until he stood across from her. His gaze didn’t waver. “Half-truths again, Jun. Still your favorite weapon.”

Her smirk widened. “And yours is pretending the Crimson Love Festival never happened.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Mira’s eyes flicked to her sister in alarm, their father’s jaw clenched, but Jun didn’t break eye contact with Obito.

Sasuke pushed off the wall, his tone almost lazy, but his eyes were sharp. “Keep digging, Jun. You might just hit something you can’t crawl out of.”

Jun’s gaze slid to him, lips curling. “What, like your pride?”

Itachi broke in before Sasuke could answer, his voice even.
“You mistake this for a game. Games end when the players decide. This—” his gaze swept over Jun, Mira, and their father “—ends when we decide.”

Jun only tilted her head, the iron around her wrists clinking softly.

“Then you’ll be waiting a long time.”

Tsubaki studied her for a moment, eyes narrowing just enough to show she’d measured every breath, every flicker of expression.

“Perhaps. But time runs differently down here. It grinds. Eats at you. Eventually, it swallows.”

Mira shifted again, but Jun’s smirk was ironclad. Their father’s silence was louder than all of them — a man who knew that words in this room could not be taken back.

Obito leaned forward on the table, voice low and deliberate. “This is the last kindness you’ll get. We could make you talk. We’re choosing not to. For now.”

Jun’s only answer was a slow blink.

Shisui straightened from his place behind Tsubaki, the shift subtle but sharp enough to draw the eye. “Enough. They’re not worth the air.”

Tsubaki gave a single, sharp nod to the guards. The chairs scraped against the stone as Jun and her family were hauled to their feet.

The smirk never left her lips, but there was a flash in her eyes — a fleeting thing, gone before it could be caught.

The heavy door groaned shut behind them, sealing the damp, torch-lit chamber once more.

Silence lingered, thick and unsatisfied.

“They’ll slip,” Sasuke said finally, voice quiet but certain.

“They always do,” Itachi replied.

Obito’s jaw tightened. “And when they do…” His gaze followed the closed door. “We’ll be ready.”

The iron door’s slam still echoed when Jun leaned back against the damp stone wall, her wrists shackled but her chin lifted like she was sitting in a silk-draped parlor.

“Well,” she drawled, crossing one ankle over the other, “that was amusing.”

Mira sat on the edge of the stone bench; her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “You think they’re just going to let this go?”

Jun scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Please. They’ve got nothing, Mira. Not a scrap of real evidence. It’s all suspicion and paranoia. They’re throwing stones in the dark, hoping to hear a scream.”

Her father sat silent in the corner; his face unreadable in the half-light.

Mira bit her lip. “They’re watching us. I can feel it.”

“They’ve been watching us for years,” Jun said sharply. “And we’ve always danced circles around them. Obito may be the heir, but he’s not untouchable. He’s a man. And men are predictable—especially when you’ve already had them wrapped around your finger once.”

Mira’s eyes flicked toward her sister. “You mean that night during the Crimson Festival?”

Jun’s smirk deepened. “Exactly. He couldn’t even remember half of it the next morning. Drunk as a lord, but still begging for more. I could ruin him with the right whisper if I wanted to.”

Mira shifted uneasily. “That’s dangerous to say here.”

“That’s the point,” Jun said, her voice honey over glass. “They think I’m afraid. They think I’ll play the caged bird. But let them keep us down here. Every day we’re here, they’ll start wondering what we know, what we might be saying to each other. That uncertainty will eat at them more than anything we could tell them outright.”

Her father finally spoke, voice gravelly. “And if they do find proof?”

Jun’s eyes glittered in the dim torchlight. “Then we burn it. Same as always.”

A faint scuff of leather on stone sounded from beyond the door—too soft for the prisoners to hear, but close enough to catch every word.

On the other side, Tsubaki stood perfectly still, her ear tilted just enough toward the small vent cut into the iron. In the dim torchlight of the corridor, her expression was unreadable… save for the ghost of a cold, calculating smile.

She didn’t push the door open. She didn’t interrupt.

She simply listened, every word etching itself into her mind.

When Jun’s laughter slid through the vent like poison smoke, Tsubaki’s grip tightened on the dagger she wore at her hip—not in anger, but in quiet satisfaction.

Let them believe they were untouchable. Let them think the Uchihas were stumbling in the dark.

Tsubaki turned away at last, her footfalls silent as a cat’s. By the time she reached the stairwell, her smile had sharpened into something dangerous.

The heavy dungeon door groaned shut behind Tsubaki as she ascended the narrow stairwell.

The air grew warmer with each step, the stench of mildew replaced by the faint scent of oil lamps and polished steel.

She didn’t stop for guards. Her path was direct—to the war room, where the low murmur of voices bled through the thick wooden doors.

She pushed them open without ceremony.

Obito stood at the long table, hands braced on its edge, studying a map spread wide before him. Sasuke was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowing the instant he saw her expression. Itachi sat beside him, posture composed, but his gaze sharpened like a blade.

“You’ve been in the dungeons,” Obito said, his voice low. Not a question.

“I have,” Tsubaki replied, stepping inside. The torchlight caught the faint sheen of dust on her boots, the damp chill still clinging to her shoulders. “And I’ve heard enough to confirm what we suspected—and enough to move forward.”

Obito straightened slowly, eyes locked on hers. “Talk.”

Tsubaki set her palms on the table, leaning forward. “Jun isn’t frightened. Not in the least. She believes we have no evidence against her. In fact, she’s confident enough to mock you by name, Obito. She spoke of the Crimson Festival—openly—and implied she could destroy your reputation if she chose to.”

Sasuke’s jaw tightened. “Arrogant.”

“She’s more than arrogant,” Tsubaki said, her tone clipped. “She’s playing a long game. She wants us uncertain, wants us guessing what she knows and doesn’t know. Her father barely spoke, but Mira… she follows Jun’s lead like a shadow. They have no knowledge of the Oasians or the Underground Oasis—at least, not directly. But they are certain they’ll find a way out of this.”

Itachi’s gaze darkened. “And what makes you so sure they will not?”

Tsubaki’s smile was razor-thin. “Because Jun underestimates my ability to listen. She spoke without realizing I was within earshot. Every word was bait to make us hesitate. I have no intention of hesitating.”

Obito’s fingers curled into a fist on the table. “Then we make her choke on her own confidence.”

Sasuke pushed off the wall. “We could start by planting the idea that one of her allies has already turned. See how quickly she starts to unravel.”

Tsubaki inclined her head. “And I suggest we keep them isolated—not just from the outside world, but from each other. No shared cells. No whispered plans in the dark.”

Itachi’s voice was calm, but his eyes were cold. “Divide and starve the snake. See which head bites first.”

Obito nodded once, decisively. “Do it. And keep listening, Tsubaki. If she thinks she’s safe enough to talk, I want every word.”

Her smile returned—cool, assured. “You’ll have them. Word for word.”

She turned and left without another sound, the faint rustle of her skirts fading into the hall.

Obito stared at the closed door for a long moment before looking back to his brothers.

“Jun thinks she’s clever,” he said quietly. “Let’s show her what clever really looks like.”

The iron gate shrieked open, echoing down the stone corridor. The guard’s torchlight threw jagged shadows across the damp walls as Tsubaki stepped into the dungeon again, her expression unreadable.

Jun, Mira, and their father sat in the single, dimly lit cell—backs straight, eyes sharp. Jun’s gaze found Tsubaki immediately, lips curling into a smirk.

“Back so soon?” she drawled. “Can’t stay away from me, can you, Princess?”

Tsubaki didn’t rise to it. She stopped before the cell and gestured to the guards. “Separate them.”

Mira blinked, glancing at Jun, but Jun only laughed—a brittle, condescending sound. “Oh, this is cute. You think splitting us up will change anything?”

The gate clanged open. Two guards moved to seize Mira by the arm, another took the father. Jun stood deliberately slow, stepping into their path. “Touch them roughly,” she warned, “and I’ll—”

“You’ll do nothing,” Tsubaki said, her voice as calm as winter frost. “Your tongue’s only worth something while you’re breathing, and I control both your air and your company.”

Mira was dragged toward the far cells, her head twisting back to look at her sister. The father was pulled the opposite direction, his jaw tight, saying nothing.

Jun’s smirk stayed plastered on her lips, but her eyes tracked their movements until they were gone.

The moment the corridor fell silent again, Tsubaki stepped inside the cell. The door closed behind her with a sharp metallic click.

“Let me guess,” Jun said. “You’re going to tell me I’m alone now. That I should start thinking about myself instead of my family. The usual intimidation tactic.”

“No,” Tsubaki replied smoothly. “I’m going to tell you that I’ve already spoken to them. Separately. And I now know who cracks first.”

Jun’s smirk faltered for half a heartbeat—just enough for Tsubaki to see it.

“They know nothing,” Jun snapped. “We know nothing. Your precious Father of Shadows or whatever he is—he means nothing to us.”

Tsubaki tilted her head, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “Interesting choice of words. I never told you that title.”

Silence.

Jun’s jaw tightened. “Slip of the tongue.”

“Of course.” Tsubaki stepped back, letting the shadows wrap around her. “You should save your breath, Jun. This dungeon has a way of making people confess without ever being touched. And when you do…” Her gaze sharpened. “…it won’t be to me. It will be to him.”

From the far end of the hall, heavy boots approached—measured, deliberate. The flicker of torchlight caught the familiar silhouette of Obito Uchiha, his black leathers swallowing the dim glow, his eyes locked on Jun.

For the first time that night, Jun’s smirk truly died.

The guards didn’t move when Obito stopped in front of the bars.

They knew better.

Jun stood in the center of the cell, posture regal despite the damp stone and rusted chains around her ankles. Her eyes flicked over him—slow, calculating—and she smiled like the years hadn’t passed

“Well, well,” she purred. “The prodigal prince himself. I’m flattered.”

Obito didn’t slow his pace until he stood directly in front of her cell. His voice was flat. “Flattered? You’ve been downgraded from palace parasite to dungeon décor. I’d say you’re slipping.”

Jun’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Still bitter I’m the one memory from the Crimson Love Festival you can’t drink into oblivion?”

His eyes hardened. “Bitter? No. But I have better taste now.”

Her smirk grew, eyes glinting. “Ah, yes. The little jinchuriki. Pretty enough in a common sort of way. I imagine she looks at you like you hung the moon. How… predictable” Jun leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Does she know? That once, when you were eighteen and drunk enough to forget yourself, you came to me? That you said my name like it was—”

The sound of his boot striking the bars cut her off with a sharp, metallic crack. The force rattled the iron in its frame.

She flinched—just a flicker—but it was enough for him to see.

“You speak her name again,” Obito said, voice low and dangerous, “and it’ll be the last time your tongue works for anything.”

For the first time, Jun’s smirk faltered.

Obito’s gaze didn’t soften. “Why, Jun? Why betray the crown? You were given a place in this palace. A name. Comfort. Protection. What’s worth more than that?”

She recovered some of her poise, tilting her chin. “You think too small, Prince. A seat at the table is nothing when you can own the whole damned house.”

“Own it for yourself, or for him?” His voice sharpened on the last word.

“I don’t even know who he is,” she said with a careless shrug. “He’s just… opportunity. And I take opportunities. Always have.”

His eyes narrowed. “Opportunity doesn’t explain the map. Or the nickname.”

“Tell me something Jun, ‘The lovebird prince—that’s the best nickname your precious Father could come up with for me?”

The curve of his smile more warning than humor.

That pulled a sly smile from her. “The lovebird prince… honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t like it.”

“Oh, I liked it,” he said, tone laced with mockery. “Flattered, even. But your mysterious master could’ve done better. Maybe next time you can suggest one for him.”

Jun’s eyes narrowed, just enough to betray a flicker of recognition before she tried to mask it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, you don’t,” Obito said quietly, studying her.

“You know,” he continued, stepping close enough that the bars were the only thing keeping him from her, “your little pet mercenary already sang for us. Gave us crumbs. Just enough to be interesting. Old tongues. Oasians. A city that sleeps beneath the desert.”

Jun’s composure faltered for a fraction of a second, like a stone hitting still water.

Obito caught it. He always did.

“You can play clever all you want. But every game ends with one player standing. You’re good at surviving… but so am I.”

Her smirk was back, but weaker. “Then I guess we’ll see who’s left when this is over.”

“We will,” he said, stepping back. “And when we do… you’ll wish you’d talked tonight.”

The cell door scraped open, and Mira stepped out under the watchful eyes of two guards. She was thinner than Jun, her beauty quieter, understated—the kind that drew you in without effort. But her eyes… those darted too quickly, reading everyone in the room before she’d even crossed the threshold.

She was seated at the long, bare table in the dim interrogation chamber.

Obito, Shisui, Itachi, and Sasuke took their places opposite her, while Tsubaki leaned against the far wall, silent but attentive. Commander Shien lingered at the door, arms folded, gaze like a hawk.

“Mira,” Itachi began, his voice as smooth and calm as running water. “We can do this one of two ways. Which would you prefer?”

Her hands folded neatly on the table. “I’d prefer to go back upstairs to my room, Your Highness. This stone floor is murder on my back.”

Sasuke arched a brow. “You’re under arrest for treason. You’ll forgive us if we’re not concerned about your comfort.”

“I haven’t committed treason,” she said simply. “Whatever Jun’s gotten herself tangled in, I’m not part of it.”

Obito leaned forward, gaze steady as steel. “You live under the same roof. You’ve shared the same dealings. You’ve benefitted from the same favors. That makes you part of it.”

Her lashes lowered, the picture of innocence. “I’m not my sister’s keeper.”

Shisui gave a humorless smile, tapping a finger against the table. “Maybe not. But you’ve followed her close enough to know where she steps—and lately, you’ve been stepping ahead of her.”

“No,” Tsubaki cut in from the shadows, “but you’ve been her shadow for years. Always just a step behind, always there to pick up the pieces. Funny thing is… lately, you’ve been moving ahead of her.”

Mira’s head turned, a faint smile touching her lips. “Is it a crime to have ambition?”

“It’s a crime to conspire with an enemy of the crown,” Obito said, his tone sharp enough to cut. “Tell us about the people you’ve met with in the last month.”

She hesitated—not from fear, but from calculation. “We’ve met plenty of people. Nobles. Merchants. Guests at the palace. Nothing unusual.”

Shisui’s gaze didn’t waver. “And the man at the Winter Masquerade? Dressed in desert silks? You looked right at him.”

A flicker. Quick—gone in a breath. “I don’t remember anyone like that.”

Itachi’s voice cooled. “Try again.”

“I… saw him. Once. I didn’t speak to him. Jun might have.”

“What was his name?” Sasuke asked.

“I don’t know. He didn’t give one.”

“And yet you remember the way he dressed,” Shisui pressed, leaning back in his chair but watching her like a hawk. “Down to the fabric.”

Her composure wavered for the first time. “He stood out. That’s all.”

Obito’s voice dropped, quiet and dangerous. “This isn’t a game, Mira. Your sister can posture all she wants, but you—you’re too smart to pretend you don’t understand the stakes. So, I’ll ask you plainly: what does the Father want?”

Her lips parted. Then closed again. “I don’t know. He’s just a name. A shadow Jun talks about. If I’d met him, I’d remember.”

The silence stretched, heavy.

“Lying won’t keep you safe,” Tsubaki said softly from the wall. “Not from him. And not from us.”

Mira’s hands tightened in her lap. “Then maybe I should be afraid of both.”

Obito didn’t blink. “Be afraid of choosing wrong.”

Tsubaki finally stepped forward, her voice like silk over steel.

“We’ll speak again soon, Mira. Don’t get too comfortable downstairs.”

The guards took her away, heels clicking lightly against the stones until the door slammed shut behind her.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Sasuke spoke, frowning. “Did you hear it?”

Itachi nodded slowly. “She said Jun might have spoken to the man at the masquerade.”

“Which means she knows he was there for a reason,” Obito finished grimly. “And that reason wasn’t trade or politics.”

Shisui’s eyes narrowed. “She’s hiding something. Next time, we don’t let her slip through with half-answers.”

Tsubaki’s gaze was sharp as a blade. “Next time, she won’t get to dance around it.”

The dungeon air was damp and close, heavy with the scent of rust and wet stone. Torches hissed in their sconces, casting jagged shadows that swayed with every flicker of flame.

The guards dragged Lord Hano forward, shackles clinking with each step. His silks—once a mark of prestige—were wrinkled, dulled, and stained from the cell floor. He still carried himself with the ghost of his old arrogance, but the tension in his jaw betrayed the strain.

Obito sat at the head of the long table, flanked by Itachi and Sasuke. Shisui lounged to Obito’s right, his posture deceptively relaxed, eyes sharp and watchful. Tsubaki leaned against the wall with a predator’s patience, and Commander Shien stood guard by the door.

“Lord Hano,” Obito said flatly, motioning to the chair opposite. “Sit.”

Hano dropped into the seat with a scowl. “Your Highness—this treatment—”

“—is exactly what you’ve earned,” Sasuke cut in, voice like ice. “You’re lucky you’re sitting at all.”

Obito didn’t waste time. “Your daughters have been very… helpful.”

A flicker of alarm crossed Hano’s face before he masked it. “Jun? Mira? You expect me to believe they’d speak against me?”

“They didn’t have to,” Shisui said lightly, leaning forward just enough to let the torchlight catch his eyes. “It’s the way they said nothing that spoke volumes. That, and the way you’re swallowing right now.”

Hano’s jaw tightened. “You’re imagining things.”

“No,” Shisui said with a faint smirk. “I’m reading them.”

Itachi’s voice was calm, deliberate. “We don’t expect. We know. They told us everything.”

Hano’s gaze darted. “Everything,” he repeated, testing the word.

Sasuke leaned back lazily. “About the hooded figure at the secret meetings in the old wine cellars beneath the palace. About your dealings with mercenaries in the Father’s pay. About the agreements struck while the rest of the court slept.”

That flicker sharpened—panic, quickly hidden. “They… mentioned those meetings?”

“They mentioned much more,” Obito said, his voice turning to steel. “How you tried to buy your way back into the King’s favor while selling him out to the very enemy who seeks to gut his kingdom.”

“They mentioned much more,” Obito said, his voice turning to steel. “How you tried to buy your way back into the King’s favor while selling him out to the very enemy who seeks to gut his kingdom.”

“That’s a distortion—”

“—and how the mercenary called himself Oasian,” Itachi added smoothly.

Hano froze a fraction too long.

“The Oasians are extinct,” Shien said from the door.

Hano gave a brittle laugh. “Perhaps you should update your records. The man I met was as real as any of you.”

“So he exists,” Shisui said, voice almost amused. “Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. What else do you know about him? Height, build, voice?”

“I don’t—”

“You do,” Shisui interrupted, tone still casual but his gaze cutting. “People don’t forget men they fear.”

Obito tilted his head. “And you fear him enough to hand over the crown’s secrets.”

“I didn’t tell him everything,” Hano snapped. “Only what he needed—troop rotations, who’d be gone from the palace, where certain… valuables were kept.”

“By valuables, you mean the jinchūriki,” Itachi said.

Hano’s lips thinned. “I may have… mentioned her.”

“Why?” Obito’s voice sliced through the air.

Hano’s bravado cracked. “Because that’s what he wanted. Said the tailed beasts belonged to him before they ever belonged to men.”

“What does he plan to do with them?”

“I don’t know,” Hano said quickly. “I just pass the words, make the introductions. Others do the rest.”

“So you sell out the crown for coin,” Sasuke said coldly.

Hano bristled. “He promised me a place in the new order. That my family would be untouchable.”

Tsubaki stepped forward, her eyes glinting. “Your family is already touched, Lord Hano. And if you think the Father can shield you from the reach of this house…” She let the words hang, the faintest smile curving her lips.

For the first time, true fear flickered in his eyes.

Shisui’s voice dropped, deceptively calm. “Here’s the thing about ‘new orders,’ Hano. They’re built on the bones of the ones who believed them. You’ll be one of the first in the dirt.”

Obito leaned in, voice quiet but edged in mockery. “You’ve already told us more than you meant to. The only choice you have left is whether you walk out before the poison in your veins stops your heart.”

Hano’s eyes widened. “Poison?”

Tsubaki’s tone was almost pitying. “You didn’t think the water was for hospitality, did you?”

He flexed his fingers instinctively, feeling the faint numbness creeping up his arms.

“We already have your daughters’ confessions,” Sasuke said.

“They—? No, they wouldn’t—”

“They already did,” Itachi said. “We’re just confirming the details.”

The silence thickened until Hano’s shoulders sagged. “Fine,” he rasped. “The Father pays better than any king. Gold. Protection. A place for my family when this kingdom burns. You think loyalty fills a man’s belly?”

“And the jinchūriki?” Obito pressed.

Hano looked away. “I don’t know what he wants. I kept my head down. That’s how you live long in this business.”

“Not long enough,” Shisui murmured.

Tsubaki folded her arms. “You have forty-eight hours before the Death’s Lullaby in your blood ends you. And before that… you’ll have the honor of watching your daughters die. Front row.”

Hano’s face drained. “You wouldn’t—”

“We would,” Obito said.

The chains rattled as Hano lunged forward, but the guards were already on him. His shouts echoed off the stone as they dragged him away.

“No—please! Take me! Leave them!”

The heavy dungeon door groaned open, spilling torchlight into Jun’s cell. She didn’t rise right away—only stretched her legs out and leaned back against the damp wall, as though she were reclining in a salon instead of sitting on stone.

“Well, well,” she drawled when Obito stepped in, the guards flanking the doorway. “The crown prince himself. Did you come to apologize for this little… misunderstanding?” Her lips curled in a slow smile. “Or perhaps you came to beg me to forgive you?”

Obito didn’t answer. His eyes, dark and unreadable, swept over her as if weighing the worth of a blade before casting it into the fire.

“Not much of a talker today, hm?” she went on, tilting her head. “I suppose that’s your way of saying you’re letting me go. After all, you’ve got nothing, do you? Not on me, not on my family. This is all just—” she waved a lazy hand “—political theatre.”

His voice cut through the air like ice. “You think this is a game. That you’re untouchable. That’s why I’m here.”

Her smile sharpened. “To admit it?”

“To give you news,” he said, stepping closer, the weight of his presence pressing in like a gathering storm.

“Oh?” she purred. “Do tell. I do love surprises.”

“Twenty-four hours from now,” he said, his tone calm enough to freeze bone, “you’ll stand beside your sister and watch the sun for the last time.”

The words didn’t sink in at first. Her smirk lingered, but it trembled at the edges. “Execution?” She let out a short laugh. “Now you’re just trying to scare me.”

“I don’t try,” Obito said flatly.

Her eyes narrowed.

“This is about her, isn’t it? Your little Konoha jinchuriki. The one you drag around the palace like some prized hound. I’ve seen the way you look at her. She bats her lashes, and you—”

Obito’s voice was low, lethal, almost amused. “Careful, Jun. I’d hate for my Konoha jinchuriki to miss the moment your head parts ways with your neck.”

For a heartbeat, silence.

Her mouth opened, then shut again, and for the first time, uncertainty flickered in her gaze.

The door slammed shut, leaving her alone in the dim torchlight. For the first time since her arrest, Jun didn’t move.

She only sat there, breathing shallowly, her fingers curling into her skirts until her knuckles went white.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 22: THE LAST SONG OF THE TRAITORS/OBITO/RIN/OBITO

      THE LAST SONG OF THE TRAITORS

 

 

The air in Akatsuki Land’s capital was heavy that morning.

The bells of the Grand City Hall tolled in heavy, hollow waves, their sound rolling over the capital like the judgment of the gods themselves.

The scent of roasting chestnuts from street vendors, the musk of damp wool and leather armor, and something sharper—iron fittings on the gallows, waiting.

The gallows stood tall, draped in the red-and-black banners of the Uchiha, each one snapping in the wind like the crack of a whip.

Crowds packed the square, their breath misting in the cold, the murmur of voices rolling like a tide against the high stone walls. By the time the royal procession arrived, the city square was already a living tide of humanity.

The poor stood shoulder to shoulder with the wealthy, merchants jostled for position alongside jeweled noblewomen, and children clung to parents’ coats, craning for a glimpse.

Everyone already knew the names. The faces. The crimes

There was no need for whispered rumors — the traitors had been dragged into the light.

Only the day before, Tsubaki’s investigation had ended with a single captured man finally breaking.

His confession had spilled over like poisoned wine, naming dozens of others: merchants who traded secrets for gold, guards who looked the other way, servants who carried messages in their aprons.

The number was staggering — more than forty.

By dawn, all men and women—nobles, merchants, soldiers—had been dragged into the square, their crimes proclaimed before the people and executed by blade or rope.

The traitors’ bodies had swung in the morning-bitten air while the crowd screamed for more.

And yet… these two were left for last.

The best for last.

The crowd’s energy was a strange thing — heavy, but not mourning.

This was not a funeral.

This was a reckoning.

The royal dais rose to its left, heavy with black velvet and gold trim, flanked by banners of both the crown and the Uchiha clan.

At the highest seat sat King Fugaku, robed in dark velvet trimmed with sable, his crown catching the morning light in a cold gleam.

Beside him, Queen Mikoto wore black silk embroidered with the Uchiha crest, her expression carved from ice.

Behind them, the Uchiha brothers—Shisui, Itachi, Sasuke—stood like a living wall of steel, their black fighting leathers molded to them as if they’d been forged in place.

Obito waited at the base of the dais. His black leathers gleamed, the plates along his forearms catching slivers of light.

When Rin stepped down from the carriage, his gaze swept her in a slow, deliberate pass.

The dress had been made for her.

Midnight blue silk deepening to black at the hem, the bodice fitted close to her curves. Tiny crystal teardrops caught the sun with each movement, like frozen rain mid-fall. The sheer black sleeves clung to her arms, the fabric whispering against her skin. Her hair, loose and straight, spilled over her back like ink on silk.

She looked like she belonged on a throne. And Obito made certain everyone saw her that way. Beautiful. Untouchable. His.

Rin felt the weight of a thousand stares, the whisper of her name passing from mouth to mouth. Her pulse thudded in her ears, not from fear of the people, but of the scene waiting at the heart of this stage.

He extended his hand. Warm, unyielding, and impossible to refuse.

She placed her gloved fingers in his, and he led her up the steps, the crowd murmuring at the sight of them—Prince and consort, in perfect step.

When they reached the center, Obito guided her to stand just behind and to the right of King Fugaku, his hand lingering against hers for the barest second before releasing it.

The King rose. Silence rolled over the square.

“People of the Capital,” Fugaku began, his voice carrying with the ease of a man born to rule, “we gather not in joy, but in defense of our realm. Two among the noble-born have been found guilty of conspiring with our enemies, of undermining the stability of our kingdom, and of aiding the one who calls himself ‘Father.’ Their actions endangered not only the crown, but every soul within these walls.”

A low ripple of anger swept the crowd. Someone shouted for blood.

Jun and Mira were marched onto the wooden platform, their wrists bound before them, their hair hanging in loose, unkempt strands.

Gone were the silks and jewels; they wore only plain prisoner’s garb, their bare feet pale against the frost.

Their father was dragged out behind them.

The Death’s Lullaby poison had already taken its toll — his skin was clammy, his lips tinged blue. He stumbled forward, his chains clinking with each step, eyes unfocused.

The crowd whispered at the sight of him. Twenty-four hours of life at most, every hour an agony. And before the last breath left him, he would watch both of his daughters die.

Fugaku’s gaze was steady as iron. “Let their fate serve as warning. The Uchiha dynasty does not falter. And it does not forgive treason.”

He gestured, and Obito stepped forward, taking Rin with him. His fingers found hers again—firm, grounding.

The wind lifted his cloak as he fixed his eyes on Jun and Mira. His voice was quieter than the King’s — but it carried differently, like a knife sliding through silk.

“Jun and Mira Veylan,” Obito said, his voice deep enough to shake the still air, “stand guilty of treason, espionage, and of conspiring to deliver our realm’s jinchuriki into the hands of the so-called ‘Father.’ Today they answer for every drop of blood they caused to be spilled.”

His gaze slid to Rin, then back again, his tone dropping into something darker.

“You came for what is mine. And for that, there is no mercy.”

“Well,” Jun called, voice carrying, “if it isn’t the prince… and his little ornament.”

Rin’s jaw tightened, but she held her tongue. Obito’s grip on her hand didn’t shift, though his thumb brushed once over her knuckles—a silent don’t move.

“Your shadow ends today, Jun,” Obito said evenly. “Both of you.”

Jun’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “You think this ends here? You think killing us stops him?”

Her voice rose, sharp enough to cut the still air.

“Father will get what he wants. He will take all your precious jinchuriki. And when he does—” Her eyes burned toward Rin, voice dripping venom. “I hope he splits her throat while you watch. I hope you—”

The trapdoor dropped.

Her words snapped off into a choking gasp, her body convulsing once before falling still.

The rope swung gently, the only sound the creak of wood.

But Obito wasn’t looking at her body.

Her words had ripped something open inside him.

In a single breath, the square was gone, and he was back in the vision the Forgotten One had shown him — Rin cold in his arms, her hair sticky with blood, her lips parted as though she might speak but never would again. The smell of iron. The warmth leaving her skin. His hands trying to stop a wound that would never close.

A sharp breath pulled him back.

His hand was on Rin’s, gripping hard enough to make her flinch. She looked at him in confusion, her lips parting as if to speak, but his eyes were still locked on the rope.

Mira stood alone now. She said nothing — no curse, no plea. She only stared out at the crowd with something like disdain until the second trapdoor fell.

The silence after was heavier than any cheer.

Obito stepped forward, his voice rough.

“Let this be the last breath any traitor takes in our walls. Let it be known — Akatsuki Land stands unbroken.”

The gallows loomed as the guards cut the ropes and carried the bodies away. The crowd dispersed slowly, some muttering prayers, others silent.

Obito didn’t release Rin’s hand until the courtyard was nearly empty.

 

 

                                                                                                              OBITO

 

The roar of the crowd still clung to the air like smoke by the time they left the square. The cold wind had teeth, but Obito’s grip around Rin’s hand burned with heat.

They didn’t speak as the procession wound through the streets—Obito ahead of the guards, Rin at his side, Shisui and Itachi flanking behind.

The black stallions that pulled the royal carriage snorted clouds of steam into the winter air, their hooves striking stone in a steady war-drum rhythm.

But Obito didn’t hear the rhythm. He heard the creak of the rope. The snap of Jun’s neck. The way her words had lodged under his skin like a poisoned barb.

Father will have his way… I hope he splits their throats…

And then—
Her.
The vision.
Rin in his arms, her skin gone cold, the light gone from her eyes.

The muscles in his jaw flexed until they ached.

When the carriage reached a quieter street, Obito’s hand slid from hers only to wrap around her waist, pulling her against him as if someone might reach out from the crowd and tear her away in an instant.

Rin glanced up at him. “Obito, you’re holding me too tight.”

“I’m not holding you tight enough,” he said, the words low, rough, almost dangerous.

She frowned, searching his face. “This is about what she said, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His eyes were fixed straight ahead, but the storm behind them was impossible to miss.

“You didn’t hear it the way I did.”

“Obito—”

He stopped walking so suddenly the guards had to check their pace.

Turning toward her, he cupped her face in one leather-gloved hand.

“You were dead in my arms, Rin. Not in the square. Not now. In the vision that thing showed me in the dungeon. And when she spoke—when she said those words—it was the same as watching it happen again.”

Her breath stilled.

“I won’t let it happen.”

His thumb brushed over her cheekbone, almost a caress, but there was nothing gentle in his voice.

“Not while I breathe. Not while I can put a blade between you and anything that comes for you.”

The look in his eyes made her chest tighten.

She wanted to tell him she wasn’t afraid, but she couldn’t. Not when his fear was written so clearly in the way he held her—like she was something breakable, precious, and already halfway gone.

A horn sounded from the palace gates in the distance. The sound broke whatever held them in that moment.

Obito dropped his hand but kept her tucked firmly against his side until they passed into the shadow of the palace walls.

Only then did he let her go.

And only because he had to.

 

 

                            RIN

 

 

The royal family’s small dining room was small only by palace standards — which meant it could still seat thirty comfortably.

The ceiling arched high above them, coffered with dark wood beams and gold leaf that caught the candlelight.

A single long table of polished obsidian ran the length of the room, set with crystal goblets, silver platters, and a spread of roasted meats, jeweled fruits, and steaming bread.

Obito sat at the head, a silent pillar of authority. Rin was at his right hand, her place of honor impossible to miss. Shisui sat at the opposite end, lounging with deceptive ease, while Tsubaki sat beside him with the composed poise of a queen.

Sasuke and Itachi flanked one side of the table, Izumi on Itachi’s other arm, while Sakura, Kakashi, Naruto, and Sai completed the circle.

Everyone was still in the clothes they’d worn for the execution — the men in their black fighting leathers, the sharp lines of the armor catching the light, the faint scent of steel and oil lingering.

The women’s gowns contrasted against them like petals scattered on obsidian — each elegant, but Rin’s stood apart.

Even in a room full of royalty, she drew every eye.

His gaze should have been fixed on the conversation, the maps rolled out beside the bread baskets, the low voices trading intelligence.

It wasn’t.

It was fixed on Rin.

And gods help him… she wore a dress that could start wars.

The cut of the gown was modest enough to pass for court decorum, but every inch of it made him think of scattering those tiny crystals over the floor as he buried himself inside her.

He wanted to erase it. Tonight. Upstairs. By tearing that dress off her and taking her for the first time. Burying himself so deep she’d never doubt to whom she belonged.

Once he was inside her, she’d forget Jun’s poison, Father’s threats, the war — all of it.

Obito’s gloved hand rested lightly over hers beneath the table.

The slow, steady stroke of his thumb across her knuckles was almost imperceptible — an anchor masked as a casual touch.

Rin wasn’t sure if it was meant to steady her or remind her of his claim.

“You’re pale,” he murmured, his voice pitched for her ears alone.

His eyes were steady and dark, but the faint shadow behind them betrayed something quieter.

“You handled it better than I expected.”

“Better?” she breathed, the word tasting bitter. “You dragged me up there. Everyone was staring — watching them…” Her voice faltered, the images flashing again, unwanted. “Watching them die.”

“That was the point,” he said without flinching. His tone was iron, polished and cold. “A future queen does not flinch when justice is served. They needed to see you at my side. Strong. Untouchable.”

Her fingers twisted in the skirt of the black gown he’d commissioned for her. “I didn’t feel untouchable,” she admitted, her voice low. “I felt… sick.”

For a heartbeat, something in his gaze shifted, the faintest trace of softness, before it was gone. “Then you hide it better than you think.”

The clink of cutlery on china punctuated the hum of conversation. Shisui poured himself more wine, glancing toward Obito.

“So,” he began lightly, though the edge in his voice was unmistakable, “we removed four of Father’s eyes and ears today. That means he knows we’re closing in.”

Tsubaki’s gaze flicked to Rin before addressing the table. “Which also means he’ll be desperate to replace them. We should assume he already has other agents in place.”

Sasuke leaned forward, forearms on the table. “Then the streets and the palace need to be watched twice as closely. No one moves without being accounted for.”

Naruto, halfway through a mouthful of roasted lamb, swallowed hard. “And what about outside the capital? He’s got influence in the border towns — Jericho said so.”

Obito’s voice cut through the table like tempered steel. “Every entry point into Akatsuki Land will be reinforced. Traders, travelers, emissaries — all vetted, all shadowed. No exceptions.”

Sai added quietly, “Even so, his channels run deep. He’s patient. That’s what makes him dangerous.”

Rin could feel the heat of him beside her, the way his presence filled the space between them. She tried to focus on the discussion, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught Kakashi’s gaze.

It wasn’t just a casual glance — it was the steady, searching look of someone making sure she was unharmed. She turned away quickly, her stomach tightening.

A slow, measured look that lit cold fire in Obito’s chest. Shisui’s sharp sharingan eyes tracked everything.

“Even with tighter patrols,” Sai spoke for the first time, “we can’t ignore the fact that Father’s reach is… unusual. We don’t know all his channels. He could still be moving information through means we’re not tracking.”

“That,” Shisui said, raising his goblet slightly toward Rin, “is why your future queen here is our biggest risk and our biggest shield.”

Rin stiffened at the pointed look he sent her way. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Shisui said smoothly, “Father’s already tried to get to you once. He will again. You are leverage, Rin. The kind that could crack kingdoms if it falls into the wrong hands.”

Before she could answer, Obito’s tone hardened. “She won’t fall into the wrong hands.”

It wasn’t just a promise — it was an unshakable vow.

The moment stretched taut until the door opened, breaking the tension.

A palace butler entered, bowing deeply. “Forgive the interruption, my lords, ladies.” He stepped forward, holding a folded parchment sealed with the crest of House Nohara. “For Lady Rin.”

She took it with unsteady fingers, breaking the seal at once. The handwriting was her mother’s, still neat but rushed — the strokes heavier than usual.

Your father has been in a terrible accident. His leg is badly broken, and the pain has taken so much out of him. He keeps asking for you—both of you. I’m begging you, come home at once. We need you here more than ever.

She read the letter once, then again, her chest tightening.

“Rin?” Sakura’s voice was soft but laced with concern.

Rin rose abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping the polished stone floor.

“It’s my father,” she said, her voice taut. “His leg is badly broken. He needs me at home, he needs us Sakura. We have to return to Konoha — tonight.”

The table stilled.

Even the soft crackle of the fireplace seemed to fade.

Obito’s gaze locked with hers, unreadable, but his grip on his goblet tightened. “Rin—”

“I’m not asking for permission,” she cut in, her voice trembling but firm. “He’s, my father. What kind of daughter would I be if I left him like this?”

A long pause followed, heavy with unspoken words.

Sasuke set down his knife, Itachi’s eyes flicked between them, and even Naruto seemed to sense the weight in the air.

Obito’s head lifted sharply. “No.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not leaving this city without an escort,” he said evenly. “Four guards, with Kakashi. You leave at first light.”

“That’s too late—”

“It’s not up for debate.” His gaze locked hers, the message unspoken but heavy: You will come back to me.

Silence stretched, taut as a drawn bowstring, until she exhaled.

“Fine. At first light.”

He inclined his head once, but his hand on her knee lingered, pressing harder, as if memorizing the feel of her through the silk.

And all he could think — even as war and Father and spies loomed over them — was that tonight was supposed to be his.

That dress was supposed to be on the floor of his room.

 

 

                                                                           OBITO

 

 

The palace halls were quieter now, the echo of laughter and clinking silver fading into the distance. Torches burned low, their flames painting gold across the dark stone.

Obito moved with a deliberate pace, cutting away from the route to his chambers, toward the west wing balcony where he knew Sasuke would be.

The younger Uchiha stood where moonlight spilled over the balustrade, the faint desert wind brushing strands of black hair into his face.

His posture was easy, but his gaze was sharp — already measuring his brother before Obito spoke.

“You’re looking for me,” Sasuke said, not a question.

Obito didn’t waste time. “I know you’re leaving for Konoha with Rin and Sakura tomorrow.”

Sasuke’s expression didn’t change. “I figured as much when she received the letter.”

Obito’s gaze hardened.

“Then you also know why I’m here. You’re going back to the same role you had before she ever set foot in Akatsuki Land. Her shadow. Invisible. Untouchable.”

One dark brow lifted. “You don’t think she’ll notice?”

“She didn’t before.” Obito’s tone was cold certainty. “And if she does, she’ll hate it. But I don’t care. I’m making sure she comes back in one piece. You’ll report everything — every letter she writes, every stranger who looks at her too long, every whisper you catch.”

Sasuke tilted his head, studying him. “You’re planning something.”

Obito’s jaw worked once, slow and deliberate.

“Sunagakure first. They’re closer to the ruins of the Underground Oasis than anyone. If I’m going to find the truth about ‘Father’s’ network, that’s where I start. Then…” His voice dropped to a low edge. “I go into the Lost City itself.”

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed, unreadable. “And you haven’t told her.”

“She has enough to worry about.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of the plan between them.

Then Sasuke’s mouth curved — not quite a smile, more like acknowledgment.

“Fine. I’ll watch her. I’ll keep her safe. And I’ll keep you informed.”

“Everything, Sasuke.” Obito repeated, his gaze locking on his brother’s. “No detail too small.”

Sasuke smirked faintly. “Understood. Besides…” His voice softened with the barest trace of personal interest. “Being closer to Sakura again won’t be the worst thing.”

Obito’s lips twitched in the faintest ghost of a smirk. “Try not to let her distract you.”

Sasuke gave a quiet snort, already turning toward the corridor.

“Try to come back alive from your little expedition. I don’t feel like explaining to Rin why you didn’t.”

Obito’s eyes followed him into the shadows, the words lingering like a quiet command to himself — come back alive.

Obito found her in her chambers, the door left ajar, candlelight spilling into the corridor like molten gold.

She was bent over an open trunk, midnight silk pooling around her legs as she tucked folded gowns inside.

The rustle of fabric, the soft clink of perfume bottles, the way her hair slid over her shoulder like ink — it made something inside him twist.

He hated it.
Hated seeing her like this — preparing to go.

It hit him then, hard, that this must be how she feels every time he packs his own weapons and disappears without saying where.

That quiet ache of being left behind.

He stepped inside without knocking. “You’re really going.”

Rin turned, startled, the candlelight catching the silvered crystal droplets along her bodice.

She was still in the same dress from dinner, the one that had been tormenting him all night — midnight blue silk fading to black at the hem, sheer sleeves clinging to her arms.

He’d barely taken his eyes off her across the table. And in the back of his mind, through every toast and every forced smile, he’d imagined tearing that dress from her body.

“Obito…” she began, her tone cautious.

He didn’t let her finish.

In two strides he was behind her, arms locking around her waist, pulling her back against him.

She felt small there, warm, alive. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in like he could brand the scent to memory.

“I hate this,” he murmured against her ear. “I hate watching you pack.”

Her hands stilled over the trunk.

“Now you know how I feel every time you leave.”

The words landed like a blow.

He tightened his hold, one hand splaying against her stomach, the other sliding up her side.

She turned slightly in his arms, and his mouth found hers — hungry, unrestrained.

The kiss deepened, his hand catching the back of her neck, the other skimming down over silk and curve until his knuckles brushed the line of her thigh.

She gasped, clutching at his shoulders. His mouth moved to her jaw, her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his fingers toyed with the fastening of her dress.

“Obito—” She caught his wrist, breathless but firm.

“I can’t. Not now.”

His head tipped forward, resting against hers.

“Why not?” he asked, his voice low, ragged.

Her smile was pained.

“Because my family’s calling me home. And as much as I want to…” she brushed her fingers down the side of his face, “…I have to go.”

He exhaled through his nose, struggling to leash himself.

“How long are you planning to stay there?”

Her brow furrowed.

“That’s my home. What do you mean, how long? I can’t just come and go from the palace whenever I please.”

“Why not?” His eyes locked on hers, unyielding. “Everyone here knows you’re my consort.”

“Here, maybe. But my family doesn’t. Not yet.” Her voice softened. “And I want to be the one to tell them. If they find out from someone else…” She shook her head. “It would be heartbreaking. For them. And for me.”

His jaw flexed. He knew she was right, even if every part of him hated the thought.

“They won’t take it well, will they?”

“They’re not really fond of Akatsuki Land. Or its royals…. Or you. I don’t know how they’ll react — not just about me, but about Sakura and Sasuke.”

He cupped her face in both hands.

“Then let me make you a promise.” His thumb traced her cheekbone.

“When I come back from my mission, I’ll go to your house, stand before your father, and ask for your hand myself.”

Her breath caught. “And if he says no?”

His mouth curved into something dark. “Then I’ll declare war and kidnap you. Either way, Rin Nohara, you’re going to be my wife.”

She laughed, the sound soft and shaky, before kissing him again.

When they parted, she rested her forehead against his.

“Where are you going this time?”

“Sunagakure,” he said, the answer smooth, almost rehearsed. “To meet with their young king, Gaara — the jinchuriki of the One-Tailed Beast. There are matters only he and I can discuss.”

She searched his face, but he offered nothing more.

The courtyard smelled faintly of dust and horsehide, the gold light of late afternoon casting long shadows over the polished stone.

Rin stood beside the carriage, the deep midnight-blue of her gown still catching the sun in glittering crystal teardrops, her hair loose over her shoulders.

Obito kept his hands at his sides, though every part of him wanted to pull her back inside the palace and lock every door behind them.

She was speaking with Sakura, the two of them laughing softly in that way women do before parting — a sound meant to disguise how their throats are already tightening.

Kakashi and Sasuke waited astride their horses, black leather coats absorbing the heat. Kakashi’s gaze found Obito’s over Rin’s shoulder — unreadable, steady.

When Rin finally turned to him, her eyes were warm and sad all at once.

“I’ll send word as soon as we arrive.”

He stepped forward, catching her hand, and before she could say anything more, he drew her against him.

His mouth found hers in a kiss that was deep, unrestrained — the kind that stole her breath and left her fingers curling in the fabric of his coat.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss meant to be polite or easily forgotten. It was possession and promise and goodbye, all at once. When he finally pulled back, his breath was rough against her cheek.

“Send me more than word,” he murmured, low enough for her alone. “Send me your thoughts. Your dreams. Every moment you wish I was there to see.”

She smiled faintly, but there was a weight in it. “Then you’ll have a very full report.”

He didn’t let go until she climbed into the carriage. The door shut with a dull finality.

Kakashi was tightening the straps on his saddle when Obito stepped into his space.

“Keep your eyes on her,” Obito said, voice low. “At all times. And if anything happens—”

“I know,” Kakashi cut in, not looking up. “I’ve done this before.”

Obito’s jaw ticked. “Not since I made her mine.”

That made Kakashi glance up, one visible eye narrowing. “She’s still Rin. Still her own person. Remember that.”

Obito took a half-step closer, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.

“So, you know exactly what happens if she doesn’t come back to me.”

For a long moment, neither moved. Then Kakashi pulled his reins free, his tone deceptively mild. “I’ll guard her with my life. But that’s for her, not for you.”

Obito’s mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

They held each other’s stare a moment longer before Kakashi mounted up.

The driver cracked the reins, and the carriage rolled forward.

Wheels rolled over cobblestone, slow at first, then faster.

Obito didn’t follow them out into the street. He climbed instead to the upper balcony, boots silent on the stone.

From there, he watched the carriage pass beneath him and head toward the main gates.

Just before the massive doors began to swing shut, Rin’s face appeared at the small window. Her eyes locked onto his — a single, fleeting heartbeat where neither of them moved, the whole world narrowing to that sliver of space between them.

The gates closed, cutting her from view.

Obito stayed where he was, watching until even the shadow of the carriage had vanished beyond the city walls. The hollow in his chest sharpened — cold, unyielding — and it struck him that this must be what she felt all those times he left her behind.

Every time she stood at some window or doorway and watched him vanish into the distance.

Only now did he understand how much of her she must have swallowed to stand still and let him go.

His hand tightened on the balcony rail, knuckles whitening.

“Come back to me,” he murmured into the empty air.

 

 

Chapter 23: RIN/OBITO

                                                                    RIN

 

The steady rhythm of the carriage wheels hummed beneath their feet, a quiet counterpoint to the sway of the leather seats.

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the open shutters, painting shifting stripes across Rin and Sakura’s laps.

Outside, the road wound through rolling hills and familiar groves, each mile carrying them closer to Konoha — and to a life that suddenly felt both familiar and impossibly distant.

Six months in Akatsuki Land had stretched and reshaped her world until home felt like a place, she had to reacquaint herself with.

Sakura sat across from her, one leg tucked under her skirt, the wind from the open shutter lifting strands of pink hair from her face.

“It’s strange,” she said softly, gazing out at the landscape. “Feels like we were gone for years.”

Rin smiled faintly, resting her chin on her knuckles. “So much happened in those months. More than most people see in a lifetime.”

“More than most people could handle,” Sakura agreed. She gave Rin a knowing look, the kind that carried the weight of all they weren’t saying. “And most of it… we won’t be telling the family.”

“Not yet,” Rin murmured. “They’d ask questions we can’t answer. Or don’t want to.”

The air between them settled into a thoughtful quiet. Outside, sunlight pooled golden over the road, catching in the dust that trailed behind them.

She stared out at the road ahead, her mind drifting to Obito. She could almost smell him still — leather and cedar smoke, the faint spice of the oils he favored.

She’d woken in his bed so many mornings that the thought of sleeping in her old one now felt wrong.

She missed the weight of his arm slung across her waist, the low, sleepy murmur of her name in the early hours.

 A part of her wanted to turn the carriage around, ride straight back to Akatsuki Land, and have him again before the ache in her chest could grow any sharper.

Rin’s voice softened when she spoke again

“When Obito comes back from Sunagakure, he’s going to speak to my father.”

Sakura’s lips curved knowingly. “I’m not surprised. If he’d had the chance, he would’ve married you right there in Akatsuki Land.”

Rin let out a small laugh. “And if my father says no… he told me he’d declare war and kidnap me instead. No matter what, he says he’s going to marry me.”

Sakura’s lips twitched into a grin. “That sounds like him.”

Rin’s smile softened, though the longing in her chest only deepened.

“At least Sasuke’s riding back with us,” she murmured. “Do you think he’ll stay long?”

Sakura hesitated. “Maybe for a while. I’m not sure yet.” She didn’t elaborate — keeping her promise to Sasuke.

They rode in silence for a beat before Sakura’s lips curved into something sly.

“So… how was it?”

Sakura leaned forward. “Sex. With Obito.”

Heat rushed into Rin’s cheeks.

“We haven’t. Not… fully.” She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. Her blush deepened, and she dropped her gaze to her lap. “We might have fooled around, but we didn’t reach that point yet.”

She glanced up just in time to catch the flicker of something on Sakura’s face — a small, guilty smile, the kind that said more than words. Rin’s eyes narrowed in mock suspicion.

“Wait. You have.”

Sakura looked away, but the color in her cheeks was telling. Rin gasped.

“You have! When? How?”

Sakura’s grin spread slowly.

“The night of the Crimson Love Festival. One thing led to another…”

Rin’s eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Sakura said, almost smug.

Then she reached into her sleeve and drew out a thin silver band set with a small, dark garnet.

She held it out for Rin to see.

“He gave me this. It’s not an engagement ring yet — more like a promise.”

Rin studied it, the metal glinting in the sunlight slanting through the shutter.

“Why not engagement?”

“Because” Sakura said matter-of-factly, “we’re waiting until after you and Obito are engaged and married. It would be frowned upon if the youngest prince jumped ahead of the crown prince in marriage, especially now that he has a consort. Once you two are settled, it’ll be our turn.”

Rin smiled, her fingers brushing over the garnet before Sakura slipped the ring back on.

“I’m happy for you,” she said softly. “It’s been too long since we had moments like this.”

Sakura’s smirk softened into something warmer.

“Yeah. Just us.”

And for the rest of the ride, the two cousins leaned close, their conversation flowing from scandalous confessions to whispered memories of Akatsuki Land, laughter mingling with the steady creak of the wheels — the kind of laughter that made the world, for a moment, feel safe again.

 

The carriage wheels rattled over the cobblestone road, their slow rhythm blending with the steady clop of horses’ hooves.

Outside, the late afternoon sun dipped lower, painting the rooftops of Konoha in soft gold and pale rose.

Rin leaned toward the window as the familiar walls of her home came into view.

Her chest tightened — relief, yes, but also an ache she hadn’t expected.

The gates swung open, and the carriage rolled into the courtyard. The maple tree stood bare now, branches stretched toward the pale sky, its roots dusted with frost.

Waiting at the center of the courtyard was her mother, shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Beside her stood her older brother Ruen, tall and broad, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Several servants lingered nearby: eyes bright with curiosity.

The door swung open, and the girls stepped down.

“Rin! Sakura!” Her mother rushed forward, enveloping them in a hug that smelled faintly of lavender and hearth smoke. “My darling girls, you’re home.”

Rin smiled against her mother’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

When they pulled apart, Ruen stepped forward, his gaze passing over Rin before settling on the figure still mounted on a tall black stallion.

Prince Sasuke Uchiha sat straight-backed, dressed in black leathers that caught the last light of day. His expression was unreadable, his sharingan eyes sharp as they met Ruen’s.

“Your Highness,” Ruen said evenly, giving a polite bow. “I thank you for bringing my sister and cousin home safely. You’ve kept your word — as an Uchiha, and as a man.”

Sasuke inclined his head slightly. “It was my duty.” His voice was quiet, almost clipped, but it carried the weight of sincerity.

His eyes shifted briefly to Rin — just long enough for her to catch it — before sliding to Sakura.

Without another word, he turned his horse and guided it toward the gates. The stallion’s hooves struck sharply against the stone as he disappeared down the road.

Sakura’s gaze followed him, a faint, knowing curve at the corner of her mouth. She already knew what Rin didn’t: earlier, Sasuke had told her about Obito’s orders. He would be nearby, keeping watch over Rin in the shadows, just as he had in the very beginning before she came to Akatsuki Land.

From the other side of the courtyard, Kakashi dismounted his grey stallion. He barely had time to take two steps before a man with silver hair with a commanding presence strode toward him.

“Kakashi,” Sakumo Hatake greeted warmly, clapping a hand to his son’s shoulder. Beside him, Kakashi’s mother stepped forward and pulled him into a quick hug. “Welcome home, son.”

“Good to be back,” Kakashi replied, though his gaze flicked, almost unconsciously, toward Rin before returning to his parents.

His voice was light, but there was something in his eyes — something that passed as quickly as it came.

Sakura lingered beside Rin, smiling faintly at the reunion. She had no parents to greet her, but she wasn’t alone. She had been part of this household since she was a child, after her own mother and father passed. Their mothers had been sisters, and Rin’s parents had taken her in as though she were her own.

“Come,” Rin’s mother said, taking her hand. “Your father has been waiting to see you—both of you.”

The warmth of the house wrapped around them as they stepped inside, the familiar scent of roasted meat and fresh bread filling the air.

Her mother led them through the hallways toward a guest room on the first floor.

Rin hesitated in the doorway.

Her father lay propped against pillows, blankets tucked neatly around him, his left leg splinted and wrapped in thick linen. His tired features brightened instantly at the sight before him.

“Rin,” he greeted, voice full of warmth. “You’re home at last.” His gaze shifted past her, softening further. “And Sakura—gods, it’s been too long, my dear.”

Sakura stepped forward with a smile, bowing her head respectfully.

“Uncle,” she said warmly. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I, you,” he replied, holding out a hand. “Come here, child. Let me look at you.”

She moved closer, and he took her hand briefly, his grip strong despite his injuries.

His eyes lingered on her face, as if searching for signs of strain she hadn’t spoken of.

“You’ve grown stronger,” he said finally, voice carrying both pride and quiet worry.

“Your father would be proud… but I hope you haven’t been forced to prove that strength too often.”

Sakura’s smile faltered for the barest moment before she shook her head lightly.

“I’ve managed.”

“Good,” he said, though his gaze lingered a heartbeat too long before he released her. “I need you both here now more than ever.”

Rin crossed the room and sat at the edge of his bed, taking his other hand. “What happened, father?”

He waved it off.

“It’s nothing. Fell from my horse while overseeing a shipment—careless of me.”

Her brow furrowed.

“You should have sent word.”

“I didn’t want you worrying,” he said gently, squeezing her hand. “And you had your own matters to handle.”

Rin studied his face, trying to read the truth behind his calm tone. But whatever suspicion stirred in her chest, she pushed it aside.

For now, it was enough to be home.

Behind her, Ruen stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowing just slightly as his gaze flicked between Rin and Sakura.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” he said casually, but his voice carried an edge. “I trust the royal family treated you… well?”

Rin forced a small smile. “They did.”

 

By the time they gathered in the dining room, night had settled over Konoha.

The long dining table gleamed beneath the soft glow of lanternlight, the polished wood stretching between Rin and the family she hadn’t seen in half a year.

Steam curled up from bowls of fragrant rice, slow-braised meats, and    vegetables simmered in broth.

Her father had insisted on joining them despite his broken leg. With the help of two servants, he eased into the high-backed chair at the head of the table, his splinted leg propped on a cushioned stool.

“It’s not every day my daughters come home after half a year away,” he said, raising his glass. “Broken leg or not, I wouldn’t miss this.”

Rin sat to his right, her mother on his left. Sakura was beside Rin, and Ruen sat directly across, the candlelight catching the hard line of his jaw.

His expression was courteous, but there was something calculating in his gaze — like every word they spoke was being tucked away for later.

Plates were filled, bread passed, and the soft clink of cutlery filled the space until Ruen broke the silence.

“So,” he began evenly, “what’s Akatsuki Land really like? I’ve heard… stories.” His eyes moved to Rin. “The royal family — the King and Queen — they treated you well?”

Rin felt Sakura’s brief glance, a silent warning to tread carefully.

“They were… gracious,” Rin replied, her tone measured. “The palace is beautiful — dark stone, grand halls, always alive with people. It has its own kind of warmth.”

Her mother smiled faintly. “And the Queen? I’ve heard she can be… formidable.”

“She is,” Rin agreed, “But she’s also kind.”

Across the table, Sakura added, “They kept their word. We were treated with respect.”

She and Rin exchanged a subtle glance that said more than their words — an unspoken agreement to keep certain truths tucked away until the time was right.

Rin’s mother set down her glass, studying her daughter.

“And Rin… why aren’t you wearing your kanji sealing symbols? You know how important they are.”

The question made the air feel heavier.

Rin kept her voice calm.

“With Obito’s help,” Rin said before she could stop herself, “the kingdom’s highest-ranking priestess came to the palace. She… helped me meet and bond with my tailed beast.”

Her father’s fork hovered midair. “Bond?”

Rin nodded. “Yes. It’s—” she hesitated, thinking of Isobu’s calm, guarded voice, “—it’s not what I expected.”

Ruen leaned forward slightly, his gaze narrowing.

“Which beast?”

“The Three-Tails. His name is Isobu.”

The discomfort was subtle but there — a faint stiffening of her father’s shoulders, the way her mother’s eyes flicked to Ruen.

They loved her, Rin knew, but even love couldn’t erase centuries of unease surrounding jinchuriki.

And Ruen… Ruen’s suspicion sharpened.

“You speak of Crown Prince Obito quite casually,” he said lightly, but there was weight behind the words. “Familiar, even.”

Rin held his gaze. “He’s been… an ally.”

Ruen’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer, as though replaying the way she had said Obito’s name, too comfortably, too naturally.

He said nothing… but in his mind, he filed the suspicion away.

Later, he’d have questions for Kakashi.

Her mother broke the silence with a gentler topic.

“We received word about Kurenai Yuchi’s wedding to Prince Asuma of the Fire Kingdom. Did you girls get her letter?”

Rin’s lips curved. “We did.”

Sakura nodded. “We’ve already told her we’ll be her bridesmaids.”

“Good, it’ll be a fine celebration.” Her father said with a chuckle. Then he raised his cup in quiet agreement. “And move on with your lives.”

Neither Rin nor Sakura replied right away.

They simply exchanged another glance, one threaded with things the family could never yet know—things that bound them forever to Akatsuki Land, to the people there, to the moments they couldn’t, and wouldn’t, put behind them.

 

Once the table had been cleared and her mother ushered Sakura off to help the kitchen servants with tea, Rin slipped away down the hall.

The wooden floors creaked beneath her bare feet as she made her way to the guest room on the first floor where her father was recovering.

The door was ajar, letting the warm scent of cedarwood and liniment drift out. He was propped against pillows, a blanket over his lap, the low fire casting gold over his weathered features.

The splint on his leg rested across two cushions, and a walking cane leaned within arm’s reach.

“You should be resting,” she teased gently as she entered.

A faint smile curved his mouth.

“After six months without you? I wasn’t going to let a little thing like a broken leg keep me from sitting at the table.”

She sat down beside him, studying him with the same assessing gaze he had once taught her to use when checking a patient.

“How did it happen, father?”

“An accident,” he said simply, glancing toward the fire. “I was overseeing a shipment of rare medicinal herbs from the southern traders. My horse spooked. Threw me before I could react. It’s a clean break — already set, already healing.” His tone carried a physician’s clinical detachment, but Rin heard the faint hesitation between his words.

“That’s unlike you,” she said quietly. “You’ve been riding since before I was born.”

His lips twitched in amusement, but his eyes didn’t soften.

“Even the best rider can have an unlucky day, Rin.”

She let it go — for now — though the unease lingered in her chest.

Instead, she reached for his hand, warm and steady in hers.

“I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed home.”

“And home has missed you,” he replied, the steel in his voice softening to something more fragile. His gaze lingered on her face, searching for something beyond the obvious.

“You’ve changed. There’s a… weight in your eyes now. And something else I can’t quite name.”

Rin thought of Obito — the pull of his gaze, the shadow of his hand at her back — and swallowed the thought before it could escape.

“Maybe I grew up a little.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, though there was a physician’s knowing in his tone — the kind that saw through more than just illness.

A knock at the door broke the quiet. Her mother peeked in, smiling.

“Sakura’s making tea. Join us in the drawing room when you’re ready.”

Her father waved her toward the hall.

“Go. I’ll still be here.”

She leaned down to kiss his temple.

“I’ll check on you before bed.”

As she left, she didn’t see the faint shadow in his eyes — the look of a man who had diagnosed something he wasn’t ready to speak aloud.

The corridor outside her father’s room was dim, lit only by the glow of wall sconces. Rin stepped out, closing the door softly behind her.

She nearly jumped when she realized Ruen was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, half in shadow.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said evenly, pushing off the wall.

“You didn’t,” she replied, though her voice carried a faint edge.

Ruen’s gaze swept over her — the travel dress still neatly pressed from their arrival, the faint color still high in her cheeks from the dinner, the way her eyes had a far-off look.

He had seen that look before… just not on her.

“How’s Father?” he asked, his tone all older-brother duty.

“Resting. Healing. He’ll be fine.”

Ruen gave a slow nod but didn’t look away. “You’ve picked up some new habits.”

She frowned slightly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The way you talk. The way you… carry yourself. Even the way you said the Crown Prince’s name at dinner — as if it’s familiar to you. Like you’ve been saying it for months.”

Her spine stiffened, and she gave him a small, polite smile — the same one she used to give the more persistent noblewomen back in the capital.

“I was in Akatsuki Land for half a year. It would be strange if I didn’t get used to saying his name.”

Ruen held her gaze for a long moment, and in that quiet, Rin could almost feel the unspoken questions building behind his eyes.

But he didn’t press.

Not yet.

Instead, he stepped aside, gesturing for her to pass.

“We’ll talk later. Maybe after I’ve had a word with… Hatake.”

Her brows twitched at that, but she didn’t answer.

As she walked away toward the drawing room, Ruen stayed in the hall a moment longer, watching her go — his mind turning over every detail of her return, every glance, every slip of tone.

He had learned to read people from their father. And Rin, for all her poise, was keeping something from them.

 

Rin lay staring at the low wooden beams above her bed, the thin mattress sinking uncomfortably beneath her shoulder blades.

She’d forgotten how unforgiving a commoner’s bed could be—lumpy in all the wrong places, the blankets rough against her skin.

In the palace, she had slept on feather-stuffed luxury, silks that sighed at the touch, and a mattress so soft it felt like falling into a cloud.

This… felt like lying on the ground with a quilt thrown over it.

Still, it wasn’t the bed that kept her awake.

Hidden beneath her own pillow was another—stolen in secret from Obito’s bedchamber before she left, wrapped in one of his sheets to keep the scent from fading.

When she slid her arm under it now, the smell rose to meet her: leather worn soft with use, the faint bite of smoke, and that dark, intoxicating spice that was his alone.

She pressed her face into it, eyes closing as though she could pull him from memory into flesh.

The coarse blanket scratched at her legs, the chill seeped through the thin mattress, but she clung to the scent as if it were heat itself.

She would keep it close every night until they met again—until the cold between them was broken by his arms instead of a pillow.

She hadn’t wanted to think about that morning.

The one after the attack — the first time she’d truly slept here without the haze of wine.

She’d woken to the weight of his arm around her waist, his body warm and solid against her back… and the unmistakable press of him, thick and hard, snug against the soft place between her thighs.

He’d still been asleep, his breath warm on her neck, but she’d felt every inch of him.

The memory made her shiver.

The way he’d fit against her so perfectly, the slow, accidental glide of his cock over her clit when she shifted — enough to make her bite down on a gasp.

And gods help her, she’d wondered.

Wondered how it would feel if he pushed inside her. If he took her, slow and deep, until she couldn’t breathe.

The ache between her legs was sharp now, insistent. Her thighs pressed together before she even realized she was doing it.

She slid her hand beneath the blankets, fingertips grazing over silk damp with her own wanting.

The first touch drew a quiet, helpless sound from her throat.

She moved slowly at first, circling her clit the way she imagined he might — teasing, coaxing, until her hips began to rise into the rhythm.

She imagined him next to her, awake this time, his hand sliding down to cup her, long fingers parting her folds with slow, sure strokes.

He would press his thumb to her clit and move in slow, steady circles, teasing until she was begging, until her hips lifted shamelessly into his touch.

He’d know exactly how to rub her, just enough pressure to make her thighs tremble, his deep voice in her ear telling her to take it… telling her she was his.

She could almost feel his mouth at her neck, warm and possessive, his teeth grazing the delicate skin before he kissed down to her collarbone, lower to the swell of her breasts.

She pictured him taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking until she whimpered, his free hand never leaving her clit — rubbing, circling, coaxing her closer and closer until she was slick and desperate for him.

Her breath grew uneven, her body tightening with each vivid image.

She slid her hand beneath the blankets, finding herself already wet.

The first touch made her gasp, her fingers mimicking what she imagined his would do — slow circles over her clit, tracing the rhythm she knew he’d master without effort.

She moved like that for a moment, savoring the ache, before the need began to sharpen.

Her mind betrayed her with another memory — that night in the study.

The feel of his cock in her hand, so hot and thick her fingers couldn’t meet.

How his voice had turned rough when she’d taken him into her mouth, the way he’d groaned when her tongue teased the underside, his grip in her hair keeping her there like he’d never let her go.

Her hips rolled up into her hand, her pace quickening.

She imagined him now — pinning her to the mattress, rubbing her clit harder, his mouth dragging over her breasts, his cock pressing at her entrance but not pushing in yet, just making her lose her mind with wanting.

Her climax built fast, her back arching as if he were really here.

The last thing in her mind before she shattered was his voice — low, rough, and right in her ear, saying her name.

She came hard, muffling the sound in his pillow, breathing him in as pleasure ripped through her.

When it faded, the emptiness was worse.

And she knew — with aching certainty — if he walked through that door right now, she would let him do everything she’d just imagined, and more.

 

 

                                                                          OBITO

 

The palace was quieter than usual, the kind of silence that comes when most of the court has retired, yet the halls still hold the echo of the day.

His black fighting leathers were laid out across the edge of the bed, freshly oiled and supple.

He stood at the tall arched window, one hand resting on the stone frame, gazing into the dark courtyard below.

The stars above Akatsuki Land were crisp, sharp — each one a reminder of the distance he was about to put between.

Obito’s chamber smelled faintly of sandalwood from the fire burning low in the hearth, but it was overpowered by something far more dangerous — her.

The scent was a trap.

Warm, soft, utterly hers.

It clung to the linen sheets, to the furs at the foot of his bed, to the folds of a cloak she had left behind.

Every breath was Rin, and it made fastening his armor feel like betrayal.

He stood at the foot of the mattress for a moment too long, staring at the hollow where she had once curled against him.

His fingers brushed the edge of the sheet before he realized he was doing it, tracing the fabric that still held the ghost of her hair and the heat of her skin.

It would be so easy to change course.

Call for his horse. Ride through the night to Konoha. Tear her from that house and bring her back where she belonged — in his bed, in his arms, under him.

His mind betrayed him with a sharper memory.

The morning after the attack. The first time she had truly slept here — not drunk, not furious — but worn out from the terror of nearly losing her life.

Dawn had painted the room in gold and shadow. She had been tucked against him, her thigh brushing his hip.

His cock, already hard, had found her without effort — the firm press of it snug against her clit.

The soft sound slipping from her throat, and it had taken every shred of discipline not to take her.

He had imagined it — her flushed cheeks, her trembling breath, the way she would look when he claimed her virginity and she gave herself completely to him.

And then—
A sharp, jarring knock.
Ancient Alfred, with the cursed timing of a sentinel, announcing breakfast like he hadn’t just shattered the single most dangerous temptation of Obito’s life.

Now, standing here in the quiet, the memory felt like both a blessing and a curse.

A knock came again, lighter this time.

“Enter,” Obito called.

Shien stepped inside, carrying a folded map and a small leather satchel.

“Your provisions are ready. You’ll have two relay stops before reaching the border with the Wind Kingdom. From there, Sunagakure’s escort will meet you.”

Obito glanced at the travel pack resting by the door.

“And the message for King Gaara?”

“In the inner pocket, sealed with the royal crest. As you instructed.” Shien hesitated, lowering his voice. “Do you want me to inform King Gaara of your exact destination?”

Obito’s jaw flexed. “No. Not yet.”

Shien inclined his head and left without another word.

When the door shut, Obito crossed to the bed and began strapping on his armor. Each buckle felt heavier than steel — each fastening another step away from her.

He slid his sword into its sheath, the leather grip worn to fit his hand like a memory.

Outside, the torches hissed in the wind, the low murmur of his men preparing the horses drifting in through the window.

He gave the room one last look.

If he stayed a moment longer, he might not leave at all.

The thought of her scent fading from these walls while he was gone was almost enough to undo him.

Almost.

“I’ll be back,” he murmured — not to the walls, but to the thought of her.

He pulled on his gloves, sealed the gauntlets, and strode into the corridor.

The night air hit him — cool, sharp, grounding.

His personal guard fell into step as he crossed the courtyard lit by tall iron torches. His black stallion Nightmare stamped and tossed its head, nostrils flaring.

Obito mounted with practiced ease.

“Open the gates,” he ordered.

The massive wooden doors groaned apart, and for one last moment, his gaze drifted to the eastern wing — to where Rin would be sleeping.

Then he urged his stallion forward, the sound of hooves striking stone fading into the night as he rode toward the desert sun of Sunagakure… and away from everything he wanted to keep.

 

 

 

Chapter 24: THE KINGDOM OF SUNAGAKURE/KAKASHI/OBITO

         THE KINGDOM OF SUNAGAKURE

 

Zemari was born within the marble-and-sandstone walls of the Underground Oasis City — a glittering jewel of the desert, hidden by towering dunes and fed by the life-giving waters of the Serpent’s Vein.

Her father was the last chieftain of the city of Underground Oasis; her mother, a priestess who served in the Temple of the Seven Winds.

From her youth, Zemari was said to possess rare “wind dreams” — visions brought on during sacred fasts in the temple’s high towers.

These dreams, believed to be messages from the gods, foretold both abundance and disaster.

When the great calamity came — the night the Oasians vanished beneath the sands — Zemari alone emerged from the ruins, carrying with her sacred relics, the temple’s scrolls, and the oral histories of her people.

She claimed she had been guided by visions to gather the scattered survivors who were outside the city walls at the time.

From those few, she forged the beginnings of New Kingdom of Sunagakure.

She decreed that the stories, rituals, and traditions of the Oasis would live on, and that the rulers of Sunagakure must always protect those who carried the sacred bloodlines of the Underground Oasis.

Her reign was short but legendary.

At the age of twenty-nine, she vanished into the desert under circumstances still debated — some say she returned to the ruins to join her ancestors, others believe the sands claimed her as they had her people.

Upon her tomb, her final words are carved in old Oasis script:

"The desert wind sings of life and death.
Its song will guide you or bury you —
and only the gods decide which."

 

The desert greeted Obito with a low, mournful song — the kind that wrapped itself around your thoughts and refused to let go.

The wind swept across the horizon in copper and gold ribbons, blurring the edges of the sandstone cliffs like a painter’s brush dragged through wet pigment.

Heat shimmered off the dunes, distorting the distant watchtowers into wavering, ghostly shapes.

Somewhere beyond them lay Sunagakure — the kingdom built on the bones of the Underground Oasis people and now ruled by King Gaara.

It had been less than a year since Obito last crossed this land.

The last time, King Rasa had been alive, and his eldest daughter, Temari, had worn the crown.

Now King Rasa was dead, claimed by heart failure during the monsoon season and Sunagakure’s ancient policy had been upheld: the throne would always pass to a jinchuriki.

Princess Temari had handed the crown to her youngest brother without hesitation.

The responsibility of ruling an entire kingdom had never sat easily on her shoulders; she preferred the freedom of diplomacy, sand sailing, and the occasional reckless adventure.

Gaara, unlike Temari, carried the quiet gravity of a ruler who had been groomed for the role since birth.

Though still young, his command was unquestioned — both feared and revered — and his bond with the tailed beast sealed his place in the kingdom’s lineage of sand-bound monarchs.

Obito knew them all.

His father, King Fugaku, had insisted on it.

A great king must know the names of his allies, and the faces of his enemies, from one end of the continent to the other.

And Obito had taken the lesson to heart, committing every prince and princess of worth to memory, ensuring they knew his name in turn.

His reputation in royal courts was one of keen memory, direct speech, and a respect that was rarely forced but always mutual.

He had not intended to linger in Sunagakure. But the desert had other plans.

Three days before his arrival, a storm had risen without warning — a wall of wind and sand so thick it erased the world beyond arm’s length.

By the time he reached the southern watchposts, the Serpent’s Vein — the lifeline river cutting through the dunes — had been swallowed whole.

The Sunagakure people had a saying for such times:
“When the desert roars, the wise man listens — for the sand buries the foolish without a trace.”

And so Obito listened.

The palace opened its gates to him, offering shelter and formal courtesies while the storm raged.

Its courtyards smelled of spiced dates and desert myrrh, shaded by arched colonnades where desert falcons roosted on sun-bleached stone.

In the outer paddocks, handlers tended to the royal mounts — sturdy marwarihorses with inward-curving ears, and long-lashed desert camels bred for endurance.

Even the rare dune ibex grazed under the watch of guards in gold-trimmed lamellar armor.

Here, Obito waited.

From the high western wall, he could see the storm’s fury blotting out the world — a reminder that beyond that swirling chaos lay his true destination: the ruins of the Underground Oasis, hidden in both sand and silence.

He was not alone in his unease.

Jericho, the roguish information broker whose network reached even the palace kitchens, had been born in Sunagakure.

He’d told Obito once — after a few too many glasses of date wine — that he hated the royal family. Too rich, too clean, too far from the dust that made this kingdom, he had said, spitting into the fire.

Obito suspected Jericho would have a few choice words about his current visit.

For now, though, there was nothing to do but wait for the desert to calm.

Patience, he reminded himself, was its own weapon — one his father had drilled into him long before he’d ever set eyes on these walls.

The gates of Sunagakure’s royal palace swung wide with a groan of sunbaked bronze, revealing a sprawling courtyard veiled in gold light.

The air shimmered from the heat, carrying the mingled scents of dust, myrrh, and citrus from the shaded gardens beyond.

Gaara, Temari, and Kankuro were waiting at the foot of the grand steps — the three royal siblings flanked by guards in polished lamellar, their curved swords catching the sun.

Temari’s smile was measured but warm, her gold hair tied back in a practical knot, the desert wind tugging a few strands loose.

“Obito Uchiha,” she greeted, her voice carrying the familiarity of someone who had once traded battle plans and dry humor over council tables. “It’s been too long.”

Kankuro was more casual, his grin a shade sharper.

“We thought the desert might’ve swallowed you whole before you reached us.”

Gaara, in contrast, inclined his head in quiet acknowledgment — the weight of his crown not only physical but deeply ingrained.

The young king’s eyes were pale as sun-struck sand and calmer than any river.

“Welcome back to Sunagakure, Obito. You honor our kingdom with your presence.”

“I’m grateful you received me on such short notice,” Obito said, inclining his head in a respectful bow to the Sunagakure royals.

Servants stepped forward without a word, their movements precise.

They relieved Obito of his few belongings — a traveling pack and the wrapped bundle of weapons he never traveled without. The blades were handled with care, as if they knew better than to let foreign steel slip from their hands.

“Your quarters are prepared,” Gaara said. “You will have time to wash and rest before we dine.”

Obito gave a short nod of thanks.

“Appreciated. The desert’s a fine host, but it doesn’t make a man presentable.”

A pair of servants led him down the cool, shaded corridors of the palace.

 

The chamber was silent but for the faint, steady drip of water from the copper basin into a shallow marble drain.

Sunlight poured through the high-arched window, fractured by linen curtains into ribbons of pale gold that swayed with the desert breeze.

Obito sat on the edge of the low bed, elbows braced on his knees, the travel dust clinging to his black leathers.

The long ride through the dunes had left a layer of grit on his skin and a heaviness in his muscles that no amount of discipline could ignore.

He rose and crossed to the basin.

The water inside was cool, the surface dotted with red hibiscus petals.

He stripped down to the waist, undoing the stiff leather buckles with practiced movements.

When the final strap fell, he drew in a slow breath and poured the water over his head.

It ran in rivulets down his back, over old scars, pooling at his feet. The shock of cold stole his breath, but it felt like waking from a long, dust-heavy dream.

For a moment, he just stood there, palms braced on the basin’s edge, head bowed.

And then—her face came to him, unbidden.

Not the image he’d tried to carry these last few weeks — the careful, measured one, safe behind walls.

No.

This was her as she truly was in his mind’s eye: smiling in that way that reached her eyes, hair spilling over her shoulders in dark waves, the warm curve of her cheek beneath his palm.

The way her voice softened when she spoke to him, even when she was furious.

The ache in his chest was as sharp as the desert sun.

He remembered the weight of her in his arms the night of the Crimson Love Festival. How she’d fit against him as though she belonged nowhere else.

The faint scent of her skin — lavender and wine. The stubborn tilt of her chin when she’d refused to admit what they both knew.

He exhaled through his nose, a low sound almost like a growl.

Distance was supposed to make it easier.

It didn’t.

The basin water rippled as he dipped a cloth into it and ran it over his chest, then his arms, slow and methodical.

He had to focus on the motions, because if he didn’t, the memory of her lips would undo him entirely.

When he finally dressed — loose desert robes in deep charcoal with silver embroidery at the cuffs — he left his collar open just enough to feel the air against his skin.

But as he fastened the belt at his waist, his mind was still elsewhere.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine opening the chamber door and finding her standing there.

Almost.

A servant appeared at the door. “The royal family awaits you in the inner garden for lunch, Your Highness.”

Obito adjusted his cuffs, feeling the familiar weight of diplomacy settle onto his shoulders.

The journey had been long, but the real work was only about to begin.

 

The palace’s dining hall was cool compared to the white blaze of the courtyard outside.

Sunlight spilled in filtered beams through tall arched windows draped with gauzy linen, painting soft shapes across polished stone floors.

The low table between them gleamed under the weight of brass trays laden with honey cakes, spiced lamb skewers, bowls of dates and figs, and chilled pitchers beading with condensation.

Obito had traded his travel leathers for a fresh set of desert robes, still faintly damp from the bath he’d taken in his assigned chambers.

His hair clung to the nape of his neck, and he felt lighter—though the desert heat still pressed in, unrelenting.

Gaara was already seated at the head, hands folded, calm gaze fixed on him. Temari rose to greet him with a clasp of the forearm, while Kakuro’s grin split wide.

“You look almost civilized,” Kankuro teased, glancing at the servants carrying away Obito’s daggers and short blade. “Almost.”

Obito allowed a faint smirk.

“Only because your guards insisted on stripping me at the door.”

“That’s just hospitality here,” Temari said, settling onto her cushion with a smooth drop of her skirts. “The fewer weapons at the table, the longer the meal lasts.”

Obito inclined his head toward the unfamiliar woman seated beside Kankuro.

She was striking—dark hair braided with gold thread, eyes bright but cool.

“My wife, Lamis,” Kankuro introduced, pride evident in his voice.

“A pleasure,” Obito said with a short bow.

"Come, Obito. Sit with us. The desert has a way of draining even the strongest traveler." Gaara motioned to the cushion at his side.

Obito nodded and did so.

They poured tea—fragrant with cardamom—and as Obito took his first sip, Temari leaned in.

“So. Tell us about your journey. I hear the winds were cruel this season.”

Obito set the cup down. “Cruel is one word. Relentless, another. The sandstorms cut visibility to nothing—I nearly lost my guide twice. And your border patrol was very thorough.”

Kankuro chuckled.

“Then they did their job. Now, tell us, old friend—” his tone shifted, the humor slipping away, “the wind carries rumors of a rising cult, led by a man they call ‘Father.’ What’s reached your ears from Akatsuki?”

Obito’s eyes were cold as shadow. “The wind doesn’t lie. Only recently, we uncovered more than a dozen of his spies—rats—deep within my own palace walls. My instincts tell me he may be tied to the man who tried to strike you last year, Gaara.”

His gaze locked with the king’s.

Obito leaned forward, his expression hard.

“If that’s the case, then he’s already deeper in our kingdoms than either of us would like. Trust no one without reason. Watch your back. And your council. Be careful.”

Gaara’s gaze didn’t waver, though a shadow passed through his pale eyes.

“If he’s already that close,” he said, voice low and measured, “then I’ll double the guard and seal the cracks before the sand can spill through. Your warning is not wasted, Obito. It will be acted on.”

Temari’s fingers tightened around her teacup, the gold ring at her thumb catching the light.

“Then we move now. I’ll send word to the outlying watchtowers before the sun sets. If ‘Father’ is bold enough to creep this close, he won’t find a single gap to slip through.”

Her gaze shifted to Obito, sharp as the edge of her folded fan.

“If you’ve seen his reach firsthand, tell us exactly what to expect.”

Kankuro leaned back slightly, but there was no humor left in his eyes.

“And while my sister locks down the walls, I’ll see to the undercity. If there’s a rat’s nest hiding beneath our feet, I’ll smoke it out.” His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Nobody walks into Sunagakure thinking they’ll walk out untouched.”

Obito’s eyes shifted between them, weighing their words, their readiness. “Good,” he said at last, voice quiet but iron hard. “But don’t mistake preparation for safety. ‘Father’ doesn’t knock on gates—he’s inside before you know it. He wears a hundred faces, speaks with a hundred tongues. The moment you think you’ve cornered him, you’re already playing into his hand.”

He leaned forward, the desert light catching the faint scar along his jaw.

“If you find a thread, pull it slow. Watch who comes running to cut it. That’s your traitor. And when you’re certain…” His gaze locked with each of them in turn, colder than the steel taken from his belt. “…don’t waste time with a trial.”

Temari didn’t flinch, though her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Trials are for men who can be redeemed,” she said evenly, her fan resting idle against her knee. “If this ‘Father’ is what you say, I won’t waste my breath.”

Her gaze met Obito’s without wavering, the faintest nod passing between them—a soldier’s agreement.

Kankuro’s mouth curved into a humorless grin.

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” He sat back, arms crossing over his chest, but his eyes stayed locked on Obito’s. “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty if it means ending this fast.”

Gaara let the silence stretch, his pale eyes moving from Temari to Kankuro, then settling on Obito.

The faintest shift of his hands over the table was the only movement, fingers curling against each other like wind gathering in a storm.

“Then it’s decided,” he said softly. “We fortify the walls, seal the tunnels, and scour the dunes. If ‘Father’ is here, he will find nothing but sand in his mouth.” His gaze held Obito’s a beat longer. “And if he slips through… he won’t leave Sunagakure alive.”

The words hung in the cool air like a blade suspended by a thread.

Temari leaned back, gold bangles sliding down her wrist as she poured tea from a long-spouted brass pot.

“You didn’t come all this way for rats and cults, Obito,” she said, passing him a steaming cup. “The wind tells us you’ve been crossing half the world. And for what? Surely, it’s not because you missed the heat.”

Obito smirked faintly. “Let’s just say I needed answers. And Sunagakure has a few I can’t find in any library.”

Kankuro snorted. “Books never tell you the truth anyway. They tell you what the royals want you to believe.”

Temari shot him a glare. “Careful, brother, you’re in the presence of royalty.”

Obito’s dark gaze flicked to her with faint amusement. “Speaking of royalty… no wedding bells for you yet, Temari?”

Kankuro barked a laugh before Temari could speak.

“Gods help the man who tries. He’ll be dead before the ink on the marriage contract dries.”

Temari swatted his arm with a glare, though a smirk betrayed her.

“Ignore him.”

Gaara added dryly, “He’s not wrong sister.”

Obito’s mouth curved slightly. “Then I’ll offer no condolences to your future husband.”

Her brothers froze just long enough to trade matching, wicked grins.

Gaara’s mouth twitched—his version of a laugh. “She would have him in chains by the wedding feast. And not in a ceremonial way.”

The brothers laughed, and despite himself, Obito felt the curve of a smile tug at his lips.

Temari rolled her eyes and threw a date pit at Kankurō.

“You’re both insufferable.”

“Truth is truth, sister,” Kankurō said, dodging easily. “We’re just looking out for the poor fool.”

Temari ignored them and turned back to Obito, her voice sly. “Speaking of fools… the wind has carried strange rumors from the north. They say the Crown Prince of Akatsuki Land now keeps a consort. Any truth in that, Obito?”

Kankurō whistled, waggling his brows. “And here I thought you only courted wars.”

Obito stilled, the tea halfway to his lips.

“News travels fast here.”

“It does when it rides the desert wind,” Gaara said simply. “Is it true?”

“Well, well… someone’s actually managed to steal the heart of the great Obito Uchiha?” Kankurō drawled, mischief in his voice.

He arched a brow, but didn’t flinch. Obito set the cup down.

“Yes. Her name is Rin. She’s… more than a consort. She’s also a jinchuriki.”

The siblings exchanged a look. Temari’s eyes widened slightly.

“Another? That makes her…”

“The host of the Three-Tails,” Obito finished.

A flicker of surprise softened Gaara’s expression. “Then she understands.”

Obito gave a small nod. “She does.”

Temari’s teasing softened into curiosity. “And she’s from Konoha? That’s… unexpected.”

“It’s a long story,” Obito said, letting the weight in his tone end the matter—for now.

Kankurō drummed his fingers on the table. “So, what REALLY brings you here, really? Don’t tell me it’s the charming company?”

Obito reached into his robe, retrieving a tightly rolled parchment. He smoothed it open on the table, revealing an inked map of the southern desert—symbols etched along winding underground paths, a single marked circle deep beneath the dunes.

“The Underground Oasis,” he said. “I leave in a few days. Before I go, I was hoping you could tell me what the maps cannot. The things only the old voices of Sunagakure still remember.”

Temari glanced at her brothers. For a moment, none of them spoke.

“Why do you wish to go there, Obito? It’s a ruined city—nothing but abandoned towns and crumbling buildings,” Gaara said, confusion in his voice.

“This map was left for me—specifically—by ‘Father,’” Obito said, voice low and deliberate. “I believe he wants me to meet him there.”

Temari’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think it might be a trap?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Obito said, the words edged with steel.

“Not after everything he’s done these past fucking eighteen months.”

Kankurō’s brows lifted. “Eighteen months? What the hell happened?”

Obito’s gaze darkened.

“It started after I left Sunagakure, when I delivered the Priest to Gaara. Not long after, I saw them—wooden constructs—carrying Rin through the forests of the Land of Keys.”

“Constructs?” Temari’s voice was sharp.

“Not men. Copies. Made to look like Uchiha,” Obito replied. “Since then, they’ve attacked across the nations—kidnapping jinchuriki in every corner of the map. The number of missing keeps growing.”

Kankurō’s hands flexed on the table. “And Rin?”

“They’ve tried to take her more than once,” Obito said, his voice tightening. “Even inside my own palace grounds.”

A brief silence fell before he went on.

“We tracked their trail to Kumogakure, captured the one they call the Forgotten One. It gave us nothing but riddles—but even that was enough to unmask traitors and bring them to justice.”

His eyes dropped to the map before him, fingers resting over it like a man weighing a blade.

“And now… it’s brought me here. Far from the woman I love—because if I don’t find a way to end this, he will.”

Silence followed, heavy and absolute.

The wind hissed against the palace walls, thin and unrelenting, like the breath of something waiting just beyond sight.

They felt the weight pressing on Obito—an enemy with no face to strike, yet always holding the higher ground.

Temari rested her elbows on the low table, leaning forward, her bracelets chiming faintly.

“The Underground Oasis isn’t just a landmark, Obito—it’s a wound. And it was carved by Queen Zemari herself.”

Kankuro grinned around a mouthful of fig. “Here we go. My sister loves this story.”

Gaara spoke softly, as if reciting a truth learned in childhood. “Some call her the last true queen of the Oasis. Others call her the desert’s chosen.”

Obito sat back, listening.

Temari’s voice was steady, but there was a note of reverence.

“They say she was born during the Red Season, when the desert bled heat and the dunes sang in the night. The gods gave her dreams — visions of storms yet to come — and she used them to guide our people through famine and war. Not the Waste’s people. Not wandering tribes. The Oasians. The true descendants of the city beneath the sand.”

Kankuro’s wife shifted beside him, listening with quiet interest as Temari went on.

“It was said she could stand on the highest tower and see across centuries. She led our people not with a sword, but with a voice that could make warlords kneel. And then… one night, the visions changed. They turned dark. She saw the gods’ favor slipping away, saw fire swallowing the Oasis. She begged her council to flee, to scatter. Most refused.”

Gaara’s tone deepened.

“And then… the people vanished beneath the sands. No one saw them die. No one found their bodies. Only the city’s bones remain.”

Obito frowned. “And her?”

Temari’s gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond the walls.

“She walked into the dunes one morning, alone. They say the desert took her back — or the gods did.”

Silence settled over the table for a moment. The map between them felt heavier.

Obito’s fingers traced the crimson circle. “And you think… her story is more than just a myth?”

Gaara met his eyes.

“In Sunagakure, myths are truths wrapped in sand. Dig deep enough, and you find what’s been buried.”

Kankuro added, “Some say she bargained with the gods — offered herself in exchange for the survival of a chosen few. Others say the desert claimed her as its bride.”

Obito’s jaw tightened. “And the truth?”

Gaara’s pale eyes met his. “In Sunagakure, truth is just the part of the myth that survives the wind.”

Temari’s expression softened with something like grief. “The city’s people were gone within a moon’s turn. No bodies. No bones. Only dust. The people vanished as if the sand had swallowed them in one breath.”

Obito’s eyes narrowed. “So, the Oasians simply… disappeared in a single night? No trace, no explanation—and not a single written record?”

Temari’s tone lowered, almost as if the walls might be listening.

“Only fragments of myth and whispers of legend. Some speak of a ritual gone wrong… others of a sickness that swept through like a shadow. No one agrees on the truth.”

Obito’s fingers traced the edge of the map, thoughtful. But his brows narrowed. Remembering what the rat in his dungeon said about the Oasians.

“One of the rats we captured told us that ‘Father’ has an ally… an Oasian.”

Obito looked up, meeting each royal gaze in turn. Shock rippled across the table.

“That’s impossible,” Temari said sharply, almost offended. “I just told you—the Oasians vanished overnight. That was a century ago.”

Gaara’s voice was calm but edged with weight. “The royal family of Sunagakure is the closest bloodline to the Oasians that exists in our time.”

The chamber was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t believe in fairy tales.” Obito said.

Temari’s lips quirked.

“Neither do we. But in the desert, sometimes fairy tales are the only things keeping you alive.”

Obito let the words settle in his mind, but his thoughts slid to Rin again—her smile, her stubbornness, the way she’d walk straight into danger if it meant finding answers. Zemari’s fate wasn’t just a story to him anymore.

It was a warning.

Gaara’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice low.

“Some believe her gift came from the spirit she carried inside her — the same way a jinchuriki draws strength. That’s why Oasians treat jinchuriki like holy figures. They see them as living vessels of guidance, like Zemari herself.”

 

 

            

                                                                          KAKASHI

 

 

The late afternoon sun burned low over the Konoha palace courtyard, gilding the sandstone walls and casting long shadows across the packed dirt of the training ring.

The air was warm but breezy, carrying the familiar scent of oiled leather, steel, and the faint smoke of the blacksmith’s forge nearby.

The clang of steel rang out in the courtyard, sharp and bright under the late afternoon sun.

Kakashi Hatake and Ruen Nohora circled each other on the packed dirt, both in the loose training leathers.

Ruen ducked beneath a strike, the steel blade skimming just above his head, and came up with a quick jab to Kakashi’s ribs.

Kakashi blocked and shoved him back.

“You’re getting sloppy,” Kakashi said, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Sloppy? Please,” Ruen shot back, breathless but smiling. “I’m letting you win because your pride’s fragile.”

Kakashi laughed under his breath and lunged.

“You were saying?” Their swords locked.

They circled, blades brushing, boots grinding in the dirt. Years of sparring together made their movements easy, familiar—no wasted motion, no mercy either.

Ruen tilted his head slightly, as if trying to make the question casual.

“So. Tell me what really happened in Akatsuki Land.”

Kakashi kept his eyes on the fight.

“The usual. Hot days. Long nights. Too many speeches.”

“That’s it?” Ruen parried and twisted, forcing Kakashi to pivot. “Weeks away from Konoha, and that’s all you’ve got for me?”

Kakashi shrugged, barely breaking stride.

“Most of it’s classified. You know how it is.”

Ruen narrowed his eyes.

“I also know you, Kakashi. You don’t go quiet unless you’re hiding something.”

He feinted left, then came in from the right, steel flashing in the light.

Kakashi blocked cleanly, his voice steady.

“I’m not hiding anything. I’m respecting privacy.”

“Privacy?” Ruen pressed. “Fine. Then I’ll be specific. How’s Rin?”

“She’s… adjusting,” Kakashi said after a pause, and it was just vague enough to make Ruen’s jaw tighten.

“Adjusting?” He parried another blow, sweat beading at his temple. “To what exactly? She’s supposed to be a guest, not a prisoner.”

Kakashi met his eyes directly, both clear and unwavering.

“She’s not a prisoner.”

Ruen didn’t look convinced.

“And Sakura?”

“She’s doing well.”

“That’s it?”

Kakashi allowed himself a faint smirk.

“You’re asking about the most guarded palace in the known kingdoms. Did you expect me to hand you their ledgers, too?”

“I expected more than these half-answers,” Ruen shot back, his blade striking harder now.

Kakashi matched him pace for pace.

“Then maybe you should ask your sister directly.”

Ruen brought his blade in low. Kakashi deflected easily, stepping to the side.

“You’re dodging my questions,” Ruen said, breath even but eyes sharp.

“I’m dodging your sword,” Kakashi replied.

Ruen pressed harder.

“You never dodge my questions unless there’s something to hide. So, let’s try again—Obito. What’s his deal with Rin?”

Kakashi’s expression didn’t shift.

“He’s the Crown Prince. She’s… in Akatsuki Land.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the one you’re getting,” Kakashi said, turning a block into a counterstrike.

Ruen caught the blow, leaning in.

“Is she safe?”

Kakashi’s voice was steady. “I wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t.”

“But is she safe with him?” Ruen’s tone dropped, heavier now.

For a heartbeat, Kakashi didn’t answer.

The question pulled him somewhere else entirely—back to Kumogakure’s desert study.

Warm candle light on stone. The sound of the fountain outside. Rin, on her knees before Obito, her hair falling forward like a silken veil. Her hands steady, her lips parting—Obito’s head tilted back, his gaze lifting to the shadows where Kakashi sat. He had known. He had let him watch.

The memory burned hotter than the sun in the courtyard.

Kakashi forced his grip to tighten on his sword hilt, returning his mind to the fight.

“Nothing happened that you need to worry about,” he said finally, the words clipped.

Ruen didn’t buy it. “That sounded like a lie.”

Their blades met again in a flurry, faster now, as if both men were letting the conversation bleed into the fight.

“I’ve heard rumors,” Ruen said, watching for any flicker of reaction.

Kakashi’s guard stayed perfect.

“Rumors are like smoke—they disappear when you get close.”

“So, nothing happened between him and Rin?”

“That’s for her to tell you, not me,” Kakashi said, the finality in his tone making it clear the subject was closed.

Ruen scowled.

“That sounds like something you’d say if something did happen.”

Before Kakashi could reply, a voice called from the gate.

“Captain Hatake!”

A junior soldier jogged toward them, carrying a sealed envelope and a rolled map. He stopped just short, bowing.

“This arrived by direct courier from Akatsuki Land.”

Kakashi took the items, breaking the seal. The script was neat.

It was addressed formally:

To Captain Kakashi Hatake, Konoha Royal Guard, and Captain Ruen Nohora, 3rd Regiment—
Your immediate presence is required in the Lost City of the Underground Oasis. I have located the position of ‘Father’ and cannot proceed without your skill and discretion. Time is critical. Depart at once.
— Obito Uchiha

Alongside the letter was a map, the parchment old but clear enough to mark a path through the desert, ending in a red X where the Underground Oasis was said to lie. At the top corner, a single word had been written in bold strokes: URGENT.

Ruen’s eyes lit up as he scanned the map over Kakashi’s shoulder.

“This is it. If he’s found ‘Father,’ we need to move now.”

Kakashi didn’t answer right away.

The wording was right.

The crest was right.

But something in his gut told him it wasn’t.

Obito never summoned anyone without layers of warning buried between the lines.

And Obito never trusted maps to couriers.

Kakashi rolled the parchment slowly, hiding his frown. “We’ll prepare,” he said carefully.

Ruen was already heading toward the armory. “The sooner we leave, the sooner this end.”

Kakashi watched him go, the folded letter heavy in his hand. Whatever this was, it smelled like bait—and if it was, they were already caught in the opening move.

 

Kakashi didn’t follow Ruen straight to the armory.

Instead, he slipped into the quieter west wing of the palace, the letter and rolled map still clutched in his hand.

The corridors here were cool and dim, smelling faintly of parchment and old cedar.

In a small side chamber lined with shelves of ledgers and courier logs, he laid the letter on the desk.

The wax seal was perfect—Obito’s crest pressed crisp and deep.

The handwriting was flawless, each stroke and curve exactly as he remembered.

Even the phrasing felt right: concise, commanding, threaded with that understated authority that was uniquely Obito’s.

There was nothing to point to forgery.

No slip in the penmanship.

No misplaced word.

If he hadn’t known better, he would have believed it without question.

And yet…

He unrolled the map.

The parchment was worn but sturdy, its ink faded in places, the edges roughened as though from years of travel.

The route it marked was clear and deliberate, ending in a red X deep within the desert.

In the corner, the word URGENT had been written in Obito’s own bold hand.

Kakashi stared at it for a long moment.

In all the months he’d lived in Akatsuki Land, Obito had never once summoned him—not for aid, not for backup.

The man worked alone. Always had.

So why now?

And why him and Ruen, when his own brothers were closer, stronger, and more familiar with his operations?

The answer didn’t come.

A knock at the door broke his thoughts.

“Captain?” It was the same junior soldier who’d brought the message. “Your horses are being saddled. Captain Nohora is ready.”

Kakashi folded the letter carefully, sliding it into his tunic.

“Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

When the door closed, he let out a slow breath.

On the surface, everything about the summons was perfect.

Too perfect. And sometimes, perfection was the clearest sign that something was wrong.

 

 

                                                 

                                                                    OBITO

 

 

The sandstorm boiled over Sunagakure like an angry ocean, swallowing the streets, masking the lamps, and sanding the city down to shadow and shifting gold.

From the high balcony of his guest chambers, Obito stood above it all, where the air was still, where the wind couldn’t reach him.

The stone railing was cool beneath his forearms.

A lantern swayed gently on its chain behind him, throwing a warm halo of light over the pair of envelopes in his hand.

He broke Sasuke’s first.

The handwriting was precise, angled just so — his younger brother’s way of putting his voice into ink. It was an update, nothing more, nothing less. Rin was well. She spent her days tending to their father, making runs to the market, accompanying Sakura to visit patients. She still hadn’t noticed the shadow following her — his shadow. Sasuke kept to his post like an extension of Obito’s will, and the thought tugged the corner of Obito’s mouth into the faintest smile. She had no idea she was being watched so closely. She never noticed a guard until she needed one.

He set Sasuke’s letter on the small table by the door and turned to the second envelope.

The parchment was softer, the script instantly familiar in every curve and flourish.

He lingered a moment before breaking the seal, as though savoring the anticipation.

Her words started simple — her father’s recovery, the quiet rhythm of her days. Then the ink shifted tone, the sentences curling toward him. She missed him. She loved him. She couldn’t wait to see him again. And then, her writing grew almost breathless: how she’d been thinking of him, dreaming of his hands, of his mouth, of kneeling before him again and tasting him, of feeling him in ways that made her pulse quicken even as she wrote. She hadn’t hidden the hunger in her words. She’d pressed it into every stroke of ink, meant for his eyes alone.

His fingers tightened on the paper.

Obito read it again, slower, tracing each line with his gaze as if memorizing it.

He could almost hear her voice wrapping around the words, low and warm, teasing without apology.

He could see her eyes looking up at him as clearly as if she were here, could feel the heat of her mouth and the strength of her will.

The storm’s deep-throated rumble filled the balcony, mingling with the sound of his steady breath.

Somewhere below, the wind carried the faint perfume of jasmine from the royal gardens, curling up toward him.

He let it in, let it mix with the vivid ache she’d left in his chest.

He folded her letter with care, sliding it into the inner pocket of his robes — not with the detachment of a soldier storing orders, but with the reverence of a man tucking away something sacred.

Sasuke’s letter could wait. Hers, he’d carry close until he saw her again.

Obito straightened, letting his gaze sweep the city buried under the storm.

Each minute he was here was a minute too long away from her.

But she was safe.

A soft scrape of sandals against stone pulled his attention to the archway behind him.

“Enjoying the view?” Gaara’s voice carried easily over the low murmur of the storm.

Obito glanced over his shoulder.

The king of Sunagakure stepped into the lantern’s reach, his robes whispering against the floor.

He moved to stand beside Obito, resting his hands lightly on the stone rail.

“It’s not every day I’m this high above a storm,” Obito replied. “It’s… calmer here.”

Gaara’s pale eyes studied the rolling clouds of sand below. “Up here, it’s easy to forget how much damage it’s doing down there.”

“Not forget,” Obito said quietly. “Just… postpone thinking about it.”

They stood in silence for a moment, two rulers above a city neither could completely shield from the chaos of the world.

“Letters from home?” Gaara asked, glancing toward Obito’s hand.

Obito slipped the parchment deeper into his robe. “Updates. From my brother. From someone… important to me.”

Gaara’s expression didn’t change, but there was understanding in his tone.

“It’s a strange thing — to be tied to people you’d do anything to protect, even when distance is the only protection you can give them.”

Obito’s gaze stayed fixed on the storm. “And distance doesn’t make you miss them any less.”

“No,” Gaara agreed. “It only makes you wonder how long you can keep them out of the storm’s path.”

The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of jasmine up from the gardens.

Obito breathed it in, imagining it mixed with Rin’s perfume, and for a heartbeat, the sandstorm felt farther away.

Gaara rested his arms on the stone railing, his pale gaze still fixed on the horizon.

“Tell me something,” he said. “Wasn’t your father meant to pass the crown to you this season? That was the plan the last time we spoke.”

Obito’s jaw tightened faintly.

“It was. But then this… ordeal with ‘Father’ began. One crisis after another. I couldn’t take the crown while my kingdom was under threat — not while there was still a chance this man could destabilize everything.”

Gaara studied him for a long moment. “So, once he’s dealt with, you’ll take your place?”

A faint, almost reluctant smile touched Obito’s mouth.

“Once he’s defeated, I’ll marry the woman I love first. The crown can wait until she’s my wife.”

Gaara’s brow lifted slightly. “Rin?”

Obito didn’t answer immediately, but the way his gaze turned inward was answer enough. “Yes.”

Gaara gave a slow nod, his tone even.

“I hope your people accept her as easily as you have. Love and politics rarely share the same table.”

“They will,” Obito said with quiet certainty. “Or they’ll learn to.”

The wind shifted, carrying a hint of cool night air between them.

Gaara was silent for a moment before changing the subject.

“Speaking of politics… the wedding of Asuma Sarutobi is approaching. My invitation arrived last month.”

“I’ve heard,” Obito replied. “It’s going to be a gathering like no other — royals, diplomats, military leaders from half the known kingdoms. A perfect opportunity for alliances… or sabotage.”

Gaara’s gaze sharpened slightly. “You think ‘Father’ might be there?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Obito said. “If he’s as embedded in our politics as we believe, an event like that would be too tempting to pass up. A chance to watch everyone important in one place… and to make a move while they’re distracted.”

Gaara considered that in silence, the stormlight flickering against his face.

“Then I’ll double my guard when I travel. And I suggest you do the same.”

“I intend to,” Obito said. His tone held a weight Gaara didn’t miss. “If ‘Father’ is foolish enough to show himself at the Sarutobi wedding, I’ll make sure it’s the last party he ever attends.”

Gaara’s mouth curved faintly — not quite a smile, but close. “Then perhaps I’ll keep you in my sight that night. For my own safety.”

They stood there together a while longer, the two of them silent as the sandstorm writhed below.

Friends, monarchs, and men who understood what it meant to protect something — or someone — worth more than a crown.

When Gaara finally pushed off the railing, it was with the unhurried calm of a man who carried no wasted motion.

“I’ll see you in the council chamber tomorrow,” the king said. “Rest while you can.”

Obito inclined his head in acknowledgment, and Gaara’s footsteps faded into the cool stillness of the upper hallways.

For a moment, Obito stayed where he was, watching the storm roil below.

Then his hand slid into his robes, fingers brushing over the folded parchment like a man reaching for a weapon he trusted more than steel.

Rin’s letter was warm from his body heat, the edges slightly creased from how many times he’d opened it tonight.

He unfolded it again, the scent of the ink faint but still there, and read the words slowly, as though each one deserved the weight of his full attention.

Her neat curves and flourishes drew him in — the updates on her father’s health, the quiet rhythm of her days in Konoha.

And then, the shift in tone. Her missing him. Her loving him. The unabashed hunger pressed into her lines — the memory of their bodies together, the promises of what she wanted to do to him again, in more ways than either of them had dared the last time.

Obito’s grip on the page tightened slightly, and his mouth curved — not in amusement, but in something darker, deeper.

He pictured it with dangerous clarity: her hair spilling forward, her lips wrapping around him, her gaze locked on his as if daring him to look away. The taste of her kiss afterward, the heat of her pressed against him.

The thought of the crown, the endless politics, the sandstorm raging below — all of it faded under the steady, pulsing want her letter stirred in him.

When this was over, when ‘Father’ was gone and his kingdom was safe, he would go to her.

He would put a ring on her finger before he put the crown on his head. And when the vows were spoken, it would not be in a court filled with politics — it would be in a room where every person present understood that she was his, in every way that mattered.

He folded the letter carefully, slipping it back into the inner pocket of his robes.

Then he turned from the balcony, the storm’s roar falling away behind him.

Tonight, he would sleep with her words against his heart. And tomorrow, he would start the work to make sure he could keep every promise those words made him want to keep.

 

By the time the sun was high, the preparations were finished.

No caravan.

No entourage.

No royal guard trailing in his shadow.

Obito had insisted.

If ‘Father’ was anywhere near the Underground Oasis, the fewer people who knew his route, the better.

 And if it was a trap — as every instinct told him it could be — he wouldn’t risk Sunagakure’s soldiers for it.

This was his hunt.

He stood in the palace stables, tightening the last strap on the pack secured to his desert mare.

The horse snorted softly, ears flicking as if sensing the tension in him.

Outside, the heat shimmered in the courtyard, the sky a relentless blue that promised a punishing ride.

Gaara was the only one to see him off.

The king leaned in the shadowed arch of the stable door; arms crossed.

“You could have had ten of my best riders with you,” he said quietly.

“And if I run into a storm or an ambush, that’s ten more lives I’d have to protect,” Obito replied, swinging into the saddle. “This way, it’s just me.”

Gaara studied him for a moment, then gave a short nod.

“Then don’t die in my desert. I’d rather not explain to your father why the heir of Akatsuki Land disappeared under my watch.”

Obito smirked faintly. “Tell him I died chasing a ghost. He might even believe it.”

With a squeeze of his knees, the mare moved forward, hooves striking the hard-packed sand.

The palace gates loomed ahead, their massive doors swinging open to the blinding light of the outer dunes.

The moment he passed beyond the walls, the city noise fell away.

The world became sky, sand, and the faint whistle of the wind across the ridges.

The path ahead stretched into the horizon, unbroken except for the shimmering heat that warped the distance.

Obito adjusted the scarf at his neck, pulling it higher against the sun’s glare.

His mind replayed the map Gaara had shown him — the jagged ridges to skirt, the dried riverbed that would lead into the canyon mouth, the marker stone that pointed toward the Oasis ruins.

Every step of the mare’s hooves carried him farther from the safety of the palace, closer to the place where the line between hunter and hunted could blur without warning.

He didn’t know if he’d find ‘Father’ in the ruins. But if he did, it would end there.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 25: THE UNDERGROUND OASIS

            THE UNDERGROUND OASIS

     

 

The desert at night was a living thing.

The stars sprawled across the black sky like scattered embers, the moon hanging low and swollen, draping the dunes in silver light.

They called it the Underground Oasis, though nothing about it was truly buried. It was a name passed down from the ancients, a relic of another era.

Some said it was once hidden beneath layers of sandstone and rock, swallowed by the earth in a great quake centuries ago, then unearthed by time and storms.

Others claimed it was because its wealth and water flowed from deep, unseen veins below the desert floor, feeding life where none should exist.

Whatever the truth, the name endured… even as the city itself crumbled into ruin.

The black fighting gear clung to his frame, supple and worn from countless battles, and over it he had wrapped a long, weather-beaten scarf, the fabric coiled high to guard his neck and the edges of his jaw from the punishing grit.

But it was the mask that changed him entirely—the lacquered red visage of a grinning demon, its teeth bared in a feral snarl.

Obito walked alone, the crunch of his boots muffled beneath the shifting surface.

The path here was unmarked, yet he knew where to go — guided not by signposts but by the memory of the stories he’d heard.

The royals of Sunagakure had spoken of it with a reverence reserved for things too rare to be real.

A city unlike any other in the desert — a jewel of stone and water, fed by deep, hidden veins that kept it alive while the rest of the desert burned.

They said its streets had once been lined with ivory arches and golden domes, its markets alive with color, music, and the scent of spices carried on the breeze.

It was a place where glassmakers, jewelers, and scholars had all flourished under the same sun, where even the gods themselves were said to have walked among men.

Obito had half believed it was an exaggeration — a romantic tale kept alive by pride and nostalgia.

But as he crested the last dune, the truth revealed itself.

The city lay sprawled in the valley below, its bones half-buried in sand.

The streets were fractured stone, scattered with debris. Houses were nothing more than piles of pale rubble, doorframes leaning like weary old men waiting for the final push to topple them.

The moonlight silvered the jagged remains, casting sharp shadows over the broken walls.

He slowed his pace, taking in every detail.

And yet… he could see it.

In his mind’s eye, the ruin rebuilt itself — the wide stone streets filled with merchants in jewel-toned robes, their voices overlapping in a warm chorus of bargaining and laughter. Children darting between stalls. The scent of spiced dates and roasted lamb in the air.

The low hum of conversation spilling from tea houses, mingled with the lilt of stringed instruments.

It must have been magnificent.

And then he wondered—how does a city like this vanish in one night?

What storm, what war, what tragedy could hollow out something so full of life?

The ruins closed in around him, their shapes jagged and skeletal, walls leaning like tired old men who’d survived too long.

Yet one thing had endured.

At the heart of the city, untouched by the decay gnawing at the rest, the Temple of the Gods loomed against the horizon.

Its stonework was impossibly smooth, each towering wall set with stained glass that still burned with color even beneath the pallid moon.

Each window depicted one of the nine jinchuriki beasts in vibrant, impossible detail—the three-tailed turtle’s calm gaze, the nine-tailed fox’s wild snarl, each immortalized in molten blues, crimsons, and golds.

Time itself had not dimmed them.

Obito crossed the cracked courtyard, the temple’s massive doors yawning open as if in silent invitation.

The air inside was cooler, stiller, heavy with the scent of dust and age. Columns rose like the trunks of stone trees, their surfaces etched with prayers in an ancient tongue.

In the temple’s center lay the circle.

The carving within it was immense—large enough for a human body to rest upon, its grooves forming the sinuous shapes of all nine beasts intertwined.

Here and there, dark stains clung to the stone, old blood fused with the soil, the color muted but unmistakable.

Hundreds of years had passed, but the sacrifice still lingered in the air, sharp and metallic in the imagination.

He stepped closer, boots echoing faintly in the vaulted chamber, and the mask’s demon grin seemed to reflect in the cold glass eyes of the beasts carved into the stone.

This was not just a relic.

It was an altar.

And altars were never built for beauty alone.

The air inside the temple was too still.

Obito stood over the great stone circle, and for a moment he swore the carved beasts were watching him—eyes that should have been nothing but chiseled ridges now seemed to gleam with faint, impossible light.

The silence pressed in from all sides, so thick it muffled the rasp of his own breathing.

A trick of the mind, he told himself.

Old places played such games.

But as he straightened and let his gaze wander through the high-arched space, the shadows seemed to shift along the walls.

The moonlight filtering through the stained glass painted the floor in fractured jewels, and for an instant, crimson bled across his boots like fresh blood.

He moved toward the far end of the temple, each step echoing in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

The cool stone beneath his hands felt almost damp, as if the walls had been sweating under the weight of centuries.

The carvings of the beasts along the columns looked older than the city itself, their lines worn but never erased, as though something beyond time guarded them.

And that was the thing.

The place didn’t feel abandoned.

It felt… aware.

As though something unseen traced his movements, keeping pace just out of sight.

The hair at the nape of his neck prickled beneath the scarf. The mask hid his expression, but his eyes narrowed behind it, sweeping over every balcony, every darkened alcove above.

Outside, the wind picked up. It whistled through the cracks in the ancient roof, a high, keening note that sounded far too much like a cry.

Somewhere deep in the ruins, a loose shutter clanged in the night.

He turned, glancing back toward the great circle. From this angle, the carved lines of the beasts looked like chains binding them together—chains that led inward to a single point at the center.

A place for sacrifice.

A place for blood.

A place for endings.

Something scraped in the darkness above the temple’s entrance—a sound too deliberate to be the wind. Obito’s hand went to the hilt of his blade, his mind sharpening into that familiar predator’s focus.

He didn’t see them yet. But he knew they were there.

Watching.

Waiting.

And if they were smart, they’d know exactly what kind of man they’d just decided to corner.

The temple’s silence broke on a sound too heavy to be wind—stone shifting against stone, grit skittering across flagstones.

Obito’s head turned.

He slid his palm across the dagger at his hip, drew it in one clean motion, and moved.

The oni mask’s lacquered grin glinted as he stepped out of the great hall and into the moonwashed courtyard.

Sand hissed along the edges of the ruined colonnade; the stained glass behind him bled jewel-colors across the ground.

He’d felt it the moment he’d crested the last dune—eyes.

More than one.

Close enough to taste his trail, far enough to let him feel foolish for not counting them.

He cut left, body low, boots quiet on the broken flagstones, following the faintest scrape of leather on stone.

Two figures broke from shadow near a fallen arch.

Obito stopped dead.

Kakashi.
And Ruen Nohora.

For a heartbeat the world narrowed to the wet click of his own breath behind the mask and the thready whisper of wind.

He stepped forward once, dagger loose but lethal in his grip, his voice through the mask a slow, death-bound whisper.

“What. Are. You. Both. Fucking. Doing. Here?”

Kakashi didn’t flinch. Ruen did—just enough to show he hadn’t expected the sound to cut that cold.

Ruen recovered first, jaw hard. “You summoned us.”

Obito’s stare didn’t move. “No. I didn’t.”

Kakashi reached into his coat and drew out a folded letter bound with leather, and a map.

He handed it over to Obito.

“Courier delivered this to Konoha. Addressed to me and Captain Nohora. Your seal. Your hand.”

Obito took the letter, eyes scanning once—twice—thrice.

Whoever forged it had done their homework—his phrasing, his precision, even the minor shorthand only his inner circle would recognize.

New rats, he thought, the dagger turning lightly between two fingers. New holes in my walls. And I’ve been away too long.

He lifted his gaze to Kakashi. “Tell me you didn’t look at this and think it was real.”

Kakashi’s expression stayed even. “It’s convincing.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Obito’s tone sharpened. “Did you think it was real or forged?”

Kakashi didn’t blink. “Forged.”

“Then you still came.” Obito took a step closer, the mask filling Kakashi’s vision. “You read a trap and walked into it. You didn’t use your fucking brain cells not to come here?”

Ruen bristled, hand dropping to the hilt at his hip. “Watch your tone—”

Kakashi cut him off with a palm, eyes never leaving the red grin of the mask.

“I figured it was a trap meant for you. If you came alone—”

“I’d be walking into it?” Obito’s eyes narrowed. “I know my steps better than you do.”

Ruen stepped forward, voice full of venom.

“I don’t care if you walk into it. We’re here to find Father. That’s the goal. And when it comes to Rin?” His lip curled. “That’s none of your business.”

The dagger tilted in Obito’s hand, but his voice stayed quiet.

“None of my business?”

“She’s my sister,” Ruen snapped. “Not yours.”

Obito took another step, the mask shadowing his sharingan eyes.

“She’s a woman who’s risked her life more times than you will ever know. You think I’m going to ignore her safety because you’ve decided I’m not ‘family’? I’ve bled more for her than you’ve ever had the chance to.”

“You keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” Ruen growled, hand twitching toward his weapon.

Obito’s head angled just enough to make the mask’s grin catch the moonlight.

“I’ll keep my woman’s name in my mouth as long as she’s in my thoughts. And when your pride gets her killed, it won’t be her funeral pyre you’ll have to worry about—it’ll be yours.”

Kakashi stepped between them, not in peace, but in pragmatism.

“You underestimate your sister, Nohora. She’s a woman who would walk into hell if she thought it might help someone,” Obito said, voice dropping lower. “If you think I’ll let her, get burned because you’re too fucking proud to admit you can’t protect her alone, you’re more stupid than I thought.”

“Careful,” Ruen growled, hand near his weapon.

“I am,” Obito said simply, and there was no mistaking the warning.

The air shifted.

A grain of sand skittered across the stone.

All three men turned their heads the same fraction at the same time.

From the rooftops, the shadows began to move.

One became two. Two became six. Six became twelve. And then the numbers broke—too many to count, dropping silently from ledges, filling the broken street, pouring into every gap in the courtyard’s edges.

Steel glinted under the moon.

Hundreds of them.

Kakashi’s voice was low. “We’re surrounded.”

Obito’s tone was grim. “We were always surrounded.”

The first wave came fast—mercenaries in desert leathers, blades drawn, moving with trained precision.

Obito met them head-on, the dagger flashing, his short blade carving a deadly rhythm through ribs, throats, and eyes.

Kakashi fought close to him, his sword a disciplined arc, cutting down anyone who slipped past Obito’s path.

Ruen fought like a man who didn’t care about his own safety—brutal, efficient, more intent on ending lives than preserving his own.

For every man they dropped, two replaced him.

The tide pressed harder, the sound of steel-on-steel ringing out under the temple’s watching windows.

They came from every direction—pouring down stairways, bursting through collapsed archways, flooding the temple plaza with drawn steel and blood in their eyes.

The Father hadn’t sent a squad. He’d sent a small army.

“Separate them!” someone barked in the mercenaries’ tongue.

The crowd moved like water over rock—splitting, rushing, reforming.

Fire jars smashed on the ground, smoke rolling up in choking waves.

Obito caught glimpses—Kakashi already drawing steel, Ruen snarling something and charging into the tide.

Then a wall collapsed between them, and they were gone.

Obito’s side of the city became a storm of blades.

He cut through the first ranks with precision, but they kept coming, climbing over the dead.

A short blade grazed his ribs, another punched into his shoulder before he twisted away and broke the wielder’s neck.

Every step forward cost blood.

The mercenary’s smile was all teeth and arrogance as steel slammed against steel, sparks jumping between them.

“Not even a swordsman like you can kill an army alone,” he snarled, pushing his blade against Obito’s. The effort made the veins stand out in his neck.

“It’ll be my honor to kill you myself.”

Obito’s eyes didn’t blink.

He let the man push, let him feel the satisfaction of thinking he had him trapped.

Then, in a movement so fast it blurred, Obito rolled his wrist, knocking the man’s sword aside and stepping in close.

The blade in Obito’s hand slid between the man’s ribs with a wet, tearing sound, finding the heart in one smooth thrust.

The mercenary gasped — the sound was more surprise than pain — his body going rigid, sword arm freezing mid-air.

Obito leaned in, the crimson grin of his mask filling the man’s fading vision.

The warmth of his breath slid against the man’s ear as he spoke, voice low, cold, and obscene. “Suck my dick.”

The words sank in with the steel as Obito ripped the blade free.

Blood followed in a heavy rush, soaking into the dust at their feet. The mercenary’s knees buckled, his sword slipping from limp fingers, and his body folded to the ground like a cut rope.

Obito was already stepping past him, boots splashing through the spreading pool, eyes fixed on the next man in his path.

Somewhere to his right, over the clash and roar, Kakashi moved like a shadow cutting through smoke.

The narrow street was a funnel of dust and grit, the broken walls on either side forcing him into brutal, close-quarter combat.

Three mercenaries pressed in — not the reckless kind, but survivors of too many battles, each taking turns to force him off balance.

One hacked low, another feinted for his shoulder, the third circling for a strike at his back.

The first blow rattled his arm from shoulder to elbow, steel-on-steel jarring him back a half-step.

He let the momentum carry him aside, ducking under the next swing and answering with a low slash toward the nearest man’s knee.

The mercenary snarled and jerked back, the blade grazing leather but not flesh.

They circled, dust curling in lazy eddies between them, each waiting for the other to overcommit.

Then the tallest of the three lunged — a brutal overhead chop meant to cleave. Kakashi caught it on his blade, the shock shuddering through his bones, sparks flashing between their faces.

Pain bloomed down his thigh as another blade grazed him, hot and wet in an instant.

He grit his teeth, countering with a thrust at the attacker’s midsection, but the man twisted away, grin mocking.

“Slower than I expected,” the mercenary taunted, slamming his shoulder into Kakashi’s chest and driving him against the crumbling wall.

The impact knocked the air from his lungs.

They pressed in tighter.

The first man swung high again, forcing Kakashi to block — the blow numbed his arm to the shoulder.

The second lunged for his ribs; Kakashi twisted, catching it on the edge of his guard.

The third made his move.

Steel cracked against steel, the strike ripping the hilt from Kakashi’s weakened grip.

His sword clattered to the ground, the sound loud and final against the stone.

Pinned against the wall, breathing hard, his blood pooling at his boots, Kakashi still glared at the nearest man — that stubborn defiance in his one visible eye.

Somewhere to his right, over the clash and roar of the wider battle, Obito heard Kakashi cry out — low and sharp — followed by the distinct clang of steel hitting stone. Mercenary voices rose in triumph.

Ruen’s blade was already slick with blood when the mercenaries closed the ring tighter around him.

Five of them now, moving like wolves, their boots crunching in the sand and grit of the ruined street.

Behind him, the jagged edge of a half-collapsed wall kept him penned in; ahead, the columns of a fallen arch blocked any easy escape.

The tallest of them, with a scar down his cheek and rusted chain draped over his shoulder, stepped forward, sword glinting.

“Once we’re done with you,” he said in a rough, guttural voice, “and the Crown Prince, there’ll be no one left to protect your sister.” His smile was all rot and cruelty. “Father’s dreams are coming true.”

Ruen’s grip tightened on his sword. His shoulders ached, his breathing was ragged, but his voice was steady.

“No,” he snarled. “I won’t let him. I’ll stop Father.”

The mercenaries laughed, a low, cruel chorus that carried in the dead air.

“You?” one with a hook-bladed sword jeered. “You can’t even stop us.”
Another chimed in, his words dripping venom: “Not you. Not your precious sister. And not her… mate—” he spat the last word like it was filth, “—the crown prince.”

Ruen’s teeth clenched, rage hardening into resolve.

“Then I’ll kill you first,” he said, and launched forward.

His blade caught the hook-sword man in the thigh, opening him from hip to knee, but the others moved fast.

Two came in from either side — one high, one low — and Ruen managed to parry the first, his sword ringing with the impact.

The second’s spear grazed his ribs, drawing a sharp breath from him, but he kept swinging.

The scarred leader stepped in, waiting for the perfect opening.
It came when Ruen twisted to drive another enemy back — and the leader’s blade slid between his ribs from behind, the steel punching out the front just under his sternum.

The breath left Ruen in a rough, wet gasp. He staggered forward, the world tilting.

The scarred man leaned close to his ear, voice a dark whisper.

“Father thanks you for dying quietly.”

The blade yanked free, hot blood spilling down Ruen’s front. His knees buckled, his sword clattering to the ground.

Somewhere behind the ring of enemies, another voice called out — harsh and loud:

“Kakashi’s done! Ruen’s down! Only the prince left!”

The mercenaries began to turn, their attention shifting like a tide toward their true prize — Obito.

The Father’s plan had just become clear.

It hit him in a cold wave — the realization that The Father hadn’t just laid a trap for him. He’d lured them too, not as allies but as bodies to bury alongside him.

Remove every man from Rin’s life in one night, and leave her without protection, without hope.

Obito turned toward the nearest shout, rage narrowing his vision.

The mercenaries weren’t just trying to kill him—they were holding him back long enough to finish off the other two.

He moved like a blade himself, cutting a path toward Kakashi’s position.

A spear grazed his thigh, a curved dagger opened his forearm, but he didn’t slow.

He found Kakashi slumped against a wall, blood soaking his leg and stomach, breathing ragged but still conscious.

Without a word, Obito bent, hauled him over one shoulder, and kept moving.

Ruen was three streets away, sprawled on the ground in a widening pool of his own blood.

His sword lay just out of reach, fingers twitching toward it even now. His breaths came in short, ragged pulls, each one wet with the sound of a punctured lung.

Two mercenaries lingered nearby, one wiping his blade on his sleeve, the other kicking Ruen’s weapon farther away.

They turned when they heard Obito’s steps, but neither had time to shout.

His dagger found the first man’s throat, his short sword split the second across the chest in one unbroken motion.

Obito didn’t let him waste the breath.

He slid an arm under his shoulders and lifted him in one swift motion, hauling his dead weight up and over his free shoulder opposite Kakashi.

With both men hanging from him, Obito straightened.

The pain in his thigh and forearm throbbed in time with his heartbeat, but he kept moving — each step a deliberate act of will as he turned toward the next kill and the only way out.

Now both were dead weight, and Obito’s own blood was dropping steadily down his side.

His Kamui was only seconds away.

He never saw the mercenary coming.

A shape burst from the rubble to his left, dagger flashing, and drove the blade into his chest—deep, just shy of his heart.

The force knocked him forward, the weight of Kakashi and Ruen sliding from his shoulders to the ground. His vision flared white-hot.

Obito turned, grabbed the attacker by the jaw, and slammed his dagger up beneath the man’s chin, twisting until the fight left his eyes.

He yanked the blade free, staggered.

Warmth spread down his leathers, his breaths coming short and wet.

More mercenaries were closing in—dozens of them, grinning now, convinced they’d won.

Obito looked at Kakashi and Ruen—both bleeding, barely conscious—and knew exactly what this was.

If he fell here, Rin would lose them all.

One last breath.

One last chance.

Obito forced himself down to one knee, hauled Ruen onto one shoulder, then Kakashi onto the other again.

Every step pulled white-hot pain through his chest, but he moved anyway, dragging breath after breath out of a body that wanted to collapse.

The Kamui’s pull was slippery, his blood loss making it harder to focus.

The edges of the world blurred.

His heartbeat slowed.

He wrenched reality sideways.

The courtyard vanished in a rush of darkness and sand—vanishing a heartbeat before the mercenaries could close the circle.

They slammed back into the world on broad stone palace steps.

Ruen and Kakashi slid from his shoulders, hitting the ground slid to the stone, blood pooling beneath them.

Obito dropped to his knees. Blood spilled freely down his chest, pooling beneath him.

Vision tunneling, every heartbeat a hammer blow.

The world tilted. The palace doors blurred.

His heartbeat came slow, distant.

All he saw—
All he thought—
All he wanted—

Her name slipped out, barely a breath.

“…Rin…”

The last thing he saw was the flicker of movement—guards rushing toward him.

Then the world went black.

 

Chapter 26: RIN

                                                                     RIN

 

The narrow road into the next town carried the faint scent of rain and freshly turned earth. Rin and Sakura walked shoulder to shoulder, baskets swaying at their sides, the clink of glass vials inside keeping rhythm with their steps.

Rin bore her father’s satchel slung across her shoulder—a familiar weight that once belonged to him, now entrusted to her hands.

“Feels strange without him limping along behind us,” Sakura said quietly, glancing at the empty space where Rin’s father usually walked.

Rin’s lips curved into a small smile, though her eyes softened.

“It does. But at least he’s not in pain anymore. I’ll take strange over hurting.”

The house they sought stood at the edge of town, its clay-brick walls warm against the gray sky.

Before they could knock, the door opened.

An older woman stepped out, her silver-streaked hair pinned back in neat coils, her eyes brightening the instant she saw them.

“Oh, my girls,” she breathed, pressing her hands to her chest before cupping Rin’s cheek, then Sakura’s. “Back at last. I worried the war had swallowed you whole.”

“We’re home,” Rin assured her with a smile. “And so is my father, though…” she hesitated, adjusting the basket on her arm, “he’s not making the rounds anymore. His leg was broken.”

The woman’s brows pinched. “Oh, dear. The world takes too much from good men.”

“He’s doing much better now,” Rin said quickly. “Trying to walk again, slowly. But I’m not pushing it—he’s already stubborn enough without me feeding it.”

That earned a chuckle, the tension easing as the woman ushered them inside. The home smelled of simmering broth and clean herbs.

In the main room, her husband and children sat propped against cushions, pale but recovering, smiles lighting their faces at the sight of the two young women.

“You’re a blessing,” the woman said, motioning for them to set their baskets down. “Tell me, was your journey long? Did you see anything worth the telling?”

Sakura and Rin exchanged a glance—an unspoken conversation in the silence between them—before Rin answered gently, “It was… eventful. But we’re glad to be home.”

Rin and Sakura knelt beside the low table, unfastening their baskets and laying out herbs, salves, and small glass bottles that caught the firelight.

The family gathered close, their tired eyes watching the practiced movements that reminded them of Rin’s father.

“You’ve both grown into his hands,” the older woman murmured as she set steaming cups of tea before them.

“Gentle, steady. He would be proud.”

Rin’s throat tightened, but she forced a smile.

“He still tries to hover. Even from his chair, he tells us what we already know.”

Sakura grinned faintly.

“Yesterday he threatened to chase us out of the kitchen on his crutches.”

The woman laughed, a sound that carried through the room and seemed to lift the weariness from her husband’s shoulders.

They worked in comfortable rhythm, cleaning bandages, brewing tinctures, and pressing cool cloths to fevered brows.

Rin explained each step, her voice soft but firm, while Sakura passed supplies and added her own reassurances.

“You’ll be strong again soon,” Rin said gently to the man as she checked his pulse. “The worst has passed. Rest, broth, and this tonic should carry you the rest of the way.”

The man, his voice rough with illness, managed a nod. “Your father… always said the two of you would surpass him one day. Looks like he was right.”

Heat pricked Rin’s eyes, but she bent her head, pretending to adjust the vial stopper.

They worked in comfortable rhythm, cleaning bandages, brewing tinctures, and pressing cool cloths to fevered brows.

Rin explained each step, her voice soft but firm, while Sakura passed supplies and added her own reassurances.

The older woman patted Rin’s hand, her expression both kind and wistful.

“It eases my heart to know your father is mending. Tell him we miss his visits, even if we’re glad to have you in his stead.”

“We’ll tell him,” Sakura promised.

They lingered a little longer, finishing their work, ensuring the family had what they needed.

Only once the medicine had been set by the bedside and the final notes scrawled into Rin’s ledger did the two girls gather their things.

The woman followed them to the door, squeezing their hands in farewell.

“It does me good to see your faces again. The world feels less bleak when the young return home safe.”

Rin smiled faintly, bowing her head before stepping back into the cool air with Sakura at her side.

The rest of the afternoon passed in the steady rhythm of work.

After leaving the clay-brick home, Rin and Sakura crossed fields and winding paths to visit the next patient—a young mother with a lingering cough and two children who clung to Sakura’s skirts while Rin measured out medicine.

From there, they tended to an elderly farmer with a swollen knee, then to a boy recovering from a fever that had nearly taken him the week before.

Everywhere they went, familiar faces brightened at the sight of them.

Neighbors who had once looked to Rin’s father now placed their faith in his daughter and her cousin.

It was exhausting work, but it filled the hours with purpose.

Rin barely noticed the sun leaning westward until shadows began to stretch long across the ground.

By the time they packed their empty baskets and slung their satchels over sore shoulders, the sky had shifted to late afternoon gold, the air heavy with the scent of hearth smoke drifting from chimneys.

Sakura brushed a loose strand of hair from her damp forehead and let out a weary laugh.

“If your father keeps ‘resting,’ we’ll be the ones walking with crutches soon.”

Rin smiled, though there was a weariness beneath it.

“Don’t tempt him. He’ll hear you from halfway across town and insist on taking his rounds back tomorrow.”

Their laughter carried softly as they took the familiar road home.

 

The road home stretched quiet, the only sound the crunch of their boots on gravel and the soft clink of glass vials in Rin’s satchel.

The late afternoon sunbathed everything in a honeyed glow, but Sakura’s gaze wasn’t on the path.

Every so often, she flicked her eyes to the hedgerows, to the dark edges of trees where shadows pooled.

He wasn’t there.

Sasuke always lingered, silent as smoke, trailing them whenever they visited patients beyond the palace walls. It was something Rin had never noticed, but Sakura had—always.

She had promised Sasuke she’d keep his secret.

Today, the shadows were empty.

Sakura pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to say something. Rin walked ahead with her usual focus, adjusting her basket against her hip.

“You’re quiet,” Rin said, glancing sideways.

Sakura forced a smile. “Just thinking. Long day.”

Rin snorted softly. “We’ve had longer.”

Sakura didn’t answer.

Rin tilted her head. “That’s not it. You keep looking over your shoulder. What is it?”

Sakura shook her head quickly. “It’s nothing. Really.”

Rin frowned but let it go, tightening the strap of her satchel.

“Well, if you start seeing ghosts, at least you’ve got me beside you.”

That coaxed a laugh out of Sakura, though it was thin, brittle.

“You? You’d scold the ghosts into apologizing.”

Rin smirked faintly. “Exactly.”

The easy moment didn’t last. As they passed beneath the stone arch of the town gates, the air shifted.

People were shuttering windows, dragging children indoors, voices rising in a low, frantic hum.

Rin slowed, her eyes darting from one hurried face to another.

“What’s going on?”

Sakura’s unease flared hotter.

“I don’t know…” she began, but then the ground trembled beneath them.

The thunder of hooves rolled down the main road, swallowing every other sound. Dust kicked into the air; banners cracked sharp in the wind.

Both girls turned—and froze.

A procession stormed forward, filling the street: Akatsuki crimson snapping above black-armored soldiers, the Uchiha royals riding at the head, their horses lathered in sweat. Behind them, a mini-army followed with grim precision, the ground shaking beneath their charge.

The townsfolk scattered to the sides, pressing into doorways and stalls to clear the path.

Rin’s breath caught in her throat.

“Why are they here—with soldiers?”

Sakura grabbed her arm, her own voice trembling.

“I don’t know. But they wouldn’t bring this kind of force unless—” She cut herself off, the implication too heavy to finish.

Rin’s pulse thundered in her ears. “Something happened.”

Their eyes locked, both pale with dread.

Dust still hung in the air long after the last hoofbeat faded. Rin and Sakura stood frozen in the street, hands clasped tight.

“To the palace,” she said firmly. “Now.”

Then Sakura yanked her forward, and they ran.

Their satchels and baskets thudded against their hips, the weight of glass and herbs jostling with every desperate stride.

The late-afternoon air felt thicker now, every breath hard to catch. Rin’s heartbeat so violently it seemed to shake her ribs.

What happened?

Why were the Uchiha riding with an army?

The townsfolk’s panic only sharpened her fear. All around them, voices spilled through doorways and crowded alleys, gossip breaking like waves:

“They’ve come to declare war—!”

“No, no, I heard the King of Akatsuki is dead!”

“You’re all fools, they wouldn’t ride like that unless the Senju betrayed them!”

“Blood’s been spilled, mark my words—”

Every rumor struck Rin like a stone to the chest.

She couldn’t breathe around them.

Her mind flashed through every possibility: Obito fallen in some distant battlefield, Ruen struck down, Kakashi ambushed.

She didn’t even know which thought terrified her most.

Beside her, Sakura’s face was pale, lips pressed tight. Her breath came ragged, but she didn’t slow.

“Don’t listen,” she panted, shaking her head. “Don’t—”

But Rin couldn’t shut the voices out.

They wove themselves into her, each one a new dagger of dread.

Her sandals skidded over cobblestones as they darted through the thinning crowd, cutting downside streets, their skirts whipping at their legs.

The looming walls of the Senju palace rose above the town like a fortress of stone and shadow, its gates choked with soldiers and citizens pressing to see.

“Not that way,” Sakura hissed, pulling Rin sharply. She knew the palace as well as Rin did.

They veered off, ducking down an alley that wound behind the great structure.

At last, they stumbled breathless into the quieter rear courtyard, where the servants’ entrance and guard stations stood. Two armored sentries straightened, hands moving to hilts before recognition softened their eyes.

“Lady Rin, Lady Sakura,” one said, his voice steady despite the tension hanging thick in the air. He stepped aside immediately. “Go. Quickly.”

Neither girl wasted a breath. They slipped past, hearts pounding, the palace walls closing around them like the jaws of fate.

The moment Rin and Sakura crossed the threshold of the palace, the world turned into chaos.

Servants darted in every direction, carrying buckets of steaming water, cloths, and bundles of herbs. Guards barked orders at one another, their voices swallowed in the roar of footsteps and clattering trays.

The air reeked of iron and smoke, sharp with the metallic tang of blood.

Rin froze in place, her hand tightening painfully on Sakura’s arm. She tried to look past the swarm of bodies, desperate to find a familiar face, but all she could see were flashes of red-stained cloth and pale, frightened expressions.

From deeper within the halls came the echo of raised voices—one so thunderous it seemed to rattle the stone walls.

“You let this happen!” roared the King of Akatsuki Land, his fury unmistakable.

“Don’t raise your voice in my halls, Fugaku!” King Jiraiya thundered back. “This is my land, and I’ll not be accused without—”

The clash of kings rolled over the chaos, a storm above the storm. Rin’s chest tightened until she couldn’t draw breath.

“Rin,” Sakura whispered, her voice shaking, “we need to find someone—anyone—”

They pressed forward, slipping between rushing servants, eyes darting frantically.

That was when they nearly collided with a tall woman striding through the corridor, her dark hair tied back, her robe sleeves pushed high as though she’d already been elbow-deep in blood and work.

“Rin! Sakura!” Anko Mitarashi snapped, her sharp eyes flashing as she grabbed them both by the arms. Anko, one of Queen Tsunade’s assistants, never wasted words—but now her voice was clipped with urgency.

“What happened?” Rin gasped, her throat dry.

Anko didn’t soften the blow.

“Prince Obito appeared out of thin air—both your brother and Kakashi in his arms. All three of them were stabbed, torn up—dying.”

Rin’s heart lurched so violently she swayed on her feet.

“But the prince—” Anko continued, her expression grim. “He’s the worst of them. Wound to the chest, close to his heart. The Queen and the senior doctors are with him now, fighting to keep him alive.”

“No…” The word escaped Rin in a breathless whisper.

“There’s no time to stand here,” Anko pressed. “Queen Tsunade needs every hand. You two—come. Kakashi and Ruen need attention. Now.”

Rin’s lungs refused to fill.

The walls seemed to tilt around her, the roar of the palace muffled beneath the pounding of her pulse. Sakura caught her hand, squeezing hard.

They were pulled toward the surgery halls, the scent of blood thickening with every step.

And then—through the parting bodies—Rin saw him.

For one suspended moment, time stopped.

Obito lay on a table in the adjoining room, his skin deathly pale, chest wrapped in blood-soaked bandages.

Queen Tsunade and three doctors bent over him, their hands moving with brutal precision. A nurse rushed to press more cloth against the wound, and still the red spread like ink in water.

“Obito—” Rin’s voice cracked as she lurched toward the door, but before she could reach it, it slammed shut.

“Rin!” Anko barked, dragging her back. “Focus! He has the best in there already—your brother and Kakashi don’t!”

Her vision blurred with tears that spilled over, hot and fast, streaking down her cheeks until it felt as though she couldn’t stop them.

Her chest seized, every breath sharp and ragged, but still she let herself be pulled into the next chamber.

There, Ruen lay deathly still on one cot, Kakashi on another, both bleeding and broken.

Rin’s hands shook as she reached for the supplies, her tears dripping like rivers down her face.

Her heart was in the next room with Obito—but here, with trembling fingers and a sob caught in her throat, she forced herself to kneel at her brother’s side.

“Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she pressed her palms against his wounds. “Please… stay.”

The surgery hall spun around her.

Shouts, footsteps, the hiss of boiling water—all of it became a blur, muffled like she was underwater.

The only thing sharp was the heat of blood beneath her hands, hot and slick, spreading fast no matter how hard she pressed.

Too much.

Too fast.

It won’t stop.

Gods, why won’t it stop?

Her tears dripped onto Ruen’s wound, streaking red as if her grief itself was trying to fuse with the blood. She pressed harder, knuckles white.

Pressure. Father always said pressure buys you time. Time. But what if I’m too slow? What if there’s no time left?

Her vision tunneled, narrowing until all she could see was the jagged gash in her brother’s side and the way his chest shuddered weakly beneath her hands. His skin felt too cold already.

“Stay,” she whispered, the word trembling. “Ruen, stay with me.”

The air caught in her throat, jagged, unsteady. Every breath she drew felt like it cut her lungs in half.

And Obito—

She could still hear Tsunade through the door.

“He’s crashing, damn it—move, now!” The sound struck Rin’s chest like a hammer, and her hands nearly faltered.

Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs.

If he dies. If he dies and I’m out here—

From the other room, Tsunade’s voice cut sharp and unyielding.

“Keep the vessel clamped—don’t let it slip!”

Another healer shouted, panic edging his words. “He’s too weak, his pulse is fading—”

“Then sew faster!” Tsunade barked. “If the ventricle tears again, we lose him!”

Rin’s heart lurched into her throat. Her vision spun. Her whole body trembled, a sob caught sharp in her chest.

“Rin,” Sakura snapped, voice taut, hands steady as she drew another stitch through Kakashi’s abdomen.

“Stay with me. Ruen needs you. Don’t let go.”

“I—” Rin’s breath hitched violently, “I can’t—”

“You can,” Sakura said fiercely. Her voice shook, but her hands did not falter. “We’ve done this a hundred times. Just slower. Just smaller wounds. It’s the same. Breathe. Press. Stitch. You can.”

Rin forced a shallow inhale, though it felt like drowning. Her father’s voice echoed in her head, guiding her trembling fingers: Control the bleeding. Command the body to obey.

She stitched, clumsy at first, her hands trembling, but then tighter, stronger. The cloth turned crimson under her palms, but the flow slowed.

And then—from the other room—the world shattered.

“His pulse—!” a doctor cried.

There was a silence, sudden and heavy.

No voices.

No orders.

Nothing.

Just silence.

The air in Rin’s lungs turned to stone.

Her tears froze mid-breath.

“Obito…” she whispered, the word breaking as it left her lips.

Her hands shook so violently the needle slipped from her grasp, clattering against the floorboards.

“No,” she gasped, reaching blindly for it, her tears falling harder, faster.

Sakura’s voice broke through, sharp but trembling, like glass under strain.

“Rin—look at me. Keep going. He’s not gone. Do you hear me? He’s not gone.”

And then, through the wall, Tsunade’s voice roared like a thunderclap:

“Pressure’s back—don’t stop now, keep sewing! We’re not losing him!”

The silence on the other side of the wall had nearly broken Rin’s soul. Even now, after Tsunade’s bellow cut through — “Pressure’s back, don’t stop now!” — her hands still shook, tears still streamed down her cheeks. She stitched with clumsy, trembling fingers, the thread slipping slick through blood, but she kept moving.

Ruen stirred beneath her touch, a weak groan breaking from his lips. His lashes fluttered, chest rising shallow but steadier now.

“That’s it,” Rin whispered, her tears dripping onto his skin. “Stay with me, Ruen. Please… stay.”

Beside her, Sakura bent low over Kakashi, her face pale, streaked with sweat. Her needle bit through flesh with ruthless precision, her stitches holding firm. Though her hands trembled, her jaw was set with grim determination.

“He’s stable,” Sakura muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. She pressed another cloth to Kakashi’s side, applying firm pressure. “He’s still bleeding, but it’s slower now. I can hold him here.”

Rin nodded numbly, her throat too tight to speak. She wiped her tears against her sleeve, smearing blood across her cheek, and forced her shaking hands to keep working.

The room roared around them — servants rushing water, assistants shouting for herbs, the hiss of metal plunged into fire.

And always, Tsunade’s commands cutting sharp from the other chamber:

“Pack deeper—stitch tighter—don’t lose the rhythm!”

“He’s weakening again!”

“Not on my table he isn’t!”

The words tore at Rin’s heart each time, but she had no choice except to keep going.

Minutes blurred into hours.

The world narrowed to the sound of blood, thread, breath. Her hands cramped, nails broken, but still she pressed, stitched, packed.

At last, when her arms trembled so badly, she thought they would give out, Anko’s voice cut through:

“That’s enough. He’ll hold. Both of them will hold.”

Rin slumped back on her heels, her palms stained to the wrists, her breath ragged.

Ruen’s chest rose, weak but steady. Kakashi’s did too.

Alive. Both alive.

But her heart wasn’t in her chest anymore. It was behind that door.

The chamber where Tsunade still fought.

Every muffled sound from the chamber twisted Rin’s insides tighter. She had never prayed so hard, never begged so desperately, not even for her own life.

At last, the door creaked.

Rin lifted her head, her eyes red, her whole-body rigid.

A weary doctor stepped out, his face ashen, his clothes soaked. He said nothing—only gave a sharp nod to the assistants behind him, carrying away basins and bloodied cloths.

The door shut again.

Rin’s tears fell faster, burning hot trails down her cheeks. She clenched her hands until her nails bit into her palms.

Please, gods. Please let him live.

And she waited, every heartbeat a knife.

The hours wore on.

The girls’ bodies sagged with exhaustion, their arms smeared red to the elbows, their eyes hollow with grief.

And still the door stayed shut.

Still the fight for Obito’s life raged inside.

 

The hours bled together. The candles burned low, their wax spilling down iron holders and hardening against the stone. Smoke lingered in the air, faint and bitter.

Shadows wavered with each faltering flame, stretching long across the corridor. Somewhere far off, the echo of the kings’ raised voices had died into silence.

Even the guards outside stood unmoving, as though carved from the very rock they guarded

Rin lost track of how many times she heard it.

We’re losing him.
We’re losing him.
We’re losing him.

Until at last, near the first blush of dawn, Tsunade’s voice rose one final time—not frantic, not desperate, but firm, steady, exhausted.

Each time, the words shattered her all over again, tearing fresh sobs from her throat until she had no strength left to cry.

Her body sagged against the cold stone, every muscle stiff, her blood-stained hands knotted together in her lap as though she could pray him back to her.

Sakura sat beside her, just as drained, her face pale, streaked with dried blood, but her eyes sharp and unyielding.

Whenever Rin faltered, Sakura’s hand found hers, anchoring her with that steady, wordless grip.

At some point, the Uchiha royals appeared—dark cloaks whispering over the stone floors, their grim faces carved from shadow.

Shisui, Itachi, Sasuke—all three carried the weight of silence like armor, their eyes fixed on that heavy wooden door.

King Fugaku stood like an iron statue at their head, rage tempered into a murderous stillness.

Beside him, Queen Mikoto’s composure wavered only in the smallest ways: her hands clasped too tightly at her waist, her lips pressed pale, her dark eyes glassed with unshed tears.

A single drop escaped, cutting down her cheek, but she did not move to wipe it away. Worry twisted with fury in her gaze, silent and unyielding. If her husband was stone, she was steel — trembling, but unbroken.

No one spoke.

They simply waited.

And then—

The latch scraped.

The door opened with a long, weary creak, and Tsunade stepped out. Her sleeves were rolled high, her arms stained to the elbows.

Sweat slicked her hair against her temples, her face pale beneath the candlelight. But her eyes, sharp and commanding even in exhaustion, found them all.

“The bleeding’s stopped. The stitches are holding. His pulse is faint, but steady. He’s not out of danger yet…” Tsunade’s voice was hoarse but unwavering as her gaze swept across the corridor….”but he’s alive.”

The corridor seemed to exhale all at once.

King Fugaku’s jaw tightened, his eyes closing for the briefest moment. When he spoke, his words were clipped, controlled, but the iron beneath them was clear.

“See that he has everything he needs. No expense, no effort spared. And Tsunade, thank you.”

Shisui exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his tired face.

“Stubborn bastard. Always has to make it harder than it needs to be.”

Itachi’s silence was heavy, his expression unreadable. But his eyes lingered on the closed door with a gravity that said more than words ever could.

And Sasuke—Sasuke was pale, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone white. He didn’t speak, but his lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze locked on the closed door as though he could force it to open by will alone.

Rin couldn’t breathe. The relief in Tsunade’s words should have steadied her, but instead it unraveled what little strength she had left.

Her body shook violently, tears spilling fresh as her eyes fixed on that door.

Tsunade gave them no softness, only her weary command.

“He needs absolute quiet. No visitors yet—he’ll live, but only if he rests.” Her gaze passed over Rin without a pause, too focused on the fight she’d just waged to notice the storm raging inside her.

The royals began to disperse, Shisui tugging Sasuke along, Itachi exchanging a brief look with his father before moving silently down the hall.

The heavy silence of their passing left Rin trembling in place, her eyes locked on the closed door.

When the others had gone, and Tsunade had turned back inside with her healers, Rin could no longer hold herself still. She pulled free of Sakura’s hands and staggered to the door.

“Rin—” Sakura’s voice was soft, worried.

But Rin only shook her head, pressing her bloodstained palm against the wood.

“I just… I need to see him.”

She slipped through while the attendants were busy gathering instruments, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned every thought.

The chamber was dim, lit only by guttering lamps. The air smelled of iron and smoke.

On the narrow bed, Obito lay motionless. His chest was wrapped thick in bandages, crimson bleeding through the linen in wide stains.

His breath rose shallow and uneven, his face pale as death. The faintest stubble shadowed his jaw, though his youth still showed—he looked at once older, worn down by pain, and heartbreakingly young.

Rin froze in the doorway, tears spilling before she even reached him. Her body shook with the weight of it, and her hand rose to cover her mouth as sobs pressed at her throat.

He looks dead…

She stumbled forward, dropping to her knees at his bedside. Her trembling fingers brushed sweat-damp strands of hair from his forehead. He did not stir, did not open his eyes.

“Obito…” she whispered, her voice breaking, “you stubborn, reckless fool…”

Each rise and fall of his chest looked like a battle waged in silence, fragile and uncertain.

The silence in the room deepened—and then a voice stirred inside her.

“It hurts to see him like this, doesn’t it?”

The voice rumbled low and deep inside her, not through her ears but through her very soul. Familiar, steady, like waves crashing in the distance.

Her tears slowed as her heart jolted.

“Isobu…” she whispered, clutching Obito’s limp hand. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am,” he answered, calm, patient. “You are mine, and I am yours. Where else would I be but with you?”

Her sob caught in her throat. “He’s dying,” she whispered fiercely, her hands hovering helplessly above Obito’s chest. “Even if Tsunade says he’ll live—look at him. He’s slipping away. I can’t lose him, Isobu. I can’t.”

There was a pause, a hum that rolled like the ocean against the shore.

“Then don’t.”

Rin froze. “…What?”

“Heal him.”

She shook her head, panic rising.

“He just came from surgery… his wounds are so deep. If I touch him—if I do anything wrong—I could undo what they’ve fought so hard to save.”

Isobu’s voice softened, yet carried weight, like the pull of the tide.

“You are a healer. You know the rhythm of breath, the will of the body. Do you think so little of yourself? My power is not wildfire to scorch him—it is the slow, eternal sea. It will flow as you guide it. If you wish to mend him, I will let you.”

Her lip trembled as tears slid down her cheeks. “You… you trust me with that?”

“I chose you, Rin. Not because you are unbroken, but because you understand pain, and how to ease it. If you will it, my waters will seal what knives have torn. My tide will carry him back from the brink. All you must do… is reach for me.”

Rin bowed her head, pressing trembling hands above Obito’s wounded chest.

“Then please, Isobu… lend me your strength.”

At once, warmth pooled through her veins—heavy, powerful, but calm, like waves lapping against the shore.

Her palms glowed faintly, not with fire or magic, but with a soft shimmer of bluish-green light, like moonlight on the sea.

She gasped, but steadied her hands, hovering them just above the bandages.

The glow seeped downward, sinking through linen and torn flesh. Slowly, steadily, the restless bleeding eased, the ragged edges of wounds beginning to close.

Obito’s breath, once shallow, deepened by a fraction.

Rin sobbed as the light pulsed gently under her palms.

“Obito… please. Don’t leave me. Not when I still need you.”

“He hears you,” Isobu whispered. “Not with his ears, but with what remains tethered inside him. Call him back, Rin. Anchor him.”

She leaned closer, her tears falling onto his arm.

“Obito, you reckless fool… I’m right here. I’ve always been here. Please—come back to me.”

But Obito did not stir. His eyes stayed closed, his breath shallow but steady, his body slack against the bed.

For a heartbeat, doubt clawed at her.

What if it wasn’t enough?

What if she was fooling herself?

“Patience,” Isobu rumbled inside her, calm as the tide. “The body heals in silence. Wounds do not knit in an instant. You have given him the strength to endure, Rin. That is what matters.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, not knowing if the words were meant for Obito, for Isobu, or for the gods themselves.

The glow faded from Rin’s palms, sinking back into silence. All that remained was the steady warmth of Obito’s skin beneath her trembling fingers and the fragile rise and fall of his chest.

He was still unconscious, pale as death, but he was breathing.

Her tears spilled fresh as she leaned closer, brushing damp strands of hair from his brow.

“You stubborn fool,” she whispered, her voice breaking with every word. “Always throwing yourself in the fire for everyone else…” Her lips trembled as she bent near his ear. “But not this time. You’re staying. Do you hear me, my love? You’re staying.”

She pressed her forehead gently against his arm, tears soaking into his skin.

Her hand lingered over his, small against his still fingers, unwilling to let go.

The door creaked open.

Rin startled, jerking upright, hurriedly wiping at her swollen eyes. A young nurse stood in the threshold, breathless from running.

“Lady Rin!” she gasped. “Your brother—he’s awake!”

Rin’s heart lurched. She looked back to Obito, her hand brushing once more over his arm.

“Hold on for me, my love,” she whispered fiercely. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

Her skirts whispered against the stone as she tore herself away, running after the nurse.

The corridors blurred around her, her heart pounding as though it would break through her chest.

At last, she reached the chamber where Ruen lay.

There—on the bed—her brother’s eyes were open. His skin was pale, his body swathed in bandages, but his gaze was alive, dazed as it searched the room until it found her.

“Ruen…” Rin’s voice cracked as she stumbled to his side, collapsing into the chair at his bedside.

Her trembling hands caught his, clutching it as though to prove he was real.

He gave her a faint, tired smile. “Rin…” His voice was rough, broken from pain, but it was his. “Still… bossing me around in my sleep, I bet.”

Her tears fell in a rush, her forehead pressing to his hand.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she sobbed, her whole body shaking with the force of it.

“I thought—I thought I was going to lose you too.”

Ruen’s weak laugh caught in his throat, but he squeezed her hand as tightly as he could manage.

“You won’t lose me. Not while you’re still here yelling at me.”

Rin let out a trembling laugh through her tears, clinging to him like a child afraid to wake from a dream.

For the first time since the nightmare began, she felt the tiniest spark of relief bloom in her chest.

But Ruen’s sharp ears hadn’t missed it.

Lose you too.

His gaze lingered on her, even as his face was tight with pain. He already had his suspicions, confirmed now in the worst way—by the mercenaries’ taunts, by the state Obito had been found in.

His heart clenched, but not from jealousy. It was fear, and perhaps… resignation.

Yet now wasn’t the time. Not when every breath still ached and the bandages across his chest reminded him how close death had come.

So instead, he cleared his throat and asked hoarsely,

“What about Kakashi? He made it too?”

Rin nodded quickly, squeezing his hand tighter. “Yes—he’s hurt, but stable. Sakura worked on him. He’ll be alright.”

Ruen’s eyes softened. “Good… good.” Then, almost reluctantly, he asked, “And Prince Obito?”

Her throat tightened. For a heartbeat, she couldn’t speak, but then she whispered, “He lives. But he’s not out of danger yet.”

Something flickered in Ruen’s expression—worry, gratitude, and something darker he didn’t voice.

He only shut his eyes briefly, swallowing hard. “Then thank the gods for him,” he murmured, voice raspy. “Because without him, we’d both be gone.”

Rin bowed her head, her tears threatening again.

She didn’t deny it.

After a moment, Ruen opened his eyes again, blinking against the haze of pain.

“And Father? Is he—?”

Before Rin could answer, the door opened behind her.

Sakura entered, her face pale with exhaustion but glowing with quiet relief, her hands steady as she guided the wheelchair inside.

In it sat their father, his leg strapped straight in a stiff brace. He looked worn and haggard, but his eyes—his eyes shone with fierce relief at the sight of his son awake.

Their mother was beside him, her face blotched from tears, her hands clutching the chair’s handles as if she couldn’t bear to let go.

“Ruen,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she rushed forward.

“Father…” Rin breathed, rising from her seat so their mother could clasp her brother’s hand.

Their father gripped the armrest of his chair, his lips trembling. He wanted to rise, to throw himself at his son’s bedside, but the ruined leg trapped him there.

Instead, he reached forward, his calloused hand closing over Ruen’s. “My boy…”

Ruen’s smile wavered but held, faint though it was.

“I’m alright,” he rasped. “Hurts like hell, but I’m here.”

And just like that, the family folded in around him—Rin at his side, Sakura standing close with quiet pride, their mother sobbing as she pressed kisses to Ruen’s brow, and their father clutching his son’s hand as if sheer will could anchor him in the world.

For the first time since the nightmare began, they were together.

Battered, broken, but alive.

The room was soft with quiet laughter and tears. Their mother still clutched Ruen’s hand, brushing his hair back like he was still a boy.

Their father’s voice wavered between pride and guilt, though his grip on his son’s arm was steady, unyielding.

For the first time in what felt like ages, they were together. Broken, bandaged, exhausted—but whole.

Then came the knock.

Low, deliberate.

The room stilled.

The door opened, and three dark figures filled the threshold.

Sasuke, Itachi, and Shisui—draped in black leathers marked with the crest of their house.

Dust and blood marred their boots, and their expressions carried the weight of a night stretched too long.

But it was their eyes that commanded the room—the Sharingan glowing faintly in the lamplight, not hostile, but impossible to ignore.

Their presence pressed against the air, heavy and certain.

Rin felt her mother’s grip tighten around her hand. Even her father, confined to his chair, straightened with grim dignity.

Itachi stepped forward. His voice was calm, low, but tempered with respect.

“Forgive us for the intrusion,” he said, his red gaze settling on the family. “But we would ask a private word with Ruen.” His tone softened a fraction, acknowledging Rin’s parents. “There are matters only he can clarify—matters of how he, Hatake, and Obito came to be taken. And there are… concerns about who ordered it.”

The words rippled through the room, sobering the fragile peace that had just settled.

Ruen shifted weakly against his pillows, though his face stayed steady.

“It’s alright,” he rasped, voice rough but firm. “Go. Please.”

Their mother shook her head, torn. “But he’s only just—”

“Mother,” Ruen cut in, gentler now, though still resolute. “I’ll be fine.”

Their father’s jaw worked, but at last he gave a small nod. “We’ll step outside.”

As they moved to leave, Rin’s mother clutched her daughter’s hands, her voice soft, worried.

“When are you and Sakura coming home? You both look awful—tired, bloody. I can’t stand to see you like this. Rin, I need you both safe too.”

Rin forced a fragile smile, though every muscle in her body ached.

“Soon, Mama. We’ll see Kakashi first… then we’ll come home.”

Her mother cupped her cheek tenderly, thumb brushing away a smear of blood at the corner of her skin before letting go.

Sakura, steady at her side, added quietly, “I’ll see she does. You have my word aunt.”

With that, the Nohara family and Sakura slipped out.

 

The door clicked shut behind Rin and her family, leaving the chamber heavy with silence. Only the crackle of the candlelight filled the void, its glow glancing off polished black leather.

The Uchiha stood like sentinels, their Sharingan burning faintly red in the dim light—steady, unblinking, impossible to ignore.

Ruen shifted against the pillows, the movement tugging at his stitched chest. His jaw clenched, but he forced himself upright.

“Well,” he rasped, his tone dry despite the strain, “if you’ve come to finish what the mercenaries didn’t, best do it quick. I’m not in the mood to beg.”

Shisui tilted his head, a faint curve tugging at his lips though his eyes stayed sharp.

“Brave words for a man who can barely sit up.”

Ruen’s mouth twisted into a ghost of a smile. “Better to go out on brave words than silence.”

Itachi stepped forward, calm and deliberate, his presence steadying the air.

“We’re not here for blood, Captain Ruen. We’re here for answers. Hatake has already spoken. Now we require your account. If your story aligns, it strengthens both of you. If it doesn’t…” His crimson eyes deepened, slow and heavy. “…then we have a different problem.”

Ruen’s throat bobbed, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Ask, then.”

Sasuke crossed his arms, his stance taut, his eyes restless.

“Why did you and Kakashi go to the Underground City? Alone. No guard. No word left behind.”

Ruen exhaled slowly, his chest aching with the effort.

“Because we were told to. A letter came. Directions. A map. Said there was danger beneath the Oasis.”

At that, Shisui reached into his cloak and withdrew a folded parchment, its edges worn and stained. He held it up.

“This letter?”

Ruen’s hand trembled as he took it. His eyes scanned the script, his lips thinning.

“Yes. This is it. Written in Prince Obito’s hand. It claimed he had found Father himself in the Underground Oasis. That he needed our help to stop him before worse could come.”

A ripple of silence passed through the room.

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade. “Didn’t either of you think it might be a forgery?”

Ruen gave a humorless smile. “Kakashi thought so.”

Shisui’s brows rose. “And you both still went?”

A weak laugh rattled from Ruen’s chest, breaking into a cough. He pressed his fist to his ribs, grimacing, but his eyes glinted faintly.

“Gods, you really are his brothers. He said the same thing to us. Word for word.”

That drew the faintest twitch of Shisui’s mouth, though his eyes stayed guarded.

Ruen forced himself straighter, voice hoarse but steady.

“Yes, we went. Because if there was even a chance it was true, then Prince Obito was in danger. And if it was a trap… better we walked into it than left him alone.”

The three pairs of crimson eyes fixed on him, unblinking.

Ruen’s tone lowered.

“Kakashi has lived in Akatsuki lands these six months. With Rin. With Sakura. He’s made friends. Loyal ones. The kind who’d follow him without question. Maybe the Prince wanted more than one sword at his back.”

The silence was suffocating. Their Sharingan turned faintly in the candlelight, measuring every flicker of him.

And in the back of Ruen’s mind, one thought rang bitter and clear: Definitely Obito’s younger brothers. Sharp. Suspicious. Cutting straight to the bone. Just like him.

Itachi broke the silence. “And the mercenaries. Did you notice anything unusual? Their manner, their command, their speech. Anything that might tie them to your father?”

Ruen’s eyes darkened as he drew a shallow breath. “They weren’t tavern scraps or gutter blades. They were disciplined. Trained to move as one. Too well supplied for wanderers. And they knew us by name before steel was drawn.” His jaw tightened. “That’s no coincidence. That’s orchestration.”

Sasuke’s eyes spun faintly faster.

“So, you believe it was Fathers men?”

Ruen’s rasp came edged with bitterness, raw and jagged in his throat.

“I don’t just believe. I know. He’s tried before—kidnapping Rin, circling her like a vulture, stripping away every branch of her life until only his will remained. This time…” His lips thinned, voice breaking low. “This time he didn’t care if blood paid the price.”

Shisui’s jaw tightened.

“You’re saying he meant to leave her without allies. Without brothers. Without Hatake. Without…” He stopped himself.

Ruen’s eyes hardened. He didn’t speak Obito’s name. That was Rin’s secret.

Instead, he whispered, “He thought killing us would break her. He doesn’t know Rin.”

Itachi’s gaze lingered, crimson steady, unreadable.

Then, with the weight of a vow, he inclined his head.

“That is enough. You’ve given us clarity. And know this: whatever your father believes, Rin is not alone. She is under our protection now. No scheme, no mercenary, no broken oath will change that.”

Ruen’s lips twitched faintly, his voice rough. “You swear it?”

Itachi inclined his head once, solemn. “On the blood of the Uchiha, I swear.”

For the first time, Ruen’s body eased against the pillows. His eyes glistened as exhaustion claimed him.

“Then maybe… she still has a chance.”

The Uchiha said nothing more.

Their black leather whispered as they turned, the candlelight catching their Sharingan one last time before they vanished into the corridor—leaving Ruen alone, heavy with truths unspoken.

 

The corridor outside was hushed, the chaos of the palace muffled here to little more than faint footsteps and the smell of herbs drifting through the stone halls. Rin and Sakura exchanged a tired glance before stepping forward, their clothes still marked with the stains of blood and ash.

Two Senju guards opened the door at once, and the girls slipped inside.

The chamber was dim, warmed by the soft glow of a hearth where herbs steeped in a kettle. Kakashi lay against a mound of pillows, his chest tightly bandaged, his face pale beneath his silver hair. At his bedside sat his parents.

His father rose the instant the girls entered, his steady hand resting protectively on Kakashi’s forearm. While his mother rose the instant the girls entered, her eyes red from sleeplessness.

Rin and Sakura stopped just inside the door, bowing awkwardly, their exhaustion clear.

“Forgive us,” Sakura said softly, her voice wavering. “For coming so late.”

Rin nodded quickly, her own voice quiet, heavy with guilt. “We meant to sooner.”

Kakashi’s mother shook her head immediately, crossing the small space to take their hands in hers. Her grip trembled, but her expression was gentle.

“No, my dears. You’ve done enough. More than enough. We are grateful you’re even standing.”

Kakashi’s father inclined his head, his voice low, firm. “You honor us with your presence. Sit. He’ll be glad to see you.”

“Told you they’d come,” Kakashi rasped to his parents, lips quirking faintly beneath the mask of bandages. “Didn’t I?”

His mother gave a watery laugh, brushing her hand through his hair. “Always so smug.”

“Always right,” Kakashi muttered, though the words caught in his throat.

Sakura went to him first, kneeling at his bedside and carefully clasping his hand. Tears welled as she forced a shaky smile.

“Idiot,” she whispered. “You scared us half to death.”

Kakashi let out a weak chuckle, though pain tightened his face.

“Harder to kill than that.”

Rin approached slower, her heart hammering, until she lowered herself into the chair on his other side. Her hands gripped the edge of the mattress, her eyes burning.

“That doesn’t mean you get to keep testing it,” she whispered.

Kakashi looked at her, something quiet and knowing in his gaze, before his head tipped slightly toward his father.

“And Ruen?” he asked. “How’s he holding on?”

 

“He’s awake. Weak, but awake. He’s… he’s himself. Still making jokes, still trying to be strong even when he shouldn’t.”

A faint smile tugged at Kakashi’s lips, though it was edged with pain.

“That sounds like him.” His eye closed briefly, as if relief was a weight settling deep in his chest. “Good. I needed to hear that.”

His parents let out twin sighs, his mother pressing her hand to her mouth, his father bowing his head. Relief softened the air, if only slightly.

His mother leaned down, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Enough now. No more questions tonight.”

“Yes,” his father said gruffly. “You need rest. We’ll be back in the morning.”

They lingered a moment longer, reluctant, before slipping out of the chamber.

The door clicked shut behind Kakashi’s parents, their footsteps fading down the corridor. Silence settled over the chamber like a heavy blanket.

The fire crackled in the hearth, shadows stretching across stone walls, while the smell of herbs steeped bitter and sharp in the air.

Rin sat rigid in her chair, her hands pressed into the edge of the mattress. She thought for a moment Kakashi had drifted off—his chest rose and fell shallowly, his lashes lowered with fatigue. But then his eyes opened again.

It found her in the dim light, steady despite the pain.

“Rin,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “What about Obito?”

Her heart clenched, breath catching. Of all the questions she had dreaded, this was the one she couldn’t answer cleanly.

Sakura shifted beside her, quick to speak into the tension. “He’s alive,” she said gently, squeezing Kakashi’s hand. “Badly hurt… worse than either of you. They’re doing everything possible.”

 Kakashi gave the faintest nod, but his gaze didn’t move from Rin. He was waiting for her. Always had been.

Rin’s throat burned. She tried to hold herself together, tried to keep her voice neutral, but her soul betrayed her. “He’s alive,” she whispered, tears pricking hot at her eyes. “But he’s not out of danger. I nearly—” Her voice splintered. “I nearly lost him tonight.”

Her tears spilled freely, blinding her as her head dropped, shoulders quaking. “I can’t—” The words tore out on a broken breath. “I almost lost Ruen… you… him.”

Kakashi understood. He always had.

His gaze softened, drifting between them before landing on Sakura. His voice came low, rough, but steady.

“I need to say this while I can,” he murmured. “Thank you. Both of you.” His hand shifted weakly in Rin’s, squeezing once before his eye turned back to Sakura. “But especially you, Sakura.”

Sakura blinked, startled. “Me?”

“You saved my life,” Kakashi said, no hesitation in his voice. “I know how close it was. I can feel it. If not for you… I wouldn’t be here.” His lips twitched faintly beneath the bandages, a shadow of a smile. “I owe you more than words can cover.”

Sakura’s throat tightened, tears springing fast. She shook her head quickly, her grip on his hand trembling.

“No—you don’t owe me anything. You’ve always protected us. Always. This time it was just my turn. That’s all.”

Kakashi’s eyes softened further, something gentle flickering in it.

“Maybe so. But still… I won’t forget it. I’ll carry it with me.”

Her tears spilled at that, and Rin reached across the bed to squeeze her hand, grounding her.

Kakashi’s throat bobbed, emotion tightening his features. He squeezed their hands as best he could.

 

By the time the next day dawned, the chamber still felt caught in the shadow of the night before. It was hushed but heavy, shadows stretched long across the stone walls from the flicker of beeswax candles and the brazier’s low flame.

The sharp tang of sage and boiled herbs clung to the air, mingling with the faint copper of dried blood.

Rin sat close at Obito’s side, hands glowing faintly as she coaxed healing warmth into the deep wounds beneath his bandages. Her own arms trembled from days of strain, but she did not falter. Her head dipped low, her whispers soft enough that only he could hear.

“Stay with me, my love,” she breathed. “Don’t you dare leave me now.”

The door creaked. Rin’s head lifted, expecting Sakura.

But it was Mikoto.

The queen stepped inside with no crown, her black hair unbound, her silks plain and dark. Still, her presence was undeniable—regal even in simplicity. She moved to the bedside, her steps steady but slower than usual, as though weighted by something heavier than armor.

Rin scrambled to her feet, bowing quickly. “Your Majesty—”

“No,” Mikoto cut in gently, her eyes still fixed on her son. “Not here. Sit, child.”

Rin obeyed, settling back into her chair, hands clasping Obito’s limp one.

Mikoto lowered herself into the seat on his other side. For a long time, she only looked at him—the rise and fall of his shallow breath, the bruises at his temples, the stark paleness of his lips.

Her hand rose to brush the hair from his forehead, and though her touch was tender, Rin saw the way her fingers trembled.

At last, Mikoto’s voice broke the silence, low and thick.

“I thought I was ready for this life. To be queen, to be mother to princes who would grow up with swords in their hands and targets on their backs. I told myself I could bear it—that it was the cost of our bloodline, of power.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “But nothing prepares you for this. Nothing prepares a mother to see her child returned broken, balanced between breath and the grave.”

Rin’s throat closed. Her tears spilled, her hand gripping Obito’s harder. “He’s strong,” she whispered fiercely. “He’s still fighting. I can feel it. He won’t leave us.”

Mikoto finally looked at her. The weight of her gaze softened, a tear tracing her cheek. “And he has you.” She reached across the bed, her warm hand covering Rin’s. “That’s why he’s still here.”

Rin bowed her head, her voice breaking. “I love him. More than I thought I could love anyone.”

“I know my dear. And he loves you.” Mikoto’s lips trembled. She drew a breath, then a faint, wistful smile crossed her face.

“Do you know what he was like as a boy? Stubborn to the bone. Always desperate to prove himself braver than he was.”

Her thumb brushed Obito’s cheek as she continued. “When he was seven, he climbed one of the training walls—much too high. He slipped. Fell. Broke his arm clean through.”

Rin’s eyes widened, her tears catching on a small laugh despite herself.

Mikoto’s own voice wavered on a quiet chuckle, though her tears fell freely. “When I reached him, he was sitting in the dirt with his arm bent the wrong way, and do you know what he said? ‘See, Mother? I didn’t cry. I’m strong.’”

Rin’s chest squeezed painfully, a watery smile breaking through her tears. “That sounds just like him.”

“He wouldn’t shed a tear until we had him home and the bone set,” Mikoto went on, shaking her head fondly. “Even then, he tried to bite down on leather and said, ‘It doesn’t hurt. I can take it.’” Her voice cracked. “Gods help me, he was so small. I should have been furious at his recklessness. But all I could think was—how much I loved him. How proud I was of his spirit.”

Rin’s tears streamed faster now, her forehead pressing against the back of his hand. “He still does that,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Always pushes too far, always trying to prove he’s strong enough. Even when it nearly kills him.”

Mikoto’s hand squeezed hers. “And you’re the one who makes him want to come back. I see it. I’ve seen the way his eyes change when he looks at you. That boy who once broke his arm just to prove he was strong—he doesn’t have to prove anything anymore. Not with you by his side.”

Rin’s shoulders shook as she sobbed against Obito’s hand, overwhelmed by the weight of love and loss and fragile hope.

Mikoto turned back to her son, her tears spilling openly now.

The queen feared across nations bowed her head, her voice cracking as she whispered, “Rest, my son. Please. Just rest. The world can wait until you open your eyes again.”

And Rin, hearing the break in her voice, understood more than ever: here they weren’t queen and consort. They were simply mother and beloved, both clinging to the same soul.

 

The council chamber of the Senju palace was lit with torches, their flames bending in the draft that swept through the stone hall. Maps lay unrolled across the great table, markers scattered like pieces on a war board.

The air was tense, heavy with the unspoken truth that lingered above all others: Obito still lay in the healer’s chamber, and none of them knew when—or if—he would rise again.

King Fugaku sat at the head of the table, his jaw set, his hands braced on the carved wood. The queen sat close at his right, her dark eyes sharp, though red-rimmed from the tears she’d shed earlier at her son’s bedside.

Across from them stood their three sons—Itachi, Shisui, Sasuke—each dressed in their black leather and steel, the firelight catching in their crimson eyes.

“We cannot linger here much longer,” Fugaku said at last, his voice clipped, carrying the weight of command. “The kingdom cannot be left in the hands of daughters-in-laws and the two babes, no matter their strength. Not with him still looming, waiting for weakness to strike.” His gaze flicked sharply to his sons. “One of you will return with me.”

Sasuke stiffened immediately.

“No. We’re not leaving him.” His voice cracked with the sharpness of it, his eyes burning. “Not while he’s still like this. Not while there’s a chance, he might…” His fists clenched. “You can’t ask it.”

“It is not an ask,” Fugaku countered, his voice steel. “It is necessity.”

Itachi’s voice was calmer, but firm. “Father, our place is here. Obito needs us. If he wakes and finds no one at his side, if the Senju begin to whisper that even his brothers abandoned him—”

“Then what of Akatsuki?” Fugaku snapped, his voice rising for the first time. “Shall we leave it to chance? To generals alone, while its king and heirs sit idle in a foreign land? What message does that send? That the Uchiha are fractured? That we bleed too easily? That we can be plucked apart, one by one?”

Shisui, usually the one to smooth tempers, leaned forward on the table, his voice edged with uncharacteristic heat.

“We’re not sitting idle. We’re guarding our brother. Do you think the Senju would hesitate to use his weakness against us? Do you think Father won’t try again? Splitting ourselves now only makes us more vulnerable.”

“I’ll go with father.” Itachi said.

Fugaku’s mouth opened—then the heavy doors creaked. A guard entered, head bowed, a sealed scroll in his hands. He stepped forward quickly, offering it to the king.

“Urgent dispatch, sire. From Akatsuki lands, Your Majesty.”

The chamber went still as Fugaku broke the seal. His eyes scanned the letter, and his jaw hardened with every line.

At last, he lowered it, his expression grim.

“It is General Tenma,” he said, voice thickened. “Akatsuki is under attack. The Kingdom of Stone has marched against us.”

Mikoto’s hand tightened on the arm of her chair, her face going pale. “Now?”

“They smelled blood,” Fugaku growled, slamming the letter down onto the table. “News travels fast. They’ve heard what happened to Obito, that the royal family is here in Konoha. They believe Akatsuki weak, vulnerable.” His eyes burned as he looked at his sons. “So, they strike like scavengers.”

The silence was heavy, the fire snapping behind them.

The silence that followed the king’s words was suffocating. The brazier hissed, a torch cracked, but none of them moved.

The princes exchanged glances—brief, sharp, reluctant. They all knew what this meant. Knew what the letter demanded of them.

None of them wanted to be the one to say it.

Sasuke’s jaw was locked tight, his fists curled white at his sides. Itachi’s gaze lowered, unreadable, though his shoulders carried the weight of unspoken acceptance.

The queen’s hand gripped the arm of her chair, her knuckles pale.

At last, Shisui broke the silence. His voice was steady, but heavy with the question they all dreaded.

“…What do you intend to do now, Father?”

Fugaku’s eyes lifted from the letter, burning like coals in the dim firelight. He looked at each of his sons in turn—Itachi, Shisui, Sasuke—reading their faces, their unspoken resistance, their unvoiced fear.

Then, with the finality of iron, he spoke.

“We all return to Akatsuki land.”

The words struck like a blade. No debate. No escape.

The fire snapped in the silence that followed, throwing their shadows long across the stone walls.

Three pairs of crimson eyes met his, burning with the same unyielding resolve.

The decision was made. They would march. Tonight.

 

The morning broke pale and gray, the sky still heavy with clouds. Rin and Sakura returned to the palace after their rounds, their arms weighed down with satchels of herbs and salves. Both were exhausted, but their steps quickened as they neared the chambers of their patients.

First to Ruen’s room, then to Kakashi’s—checking, changing bandages, whispering reassurances. The air still smelled of poultices and sweat, but both men were steady, their breathing stronger than the night before. Relief eased their hearts, if only for a moment.

At last Rin turned toward Obito’s chamber, her chest tightening the closer she came. She had not slept, barely eaten. Every night she came to him. Every morning she swore she would see him breathe again.

She pushed the door open—

And froze.

The bed was empty. The linens stripped. The scent of herbs faint, already fading.

Her satchel slipped from her hands, spilling vials and bandages across the floor. “No,” she whispered, her voice cracking as her eyes darted frantically about the room. “No, no—he was here. He was here last night. He was breathing, I—”

Her chest seized. Her knees nearly buckled.

Sakura grabbed her shoulders, panic in her own eyes. “Rin—wait, wait—maybe—maybe they moved him. Maybe—”

The door creaked again, and Queen Tsunade entered, her expression heavy, her usual force softened for once by sorrow. She sighed, stepping closer. “Girls.”

Rin’s tear-filled eyes snapped to her. “Where is he?!” she demanded; her voice raw, desperate. “Tell me—where’s Prince Obito? What happened?”

Tsunade’s face tightened. “He didn’t die, child. Calm yourself.”

The words hit Rin like air rushing back into her lungs. She staggered against Sakura, shaking, her sob catching in her throat.

Tsunade’s gaze softened, but her voice stayed steady.

“The Uchiha received a letter late in the night. News from their homeland. Urgent. They packed their things and left before dawn.”

Sakura’s eyes widened; her voice sharp with disbelief.

“Left? Without a word to anyone?”

Tsunade’s mouth pressed thin, but she nodded. “The king made the decision. He didn’t want to risk delay. Not with war at their doorstep.”

Rin’s breath shuddered, her hands curling against her skirts. “And the prince?” she whispered.

“They took him, against my advice.” Tsunade said firmly. “The prince still breathes, but he’s far too fragile. The king wouldn’t leave him here. They brought a healer from Konoha to tend him along the road. He’ll be cared for.”

The words steadied Rin just enough to keep her upright, though her heart still hammered with panic.

Tsunade turned then, her expression gentler as she reached into her robe.

“One of them left this for you Sakura,” she said, holding out a folded parchment sealed with black wax. “I thought you should have it.”

Sakura’s fingers trembled as she broke the seal. She scanned the note, her lips moving silently before her voice faltered into sound:

Sakura,

Our land is threatened. The Stone march against us, thinking us weak. Father commanded we return at once. We could not risk leaving Obito here, not while he breathes between this world and the next. A healer from Konoha rides with us. I will write again when we reach home—with news of his strength, and more besides. Until then… be strong. For him. For yourself.

—Sasuke

Her breath caught, the parchment crinkling slightly in her hands as tears welled in her eyes. She pressed it against her chest for a moment, eyes closing, before silently offering it to Rin.

Rin took it, her hands shaking.

She read each word slowly, her vision blurring with tears, her heart aching with both relief and longing. When she lowered the note, she and Sakura shared a look — one of quiet understanding, of sorrow, of strength drawn from each other.

Neither spoke.

Gone….The Uchiha had vanished like shadows in the night, taking Obito with them.

Her chest tightened until she thought it would break—until another voice stirred softly within her.

Calm yourself, child, Isobu’s rumble echoed in her mind, deep and steady as the sea. He still lives. His path is not yet ended. Do not drown in fear before he returns to you.

Rin’s breath shuddered out.

She closed her eyes, gripping the parchment as though it were Obito’s hand itself.

You’re right, she whispered inwardly. I’ll be strong. I’ll wait. I’ll fight if I must. But I won’t lose him.

 

 

Chapter 27: The Weight of His Absence/Sasuke

                                                                    The Weight of His Absence

 

The battlefield groaned under the weight of war.

The land between Akatsuki and Stone had been nothing but mud and corpses, the clash of armies painting the battlefields red.

Villages along the border lay in ruin, their blackened husks standing as scars of King Renga’s first strikes.

The air was thick with ash, the river itself running dark with blood.

The battlefield reeked of smoke and steel.

The clash of armies had thundered across the Akatsuki border since dawn—screams, steel ringing on steel, the earth itself torn beneath marching boots.

The banners of Stone had pressed hard against the Akatsuki lines, wave after wave, but the Uchiha steel had held.

Akatsuki generals barked orders over the roar, their crimson-eyed princes cutting paths through the press of soldiers like scythes.

And still, the tide refused to turn in Renga’s favor.

Each dawn began with war drums, each dusk ended with the groans of the dying.

Yet still, Stone pressed on.

More bodies, more blood, until the very ground groaned beneath the dead.

The air reeked of iron, sweat, and smoke, arrows still jutting from the earth like jagged teeth.

For weeks the clash had carried from dawn into dusk, but tonight the sky seemed heavier, sagging with the weight of the dead.

From his command ridge, King Renga scowled.

His cloak was torn, his crown heavy, his pride bleeding more than his army.

He spat into the mud.

Supplies thinning.

Soldiers muttering.

His enemy’s banners still high.

He would not admit defeat.

He would not retreat.

The brothers fought with everything left in them, their men following—bloodied but unyielding—and through it all, the Uchiha brothers carried the weight of his absence.

Obito should have been there.

His voice, his blade, his command—their missing brother was louder than thunder, heavier than the armor strapped to their shoulders.

None of them spoke his name, but every strike, every order, every breath on the field whispered it.

 

The Eastern Flank.

 

Shisui burned like wildfire.

His sword blurred through the haze of mud and blood, cutting men down before they even registered his grin—sharp, bloody, and mad.

His laughter ringing sharp and wild across the battlefield.

He cut down three men in a blur, spinning through the mud like chaos incarnate.

“Come on!” he roared, blood flying from his blade as he kicked an enemy back into the muck. “Is this all Stone can throw at us?!”

But the laughter was brittle.

Forced.

Every strike, everybody dropping at his feet only made the emptiness louder—the hole at his back where Obito should have stood.

Steel clashed, mud sprayed.

Shisui ducked under a halberd, slashing through the wielder’s legs before driving his sword into another man’s throat.

His grin was manic, his chest heaving, but beneath it his voice cracked low, a whisper drowned by the storm of war:

“Damn you, brother… you should be here.” Shisui muttered under his breath.

Steel clashed again.

Blood sprayed.

Still, his words came, not for the enemy but for the man lying silent leagues away.

Shisui staggered forward, half-laughing, half-breaking.

“You hear me, Obito?” he muttered, louder now, like his words could ride the clash of steel all the way to the man lying in silence far from this field.

The memory slammed into him as vivid as the spray of blood on his hands: a corner tavern, mugs of golden ale, Obito leaning close, voice hoarse with the weight of Rin’s name. “I don’t want to stay at the inn tonight; I need to get home. To her.”Shisui had smirked, teasing, before finally agreeing. “Fine, but you owe me a favor. One day, I’ll call it in.”

“I’m cashing it in—the favor you owe me. Obito! Wake the hell up! That’s my favor! Get out of that bed, open your damn eyes—because we need you!”

His sword split another throat. His laughter came, sharp and desperate, like a man on the edge of breaking.

“Your country needs you, brother! Your family needs you! I need you! I can’t keep this flank alone, not forever! And Rin—she needs you!

His sword spun again, carving a path of chaos, but every strike now was a prayer, a demand hurled across the void between them.

“You hear me, Obito? That’s the debt. Not tomorrow. Not in a week. Now.” His laughter broke sharp, almost a sob. “Wake the hell up, before I burn this whole kingdom down without you.”

And still he fought—wild, bloody, unrelenting—as though somewhere, somehow, Obito might be listening.

 

The Northern Line.

 

The clash of steel was endless, a storm without horizon.

Itachi’s blade moved with quiet inevitability. Steel shrieked against steel, his sword catching a halberd before sliding into the soldier’s chest with surgical precision.

He lowered the man silently into the mud, eyes already lifting to the next threat.

A Stone captain shouted orders, rallying his troops. Itachi wove through the chaos, measured and deliberate, each stroke of his blade calm death.

The captain turned too late—his command ended in a wet gasp as Itachi’s sword opened his throat.

“Hold the line,” he commanded, voice low but iron. Even amidst the chaos, his tone carried—steady, unshakable.

His soldiers straightened, clinging to the anchor his calm provided.

Yet behind that calm, the storm raged.

This should have been Obito’s place. His older brother, the one who steadied storms and turned chaos into unity.

Itachi had always been the observer, the quiet shadow.

But Obito lay between life and death, and now the mantle had fallen to him and his brothers.

And still, deeper than duty, another fire burned.

He saw Izumi in his mind—her soft gaze, her voice when she whispered his name. Their sons: little Yuri, barely five, with eyes so wide and eager, and Yusuke, only months old, still learning to breathe the world.

His family. His heart.

The memory struck like a blade.

Izumi, bound in ropes, dragged away by the hands of men who thought they could take her from him.

Before he had even confessed his love, they had tried to steal her.

That night he hadn’t been a commander, nor a soldier. He had been a storm. When dawn came, an entire clan lay silent, cut down to the last child.

They had called him The Clan Killer after that.

A butcher. A monster.

A spear clashed against his guard. Itachi twisted, blade sliding beneath the man’s armor, a clean thrust through the gut. Blood sprayed hot across his cheek, and he felt rather than heard one of his men whisper just behind him—

“…Clan Killer…”

The words were barely a breath, half in fear, half in awe.

But Itachi heard it. He always heard it.

The name followed him like a shadow no light could banish.

Call me what you will, he thought coldly, eyes narrowing as another enemy fell before him. A murderer. A monster. Whatever makes you sleep at night.

So long as Izumi breathes beside me, so long as Yuri laughs, so long as Yusuke’s small body rests safe in her arms, so long as Obito wakes—so long as my brother draws breath again and returns to us—the title— I’ll wear it as a honor.

“Forward,” he ordered, his voice steady, unshaken. “Do not falter.”

If they ever came for them again—Itachi would do it all over.

And worse.

 

The Western Front

 

On the Western Front, Sasuke fought like a shadow given teeth. His sword darted quick as a serpent, cutting down men twice his age, twice his size.

His Sharingan burned crimson under the smoke, calculating every angle, every heartbeat before it struck.

Steel shrieked as Sasuke drove his blade against a Stone soldier’s spear, twisting hard enough to send the man sprawling.

Blood splattered hot across his cheek, but his crimson Sharingan eyes didn’t waver.

“You think we’ll fall this easily?” he spat, slashing down another before he could rise.

His movements were fire—fast, ruthless, the fury of a soldier carrying the wounds of his brother, and the ache of distance from the one girl whose letters he kept close to his chest.

The youngest Uchiha fought with a fury that made men hesitate before striking.

His sword slashed in swift arcs, steel flashing under the pale light of a smoke-clouded sun.

He ducked beneath a swinging axe, drove his blade into the gap of armor, and twisted. The man’s scream cut short, drowned in the roar of battle.

Another soldier rushed him.

Sasuke spun, the edge of his blade catching the man’s throat in a clean, efficient slice.

He pressed forward without pause, eyes cold, as if each enemy was just another obstacle to carve through.

Yet beneath the precision was fury—each strike sharper because his older brother, his captain, was not there.

His fists clenched tighter on the hilt. If blood had to be spilled to fill the void Obito left, then Sasuke would spill it.

If you were here, brother, Sasuke thought bitterly, twisting his blade free of an enemy’s throat, you’d tell me to stay calm. But you’re not here. And I don’t care.

But Obito wasn’t here. And neither was she.

For the briefest moment, amidst the chaos, Sakura’s face flickered in his mind—soft, steady, the thought of her voice whispering his name.

It carved through him sharper than any blade, a reminder of what waited beyond this field if he lived.

Every strike was for his older brother who lay silent, suspended between life and death.

Every kill was another scream swallowed by his blade.

And in the dark corners of his heart, each cut was also for her—so that when this war ended, he could walk back to her alive.

 

In the Heart of Battle

Naruto’s hands bled through the leather of his grip, his sword chipped and dulled from weeks of slaughter, yet he swung it as if it were new-forged.

His arms shook from exhaustion, but still he pressed forward.

Every clash of steel against steel, every crack of bone beneath his fists, came with a roar that tore his throat raw.

Three soldiers rushed him at once. He met the first with a savage swing, his blade ripping across the man’s ribs.

The second jabbed with a spear—Naruto slammed his shoulder into him, snapping bone with the impact, then swung his hilt into the man’s jaw.

Teeth scattered like gravel.

The third stabbed, steel grazing Naruto’s arm, but he caught the soldier by the throat and slammed him into the mud so hard the ground shuddered.

His blade plunged down a heartbeat later, burying itself in the man’s chest.

But as his chest heaved and his lungs burned, the battle haze cracked—and in the space between blows, her face surfaced.

Hinata.

Her eyes, soft as dusk light. The way her voice steadied him in ways words alone never could. The quiet strength in her hands when she touched him as if he weren’t a monster, but a man worth loving.

It had been weeks since he’d seen her.

Weeks of hurried letters scrawled on scraps of parchment between skirmishes. Letters stained with sweat, blood, and mud, but always signed with the same vow: I’ll come back to you.

Not far across the chaos, Sasuke carved his way through the enemy line, his movements sharp, unrelenting.

Naruto knew that same silence lived in him too—the ache for Sakura.

Sasuke would never say it, but it was there in the hard clench of his jaw, the way his eyes darkened between kills.

Both of them fought with their hearts tethered to women they hadn’t seen in too long.

Kurama’s growl rolled through Naruto’s chest, harsh and biting, sharp as claws against stone.

Pathetic. This is no time to dream about women, brat. Do you want Hinata to mourn you before she’s even kissed you again?

“Shut it Kurama,” Naruto hissed through clenched teeth, swinging his blade hard enough to tear through an enemy’s shield.

Idiot, Kurama snapped, sharp as claws dragging against steel. Then stop sulking and fight like it. She doesn’t want a corpse brought back to her—she wants you alive.

“You’re right—”

I’m always right, brat.

The fox snarled, voice booming through his chest like thunder. His body became a storm, his veins fire, his steps thunder. His sword no longer dragged; it carved.

His fists no longer trembled; they broke bone with the weight of mountains.

Three men came at him in a staggered rush—Naruto cut down one with a strike so brutal it cleaved the man’s shield in half, kicked another sprawling into the mud, and slammed his fist into the third so hard ribs caved under his blow.

Soldiers faltered.

Their whispers slipped like cracks in the air: monster… demon… beast.

Naruto didn’t care.

“I’m not fighting for me!” he roared, his voice carrying like a war drum as his sword split another man’s spine.

His chest heaved, blood spraying across his arms.

“I’m fighting for him!” Another body fell at his feet, cut down before the scream could leave his lips.

“For my country! For my Family! For Obito!”

Kurama’s growl rumbled low and proud.

That’s it. That’s the fire I gave you. Now burn them down.

“MY FAMILY, MY BROTHERS, MY PEOPLE—YOU WON’T TAKE THEM, AND YOU WON’T TAKE MY HOME FROM ME!”

Kurama’s low growl reverberated, satisfied now.

That’s more like it, Naruto.

Naruto bellowed, smashing through a shield wall with a strike so savage it sent soldiers sprawling. His roar was fire and fury incarnate, echoing across the battlefield like thunder made flesh.

And beneath it all—quieter than his screams, quieter than steel and death—his heart whispered through the chaos:

Hinata… wait for me. I’ll come back. I swear it.

 

From the Shadows.

 

Sai was the ghost no one saw coming.

His arrows whispered death through the smoke, loosed with cold precision, vanishing into throats, eyes, gaps in armor.

Each shaft cut down another soldier before the man even realized he’d been marked. He moved without waste—breathing even, expression flat, face splattered in blood yet unreadable.

From the ridges, he watched the war unfold like strokes on a page.

Sasuke, burning bright and reckless, fury cutting sharper than his blade. Itachi, steady and immovable, stone in the storm. Shisui, wild with laughter that sounded too much like grief.

And Naruto—roaring, fists like fire, refusing to fall.

And above them all was the shadow: Obito’s absence. It was a weight on every swing of their swords, a silence so loud it rang louder than steel.

Then I will be the knife in the dark, Sai told himself as he drew another arrow and loosed it into an enemy captain’s chest, dropping him mid-command. Until he wakes, I will do what Obito cannot.

But when the arrows were spent, when the screams died down and the battlefield quieted beneath the pale moon, the mask cracked.

At night, in the solitude of camp, when others drank or slept or whispered to lovers in their tents, Sai’s hands betrayed him.

His fingers itched for parchment and charcoal—not for maps, not for strategies, but for her.

Always her.

Ino.

It started small, like a habit he couldn’t kill. The curve of her cheek, the tilt of her lips—but always, always it ended in her eyes.

Bright, sharp, unflinching, alive in a way no battlefield could steal from him. He sketched them again and again, even when his fingers trembled from exhaustion, even when he told himself to stop.

And every time, when he looked down at what he’d drawn, his chest ached in silence.

He had been almost—shamefully—excited for Prince Asuma’s wedding.

Not for the feast, not for the pomp, but because she would have been there. He had imagined the lanterns lighting her face, her laughter cutting through the noise like bells.

Maybe—just maybe—he could have stood close enough to her to say something more than “hello.” To show her he was not all silence and blank stares.

But then came Obito’s fall. Then came war. And all those what-ifs burned away in fire and blood.

And still—when Naruto returned from Hinata’s side, carrying a folded letter written in Ino’s hand—Sai thought his chest would break. His name inked in her script.

The words she had written—simple, kind, gentle—felt like they were burning his fingers when he touched them.

He read the letter until the parchment softened at the folds, until he could recite every word by heart.

But when it came time to write back, his hand froze.

He tried.

Gods, he tried.

But each sentence felt clumsy, unworthy of her light. In the end, he had sent nothing.

Silence was safer.

Silence was easier.

Now, with war raging and death breathing down his neck, that silence felt heavier than any blade.

As he loosed another arrow into a soldier’s throat, a thought cut sharper than steel: What if I never see her again? What if this war ends me before I ever tell her?

For the first time in weeks, his grip faltered. He clenched his jaw.

Don’t be an idiot, he told himself harshly, forcing his hand steady. Write her back. Don’t be rude. Don’t let silence be your last word to her. Draw her again—draw her better. Send her the sketch where her eyes look alive, where she’s more than memory. Give her something worth keeping, if you fall.

He released the arrow. Another soldier dropped in the mud, choking on blood.

Sai’s expression never shifted, face calm, unreadable.

To his men, he was the same as ever—the cold ghost who struck from the shadows, the quiet protector who spoke little and killed much.

But in the secret places of his chest, behind the walls even he could barely name, a whisper lingered like a wound:

Ino… wait... Just a little longer. Let me live long enough to find the right words.

 

By the third week, the Stone army had not broken through. The Uchiha and their allies stood unyielding, their lines battered but not shattered.

Bodies lay in heaps, soldiers dragged back with wounds that would scar them for life.

The Stone army pressed harder, but cracks had begun to show—supply lines stretched thin, soldiers muttering about exhaustion and dwindling morale.

From his command ridge, the King of Stone had watched, teeth gritted behind his sneer, as his lines bent and wavered under the Uchiha assault. His generals muttered of regrouping, of pulling back—but Renga spat on the word retreat.

To admit weakness was death, and yet… he could see the edges fraying.

So, he called for the only thing that could buy him time.

By dusk, the war drums fell silent.

Trumpets called parley.

A great war-tent rose between the two camps, its canvas snapping in the cold wind, a fragile roof beneath which kings, generals, and heirs would speak words sharper than any blade.

But every man who stepped back from the lines knew: this war was far from over.

And so, they gathered.

The war tent groaned under the weight of tension, canvas walls shivering with the wind.

Lanterns hissed in their braziers, throwing a restless glow over maps and markers spread across the long table.

The air smelled of leather, iron, and smoke, thick enough that every breath seemed to taste of battle yet to come.

This was not peace.

It was desperation wrapped in the pretense of diplomacy.

King Fugaku Uchiha entered first, tall and unbending, his cloak streaked with blood and ash. At his stood Lord Minato, his right hand, eyes sharp though his face carried exhaustion.

Behind them came the Uchiha heirs: Itachi, Shisui, Sasuke—each bearing the marks of battle, each standing like a blade honed for war.

Naruto followed, fists still raw from the fight, Sai silent and pale at his side.

Across from them, King Renga of Stone leaned forward in his chair, a figure carved from stubborn pride. His generals flanked him, broad-shouldered and stone-faced, his advisers whispering at his back.

The man’s eyes burned with a father’s fury and a ruler’s pride, the kind of fire that could ignite a war in a heartbeat.

Fugaku broke the silence first, voice low but edged.

“King Renga. You asked for this parley. Speak your demand.”

Renga’s jaw tightened. “Return my children King Fugaku, and this ends here.”

The room stirred — a ripple of confusion.

Sasuke’s brows furrowed. Itachi’s eyes narrowed faintly. Shisui’s fingers drummed once against the table before stilling.

“Your children?” Minato asked carefully, his tone respectful but cautious.

Renga’s mouth twisted; the admission pulled from him like poison.

“My twins. Taro and Kira. A week before I returned from my travels, they were stolen from their chambers. No ransom note. No demands. Only blood… and the fan of your clan carved into their door.” His glare sharpened, burning holes through the air. “So do not play innocent. Return them to me at once!”

The Akatsuki side stiffened instantly. General Tenma’s hand slammed the table. “Impossible. No Uchiha would commit such dishonor.”

Renga’s glare cut across the table.

“Then explain the crest burned into their walls. Explain the silence that followed. Or admit your guilt now and save us all the time.”

A murmur rippled through the Akatsuki side, but Fugaku didn’t flinch. He leaned forward slightly, the shadows deepening the hard lines of his face.

“What use would I have for your children, Renga?”

That was when Renga’s eyes gleamed with something cold, mocking.

He let the silence stretch, savoring the weight of every gaze upon him before spitting the words.

“I’ve heard whispers of you, Fugaku. That you have a… sweet spot for jinchuriki. Perhaps you wanted more for your collection.”

Brows furrowed across the table. Fugaku’s own eyebrow rose ever so slightly, unreadable. “What are you saying?”

Renga’s laugh was humorless, brittle. He straightened in his seat, voice cutting like a blade.

“I have six children. Eight, if you count the ones the gods have already taken back. But my youngest—my twins—were born cursed.” His jaw tightened, knuckles pale against the table. “Both of them jinchuriki.”

The tent seemed to lurch. Even hardened generals shifted uneasily at the admission. The Uchiha heirs stiffened, shock flickering across their faces.

Minato’s eyes dropped to the table, shadowed. Naruto’s fists clenched so tight the knuckles whitened.

“They bear their markings hidden—one on the back, one on the leg. The gods branded them before they could even draw breath.”

Renga’s voice cracked for a heartbeat, before hardening again.

“I have kept their truth buried. It was no one’s business but mine. Until now.”

Sasuke’s voice sliced through the stillness, low and biting. “Why bother searching for them then? If you despise jinchuriki so much, why break yourself trying to get them back?”

Renga’s teeth bared, a snarl tugging at his lips—but before he could answer, Minato spoke. His tone was calm, steady, but the weight in his voice silenced the room.

“Because they are his children.” His blue eyes flickered to Renga, full of a father’s understanding. “No curse changes that.”

“They are my children indeed.” Renga went on, voice low and heavy. “And yet the gods mocked me with their curse. If it were not for them being my blood—” He cut himself short, sneering. “But you wouldn’t understand, would you?”

Naruto’s chest heaved, his voice breaking like thunder.

“Don’t you dare call them cursed. They’re kids! They didn’t choose this!” He stepped forward, fists trembling. “And if you can’t see them as anything more than punishment from the gods, then maybe they’d be better off without you—”

“Enough, Naruto,” Minato said softly, a hand raised in warning. But his son’s fury burned unchecked.

Renga’s dark eyes slid between father and son. Instead of shame, a cruel smirk twisted his mouth.

He leaned back, arms crossing over his chest.

“Careful, Fugaku. Your dogs are barking loud enough to deafen kings.”

Sasuke stiffened, Sharingan flashing crimson. Shisui’s hand fell to his blade. Even Naruto took a step closer, fury boiling over.

“Stand down.” Fugaku’s voice cracked like a whip—low, but deadly sharp. His gaze locked on Renga.

“Insults will not mask the truth. You say you love your children—yet you spit on them with every word. Perhaps it is not the gods who cursed you, Renga, but your own heart.”

The tent stilled, the brazier flames guttering as if even fire bent beneath the weight of the words.

It was Shien, commander of Akatsuki’s guard, who broke the silence, his voice hard.

“You say your children were taken. You found our crest carved into their chamber doors. But have you not heard the whispers beyond your walls? Do you know nothing of Father?”

One of Renga’s generals shifted uneasily, finally speaking.

“Rumors, Majesty. A cult, some say. Shadows moving beyond borders. But our walls are sealed. No one comes or goes without our leave.”

“I’ve neither heard of it nor care to.” Renga’s voice was flat, cutting the air like steel.

Shisui scoffed bitterly.

“Arrogance. If your walls were so unbreakable, your children would not have been stolen.”

Commander Shien leaned forward; voice sharp as steel.

“You’ve been blind, King of Stone. Father’s hand is in your walls already. No one beyond this tent even knew your twins were jinchuriki. And yet—they were taken.”

Renga’s mouth tightened. He spat, “And you expect me to believe this phantom? This ghost? That some Father moves like smoke through my kingdom?”

Fugaku rose slightly, his shadow falling long across the table.

“Believe what you wish. But hear this—until Obito wakes, this fight is not over. My son has tracked Father’s trail longer than any of us. Father tried to break him. Tried to kill him. And still Obito lives.” His voice dropped to iron. “And until he rises again, I give you, my word. Your children will be found. And Father will burn.”

Renga sneered, though unease flickered in his eyes.

“You claim much, Uchiha. How can you be so sure they live?”

Itachi’s voice was calm, flat. “Because he needs them alive.”

The tent stirred, eyes turning to him. Itachi’s gaze did not waver.

“Every pattern, every abduction—it points to the same end. He collects them. One by one. For a purpose we still cannot see.”

Minato’s voice filled the silence, low but heavy with meaning. “Whatever Father intends…. He needs all nine jinchuriki’s.”

Renga’s sneer faltered.

For the first time, something like fear cracked through the mask.

Fugaku leaned forward, eyes burning.

“And know this: Obito’s consort—my soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Akatsuki’s future queen—she is a jinchuriki as well. The host of the Three-Tailed Beast. She has been hunted within my very palace walls. Do you think my son takes this lightly? Do you think any of us do?”

The brazier’s flames flared as Fugaku’s voice cut through the tent.

“This war between us is nothing but smoke. The fire beneath it is Father. And if you truly love your children, Renga—then stand with us. Or watch the world burn with them.”

 

 

                                                             SASUKE

 

The war had gone quiet. For now.

Stone’s banners no longer pressed at their borders, King Renga had withdrawn his troops, and the bloody weeks of battle had ended in a fragile, brittle truce.

The cost of it lingered like smoke after fire—charred fields, graves hastily dug, and silence that pressed against the walls of the Akatsuki stronghold.

But peace didn’t reach the armory.

The steady thunk of arrows slamming into straw targets filled the cavernous hall.

Sasuke stood at the line, bowstring drawn taut, shoulders rigid. His breath hissed out as he loosed another shaft. It struck, splitting into the shaft of the one before it. Perfect. Precise. Empty.

He didn’t even look.

Another arrow. Another pull. His fingers trembled, not from strain but from the words burned into his mind.

"I cannot do this anymore. I cannot live knowing I’ve dishonored the only people who ever gave me a family. My aunt and uncle raised me, and I broke their trust. I will not disappoint them again. Please… don’t write back. Don’t come for me. If you are truly a man of your word, you’ll let this go."

Sasuke’s jaw locked. His next arrow landed wide, embedding itself into the wooden frame. He cursed under his breath, yanked another from his quiver, and pulled hard enough the string groaned.

"Please don’t look for me."

He had thought it false at first. Some enemy plot. He’d had it checked, analyzed, the parchment examined by men who knew how to spot forgeries. They all told him the same thing. It’s hers.

The string snapped forward. The arrow hissed into the target, dead center.

And yet his chest felt hollow.

He remembered the first time he’d seen her in the Onyx Forest—last year, when Rin had been dragged into the storm of kidnappings and Obito had pulled Sakura into the negotiations with Queen Tsunade. She had stepped into the clearing, wary but unflinching, eyes sharp like polished jade. She had taken his breath before he’d even known why.

And later, when Obito asked for someone to shadow Rin after her return to Konoha, Sasuke had leapt forward before anyone else could answer. Not out of duty. Out of selfishness. Because guarding Rin meant proximity to Sakura. Because every chance to see her had felt like fire under his skin.

And now—this. A single letter, cutting him off as though what they had built was nothing but a foolish mistake.

The bow creaked in his grip. His vision burned red at the edges.

“Your aim’s slipping,” a voice cut through the silence.

Sasuke turned sharply. Naruto stood at the edge of the range, bow in hand, quiver slung over his shoulder.

His blond hair was sweat-damp, his blue eyes steady—not playful, not mocking, but something quieter. Something that made Sasuke’s chest tighten.

“You planning to shoot the walls down too, or just your own hand?” Naruto asked, stepping up beside him.

Sasuke grunted, nocked another arrow, and loosed. Dead center. “Go away.”

Naruto didn’t. He strung his bow, drew, and let his arrow fly. It landed inches from Sasuke’s, the shaft quivering. “Not bad,” he muttered. “Guess you’re not completely distracted.”

Sasuke’s jaw tightened. He said nothing.

Naruto glanced at him, expression shifting. “It’s about her, isn’t it? Sakura.”

The name landed like a blade. Sasuke’s hands clenched the bow until the wood creaked. “Tch.”

Naruto sighed, loosing another arrow. It struck just wide of the bullseye. “She told me she was going to write you,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “Didn’t know what she’d say. Didn’t think it’d be that.”

Sasuke lowered his bow at last, chest heaving. “She says I dishonored her family. That she can’t live with their disappointment. That she wants nothing more to do with me.” His voice cracked rawer than he meant. “Do you believe that?”

Naruto looked at him long, steady. “No.”

Sasuke’s head snapped up.

“No,” Naruto repeated, firmer this time. His blue eyes sharpened with conviction. “I haven’t known her long—only since she came with Rin to Akatsuki land. But I saw it. The way she looked at you. The way you looked at her. That wasn’t fake, Sasuke. That wasn’t something you can just throw away.”

He loosed another arrow, the string snapping sharp, his voice steady.

“Whatever that letter says, I don’t believe she stopped loving you. Not for some excuse about shame and family. No one who loved like that could just… turn it off.”

Sasuke’s throat tightened, the words he never said burning behind his teeth.

He wanted to believe it.

He wanted to run, storm through Konoha, demand answers.

But the memory of her handwriting on that letter cut through him. Don’t come for me. Don’t write back.

“She took my breath the first time I saw her,” Sasuke muttered, almost to himself. “In Onyx forest. She… she looked at me, and I—” His jaw locked again. He shook his head, ashamed of even voicing it. “It doesn’t matter.”

Naruto lowered his bow, turning to him.

“It does matter. She mattered to you. Still does. You’re not made of stone, bastard, no matter how much you want everyone to think you are.”

Sasuke’s lips twitched—halfway to a snarl, halfway to breaking.

Naruto’s hand clapped his shoulder, firm, grounding.

“I don’t know what’s going on with her. But I do know this—if she loves you, she still does. No letter’s gonna kill that. And if she asked you not to come, maybe it’s because she wants you alive. Standing. Breathing. Not dead chasing her shadow.”

The words stung because they were too close to the truth.

Silence stretched, heavy with everything Sasuke didn’t know how to say.

Then the door slammed open.

A servant skidded into the hall, breathless, eyes wide. “My lord—Prince Sasuke!” He clutched the doorframe, panting. “It’s—It’s Prince Obito—”

Sasuke’s bow dropped from his hands, clattering to the stone floor.

The servant’s voice shook with urgency and relief all at once. “He’s wa—”

He was already moving before the servant finished, footsteps echoing as he sprinted toward Obito’s chambers.

 

The corridors blurred as Sasuke sprinted, Naruto’s footsteps pounding behind him. Their lungs burned, but neither slowed. The words echoed in their skulls like a drumbeat—Obito is waking.

They burst into Obito’s chambers, the heavy wooden doors slamming back against the walls.

Inside, the air was thick with tension and the smell of herbs. Lantern light flickered over pale faces, over white linens stained with weeks of sweat and medicine.

Obito lay upon the great bed, his body thinner, weaker than they remembered, his chest rising in shallow, trembling breaths. His eyelids fluttered as though caught between worlds.

Around him, the family had already gathered.

Mikoto stood at his side, one hand covering her mouth, the other clutched white-knuckled around her husband Fugaku’s arm. Her tears slipped free despite her attempts to hold them back.

Fugaku himself stood tall, though his jaw was set hard, his eyes sharper than steel.

Itachi was at the bedside, one hand gently holding Izumi’s as their youngest, swaddled Yusuke, slept against her shoulder. Their eldest, Yuri, clung to his mother’s skirt, too young to understand but frightened by the tension in the room.

Izumi stroked his hair, murmuring comfort through her own trembling voice.

Shisui stood apart at first, his fists clenched, his eyes red-rimmed from more than battle fatigue. Tsubaki touched his arm, grounding him, though her own cheeks shone with tears.

The doctors hovered, their voices low and uncertain, murmuring about fevers breaking, about consciousness returning. Nurses wiped sweat from Obito’s brow, whispering encouragement.

Sasuke froze in the doorway, his chest heaving. For a moment, all the battles, all the blood, all the grief—none of it mattered. All that mattered was that faint movement of Obito’s eyelids, the shallow rasp of his breath.

“Brother…” Sasuke’s voice cracked, sharp with disbelief. He stepped forward slowly, as though afraid the image would shatter if he moved too quickly.

Naruto was already at his side, his hands trembling though he clenched them into fists. His blue eyes burned, wet with unshed tears.

“Come on, you stubborn bastard,” he whispered under his breath, voice rough. “Don’t you dare give up now.”

The door slammed open again—Minato rushed inside, golden hair disheveled, his usual composure broken by urgency. His eyes darted to the bed, and the relief that flickered across his face was raw, unguarded. He crossed the room quickly, standing opposite Fugaku, his voice tight.

“He’s really—?”

“He’s fighting his way back,” one of the healers said quickly, bowing her head. “His fever has broken. His body responds. It is only a matter of time.”

As if on cue, Obito’s lips parted, a faint sound slipping from him—hoarse, broken, but there.

Shisui stumbled forward then, unable to hold himself back. His voice cracked, ragged, as though speaking to the battlefield itself.

“Obito… you bastard. You owe me a favor, remember? You said so yourself.” His voice broke into a rough laugh, one hand swiping hard across his eyes. “Well, Wake up. We need you. I need you. Rin needs you.”

Tsubaki’s tears spilled over at those words, her hand gripping Shisui’s sleeve tighter.

Sai and Shien arrived next, slipping in behind the others. Sai’s face was unreadable as ever, but his fingers curled white around his bow as he stared at his commander.

Shien exhaled a long, shaky breath, muttering, “About damn time.”

Sasuke moved closer to the bed, his hand tightening around the carved wood of the frame.

“You hear that? Everyone’s here, waiting. So, hurry up. Wake the hell up.” His voice shook despite the steel in it.

Obito’s brow twitched faintly. His lips moved again, a breath of sound escaping, too soft to understand. But the effort, the sheer fight in that motion, broke the dam.

Mikoto sobbed openly, clinging to Fugaku’s arm. Izumi pressed her face into Itachi’s shoulder, tears wetting the fabric. Yuri whimpered, sensing his mother’s shaking, while baby Yusuke stirred in her arms.

Naruto leaned in, fists pressed to the mattress, his voice a roar and a plea all at once. “Come on, big brother. Don’t you dare leave us now. Not when we need you the most. You hear me?! We’re not whole without you!”

The room filled with the sound of muffled sobs, sharp breaths, whispered prayers.

And then—Obito’s fingers twitched.

Not much. Not enough for battle. Not even enough for words.

But it was enough. Enough to draw a collective gasp from every soul in the chamber. Enough to send hope surging through the air like lightning.

Fugaku, who had stood like stone all this time, finally let the mask crack. His voice, usually sharp as steel, was rough with restrained emotion as he stepped closer to the bed.

“Obito Uchiha,” he said firmly, as if calling his son to attention on the battlefield. “You are not done. You are my heir, my blood. This family—this kingdom—still needs you. I still need you. So, open your eyes, boy… and come back to us.”

The chamber was thick with silence, broken only by the soft rasp of Obito’s shallow breaths. Doctors hovered close, hands poised but reverent—as if even touching him too harshly would shatter the fragile thread tethering him to life. Nurses wiped the sweat from his brow, whispering prayers they barely dared breathe aloud.

Izumi clutched Yusuke to her chest, his soft whimpering drowned out by Yuri’s frightened sniffles against her skirt. Tsubaki sat stiff-backed in her chair, a hand pressed tight over her mouth as tears slipped free despite her best efforts.

Mikoto’s eyes glistened, her composure unraveling as she reached for her son’s limp hand. Shisui stood at the foot of the bed, fists clenched, jaw tight, as if his sheer will could drag his cousin back from the edge.

Fugaku’s words still hung heavy in the air, commanding and desperate all at once. And for the first time in weeks, Obito responded. His lips moved soundlessly, a faint twitch of effort. His lashes quivered, just barely.

Gasps rippled through the room.

“Obito,” Mikoto whispered, her voice cracking as she bent lower. “My son… please…”

Itachi laid a steadying hand on her shoulder, though his own throat was tight, his eyes burning.

The door slammed open. Minato strode in, chest heaving, hair wild as though he’d run the length of the palace. “Is it true?!” he demanded, eyes sweeping the room before locking onto the faintest flutter of Obito’s movement. His breath hitched. “By the gods…”

Sai entered behind him with Commander Shien, both men pausing mid-step, caught between disbelief and awe. For weeks they had fought, bled, endured with the emptiness of their commander’s absence weighing on their shoulders—and now, hope glimmered before them.

Obito’s fingers shifted again, curling faintly against Mikoto’s palm. The movement was weak, fleeting, but it drew a broken sob from her lips.

“Obito, please,” Shisui murmured, voice low and raw. He stepped closer, speaking like his cousin could hear him even through the fog. “Remember what I told you. You owe me a favor. This is it. Cash it in. Wake up. We all need you.”

Sasuke’s chest was a storm, torn between fury, grief, and hope so sharp it nearly undid him. Naruto’s hand clapped his shoulder, steady, and for once the younger Uchiha didn’t shrug him off.

Both boys stood rooted, hearts pounding as if willing Obito to open his eyes.

For a long, breathless moment, the chamber seemed to freeze. Every face, every prayer, every drop of hope bent toward the man lying pale and broken on the bed.

And then—his lips parted. A rasp of air, cracked and faint, escaped. No words yet. But his chest lifted more fully than it had in weeks.

“He’s fighting,” one of the doctors breathed, unable to hide the awe. “He’s truly fighting.”

The silence stretched, so taut it felt like the air itself might tear. Every soul in the chamber leaned in, waiting, afraid to breathe too loudly.

Obito’s chest rose again—stronger this time, less shallow. His lips parted, cracked and dry, and a faint groan rumbled from his throat. Mikoto gasped, clutching his hand tighter, her tears falling freely now.

“Obito… my son,” she whispered, trembling. “It’s me. I’m here.”

His brows knit faintly, a flicker of life sparking behind that mask of exhaustion. Shisui bent closer, gripping the bedframe so hard his knuckles whitened. “That’s it, brother,” he whispered, his voice breaking despite the smirk he tried to wear. “Don’t stop now. You’ve been gone too long already. We’ve got battles left, debts left, drinks left. You don’t get to bow out yet, not before me.”

The flicker grew. His lashes twitched, as though straining against the weight of the world pressing them shut. Slowly, painfully, they lifted.

Gasps broke across the room.

Dark eyes—clouded with haze, but alive—met the tear-streaked faces surrounding him. Obito blinked sluggishly, the world swimming into focus, and the first thing he saw was his mother’s face, streaked with tears but radiant with hope. His lips moved, rasping soundlessly until a word clawed its way free:

“…Mother…”

Mikoto broke, bowing her head to the mattress as sobs wracked her frame. Itachi steadied her, his own eyes burning though his expression remained taut with control. “He’s back,” he whispered, almost reverent.

Shisui let out a strangled laugh, wiping furiously at his face. “About damn time, you stubborn bastard. Always making us chase after you.”

Sasuke’s chest cracked open, all the iron walls he had built shattering in an instant. He stepped forward before he could stop himself, voice breaking as he choked out: “Brother…”

Naruto’s hand stayed heavy on his shoulder, grounding him, even as his own eyes blurred with tears he didn’t bother to hide.

Obito’s gaze drifted slowly, as if each face anchored him back to the world: Shisui—his loyal, hotheaded second brother, refusing to let go of him. Itachi—calm, disciplined, though his hands trembled. Sasuke—his youngest brother, looking at him like he had been returned from the grave.

His mother weeping openly. His father standing behind them all like a pillar, though his eyes betrayed the storm inside.

Finally, Fugaku moved forward, laying a hand on his eldest son’s shoulder. His voice was low, unsteady, but firm:

“You’ve fought your way back to us, my son. That is all that matters now.”

Mikoto collapsed against him, clutching his hand to her cheek as sobs shook her. Shisui laughed through tears, while Itachi’s composure cracked, his hand briefly covering his face.

Even Sasuke’s voice broke again as he whispered his brother’s name like a prayer.

Doctors moved swiftly, checking his pulse, calling for water, herbs, and cloths.

But for his family—for everyone in that room—the only thing that mattered was that Obito Uchiha, the eldest son of Akatsuki Land, had opened his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 28: RIN/The Ninth Tapestry/OBITO/MINATO/OBITO

                                                                     RIN

 

Morning sunlight slanted through the lattice windows, warming the polished floors. Rin’s father moved slowly along the corridor, one crutch tucked firmly beneath his arm, determined to make another lap before breakfast.

Each step was stubbornly measured, his jaw set in the same grim pride he’d carried all his life.

Ruen paced restlessly across the courtyard, shoulders bandaged but healing, restless like a caged soldier. He had recovered enough strength to move with purpose again, though a stiffness still haunted his gait.

Every so often, his eyes lingered on the entry table where the household letters lay stacked in a porcelain tray. He would pause there too long, thumb brushing the edge of an envelope, before moving on without a word.

In the kitchen, Sakura sat with a shawl draped loosely about her shoulders, staring into a cooling cup of tea. Her face was pale, tired from nights where sleep was broken by worry.

Rin joined her at the table.

She had tried to smile, tried to bring lightness into the room, but unease had been clinging to her like a second skin.

Two weeks had passed since the royal court announced the news—Crown Prince Obito Uchiha had awoken from his long silence.

The world had cheered.

But here in Konoha, Rin and Sakura had heard it as every commoner did: from a herald in the marketplace, not from a personal letter, not from the hand of anyone who bore the Uchiha crest.

And that silence stung.

Sakura lifted her cup and set it down again without drinking. Rin studied her cousin’s face, the quiet shadows beneath her eyes.

“You haven’t heard anything from Sasuke?” Rin asked softly.

Sakura shook her head.

“Not a word. Not since the last letter, weeks ago. He told me to be careful on the roads, that the bridges near the river were loose… and then nothing. I thought—after the news, after Obito—” She faltered, lowering her gaze. “I thought there would be something.”

Rin’s chest ached. She reached across the table and squeezed Sakura’s hand.

“Maybe the roads are dangerous again. Or the couriers are delayed.”

“Maybe,” Sakura murmured bitterly.

From the corridor, Ruen’s shadow fell across the doorway. His expression was unreadable as he leaned against the frame, watching them.

“You two,” he said, tone too light to be sincere, “always fretting about words on paper. If he were gone, you’d know. If something had happened, the palace would have told you.”

Sakura flinched. Rin lifted her chin. “Would they?”

“They already did.” Ruen’s gaze cut toward her, sharp, deliberate. “Prince Obito is awake. Isn’t that enough?”

The words landed heavy.

Rin tried to smile, but her heart twisted with the weight of it.

Enough? It should have been—but the empty tray on the entry table mocked her hope.

Why had no letter come?

Why had no carriage with the Uchiha crest appeared at their gate?

Obito was alive. She should have been rejoicing. But instead, she found herself waiting—every morning, every evening—for a message that never arrived.

Sakura’s hand trembled slightly in Rin’s. “Do you think,” she whispered, “he’ll be well enough to come to Kurenai’s wedding?”

The question struck the quiet like a bell. Rin wanted to believe it.

She wanted to picture him among the garlands and lanterns, standing in the glow of the celebration.

But the silence between them was louder than any reassurance.

“I hope so,” Rin said at last. Her voice was steady, but in her chest the words rang hollow.

Outside, Ruen turned away from the door.

He crossed the hall without a sound, passing the letters on the entry table once more.

His hand hovered over them—just for a moment, long enough for the candlelight to catch the edge of his expression. Something unreadable flickered there.

Then he moved on, leaving the porcelain tray as empty as it had been the day before.

 

 

           

                                                                     The Ninth Tapestry

 

The temple bells tolled faintly in the distance; their echoes swallowed by the hushed corridors of the Holy City.

Deep within its stone belly, far removed from the prayers of pilgrims, there lay a chamber where no true worshipper ever tread.

The door was iron, heavy and scarred, its hinges weeping rust.

When it creaked open, a small, stooped figure slipped inside.

The boy’s back curved sharply, his frame frail beneath a rough-spun robe.

He carried two trays with careful balance: one of fruits still dusted with desert sand, the other a carafe of wine and cups chipped at the rim.

He set them on the table before the man seated in shadow.

“Master,” the boy rasped, his voice tinged with reverence. “I have some news. The Oasians have brought a new jinchuriki. I hope this pleases you.”

A deep, gravel-rough voice answered, its weight filling the chamber.

“It does please me.”

The room was a tomb of faded glory.

Rusting spikes lined the walls like the ribs of some long-dead beast. The ceiling, once gleaming marble, sagged beneath soot and smoke.

Nine tapestries hung heavy around the chamber, each bearing the crude likeness of a tailed beast — stitched eyes glaring, stitched teeth gnashing.

The floor was a graveyard of broken furniture: shattered bedposts, splintered chests, the remains of a life discarded. Only a single table and two chairs had been brought in, incongruously whole, though even they bore the scars of rough handling.

The boy poured the wine with trembling hands. His master accepted it, the cup vanishing into the shadow that concealed his face.

The man spoke again, voice like iron dragged across stone.

“If that Uchiha hadn’t interfered, I would have had three jinchuriki in my grasp. Instead, the mercenaries I paid bleed their lives into the dirt. Useless wretches.”

A pause, then a low, mirthless laugh. “At least some of them died as they deserved.”

The boy sat across from him, thin shoulders hunched. “Should I order the Oasians to go after her again, Master? The vessel still wanders free.”

The shadowed figure tilted his head, tapestry eyes glaring above him like a pantheon of monsters. “No. Not yet. We must be cautious. I will not see my work end so early. The perfect moment will come again.”

The boy lowered his gaze. “I am sorry to hear this setback, Master.”

“Patience, my dear boy,” the man said, swirling the dark wine before drinking. “All good things come to those who wait. Already the twins are secured. The stars are aligning above us, brighter than ever before. Even the gods have bent their gaze in my favor.”

The boy shivered as the man’s laugh rolled through the chamber — soft, harsh, and certain.

Outside, the temple bells tolled again, but here in this chamber, it was another rhythm that reigned: the measured pulse of a plan in motion, steady and unstoppable.

 

 

                      

                                                                 OBITO

                                                           

The quill scratched, ink pooling in the grooves of Obito’s hurried hand. He stopped, stared at the half-written words, and pressed so hard against the parchment that the nib snapped.

A blot spread across the page like a wound.

He swore, flinging the quill aside.

How many had he written now? Ten? Twelve?

Letters upon letters already lay scattered across his desk. Some sealed, others torn open in frustration. Each had been sent with the royal carriage. Each should have found her hands by now.

And yet—not one reply.

Not one word in her hand. Not even the faintest sign she had read them.

Obito rose, pacing. The walls of his chamber felt too close, suffocating.

He thought of the carriage drivers and the messengers he sent returned with hollow excuses — Lady Rin is not home… Lady Rin is tending to her father and brother… Lady Rin regrets she cannot travel now.

He wanted to believe them. He wanted to believe she was busy, that she was being dutiful, that she was simply… waiting.

But two weeks had bled into nearly three, and the silence in his chest had grown sharp enough to cut.

Obito dragged his cloak from its hook, wrapping it tightly around his shoulders.

His pulse hammered. He couldn’t bear it anymore. He would ride to her, even if it meant tearing through the night until his horse collapsed beneath him.

He had to see her.

He had to know.

The halls outside his chamber were silent. Guards drowsed at their posts, the palace long asleep. He moved like a shadow, slipping past candlelight, down the marble stairs that led into the outer court.

One more gate, and he would be gone.

“Going somewhere, brother?”

The voice came like a knife.

Obito stopped dead. At the foot of the stairs stood Shisui, arms crossed, a mocking smile tugging at his mouth though his sharingan eyes betrayed no amusement.

In the shadows beside him, Itachi lingered silent, calm as always. A little further back, Sasuke leaned against a pillar, his expression sour with disapproval.

Obito’s jaw tightened. “Move.”

Shisui’s smirk vanished. “No.”

“I said move.” Obito took a hard step forward. “You don’t understand—I can’t sit here while she—”

“We understand more than you think,” Itachi said, voice low, steady.

Obito spun toward him, chest heaving. “She hasn’t answered. Not once. Do you know what it’s like, to send letter after letter and get nothing? To wait for a carriage that never brings her? Maybe she doesn’t want to anymore. Maybe she’s—”

“Don’t you dare,” Shisui cut him off, sharp as a blade.

The sudden edge in his brother’s voice startled him. Shisui rarely lost his temper. Now he stepped forward, eyes burning.

“Do you think we forgot that day?” Shisui’s eyes blazed. “When the raven came with word you were down? When they dragged you through those gates, bleeding out faster than anyone could stop it? Do you think we forgot what Rin did to keep you alive?”

Obito’s breath faltered, but Shisui pressed on, voice rough.

“She carried you. Through her tears. Through her fear. She begged the gods not to take you. We heard her.”

Obito’s throat closed.

“And Sakura,” Shisui added, turning his gaze briefly toward Sasuke, “she told you herself, didn’t she? Before you left for the war? She told you what Rin endured?”

Sasuke’s jaw clenched. He pushed off the pillar, arms crossing. “She told me. She told me how Rin’s voice broke every time she thought you were gone. She told me how many times she thought you slipped away, and how she kept fighting anyway. Do you know what it would’ve done to her if the roles were reversed?” His eyes narrowed. “If it was her bleeding out and you watching, helpless?”

The words cut deep.

Obito dragged a hand down his face, shoulders trembling. The night air felt too thin, his cloak too heavy.

“I just… I just need to see her,” he whispered, voice ragged. “I need to know she hasn’t forgotten me.”

“She hasn’t,” Itachi said firmly. His calm cut through the storm. “Her father’s leg is broken. Her brother nearly died. She carries them both now, just as she carried you. If she hasn’t answered, it is because she cannot, not because she will not.”

“Then why—”

“Because she is exhausted,” Shisui said sharply. “Because she is still healing from the nightmare of nearly losing you. You doubt her because you are impatient. But I remember her face, Obito. And it was not the face of a woman who would forget.”

Obito’s fists clenched. The fight bled out of him, replaced with something raw and fragile.

Sasuke stepped closer, his tone cold, blunt. “You’re a fool if you think she’s abandoned you. She’s the only one who never did. Not once.”

The words silenced him.

For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of the torches, the wind whispering through the arches.

Shisui reached out at last, setting a steady hand on Obito’s shoulder. “Minato is in Konoha now. He’ll bring answers. You don’t need to risk yourself tonight. Just wait.”

Obito’s voice dropped, bitter. “Patience.”

“Yes,” Itachi said. “Patience. Hold fast to what you know of her. Not to the lies your fear whispers.”

Shisui gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. “Come back inside, brother. This night won’t give you what you’re looking for. But the dawn might.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Obito let the cloak fall back against him, his chest tight, his steps heavy as his brothers guided him back toward the palace halls.

Their words lodged like stone in his chest. Slowly, with his brothers flanking him, Obito returned to his chambers.

They watched until he shut the door.

But sleep didn’t come.

He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, and closed his eyes.

Memory came like a blade.

We’re losing him—! Tsunade’s sharp command. Healers moving, shouting, failing.

Then Rin’s voice, trembling, desperate. Stay with me, my love. Stay with me.

Her touch, warm and alive, so different from the detached hands of the others. Even half-dead, Obito had known the instant she was near. Her healing filled him, anchored him, made the dark bearable.

And then—emptiness. She was gone, pulled away. The warmth left him. He drifted in the void, lost, until the hollowness burned so sharply he clawed his way back. He realized now why his eyes had opened, why his heart had chosen to beat again.

Because he could not bear to be without her.

Obito woke with a start, gasping. Sweat dampened his brow. His hand tugged at the bandages across his chest, feeling the ache deep in his ribs.

The emptiness he’d felt in that darkness returned now, heavier than ever.

He couldn’t stay.

He couldn’t wait.

He rose, pulling his cloak around him.

The balcony doors stood ajar, the night beyond drenched in silver moonlight. The courtyard lay silent, the outer walls looming just beyond.

Just like when he was young, sneaking out past curfew, he swung one leg over the rail. For one heartbeat, he felt free again—rebellious, reckless, young. His boots found the ledge.

His lips curled in a bitter half-smile.

“Going somewhere?”

Obito froze, he’s stomach dropped.

Sasuke stood below, arms folded, face turned up toward him, sharingan eyes glinting under the moon.

“Tch.” Obito scowled. “Move aside. I won’t tell you twice.”

Sasuke didn’t move.

His hand slid to the hilt of his blade. His voice was flat, deadly calm.

“Don’t make me kill you.”

Obito froze, breath caught in his chest.

“You wouldn’t,” Obito spat, though his chest tightened.

“I would.” Sasuke’s stare was unflinching, his tone like ice. “You think Rin would thank me for letting you run off and break yourself to pieces? You think she’d forgive me if I stood aside and watched you die chasing shadows? No. She’d hate me more for that than she ever could for cutting you down.”

The railing felt suddenly fragile beneath Obito’s grip.

“She wept for you, brother,” Sasuke continued, voice like steel. “I heard her. I saw her hands shaking while she poured herself into you. Do you think she fought the darkness that long just to let you throw it away now? She hasn’t abandoned you. She’s bleeding herself dry to keep her father and brother alive. Just as she bled herself dry to keep you breathing.”

Obito shut his eyes.

Her voice echoed again—stay with me, my love. His chest ached so violently he thought the wound had reopened.

He swung his leg back over, boots landing on the balcony floor. The doors closed behind him with a dull thud.

Below, Sasuke exhaled slowly, hand leaving his blade. His gaze lingered upward until Obito disappeared from sight, then he melted into the shadows of the courtyard.

Inside, Obito pressed his back to the wall, breathing hard. Rage, despair, longing—they tangled until he could barely stand beneath the weight.

But through it all, one memory glowed unshakable. Her hands, warm on his chest. Her voice, broken, begging him not to leave her.

And he knew—if he was still alive, it was because of her.

 

 

                                                                 MINATO

 

The council hall smelled of cedar and smoke, its rafters carved with wolves and hawks, guardians from an older age.

A long war map stretched across the far wall, dotted with carved stones to mark the balance of power — Akatsuki Land to the west with its red-cloud sigil, Konoha at the center, the desert realm of Kumogakure beyond, the gleaming Stars and Shadows to the east.

So many banners. So many kingdoms.

Minato stood before it, hands folded loosely behind his back, reading the board like a battlefield.

Every stone was another choice, another weight pressing toward war or peace.

The cedar doors groaned as they opened, letting Shikaku Nara step into the council hall. A smile tugged at his mouth as he saw Minato.

“Well, if it isn’t Akatsuki’s right hand. You’re looking older, Minato.”

“Minato’s answering grin was wry. “Aren’t we all, Shikaku? Though you’ve hardly changed since the last time I was here. Must be something in the Konoha air.”

The two men embraced warmly, a bond forged over years of diplomacy and countless journeys between their kingdoms.

Minato and Shikaku respected each other not only as statesmen, but as men who understood the weight of duty—husbands, fathers, and patriots who carried the love of their people in every choice they made.

Both men were seasoned enough to know this wasn’t mere hospitality—it was business. But formality could wait.

“Or the tea, come sit. It’s been too long since we shared a cup without maps and blades in the way.”

“Thank you.” Minato lowered himself onto the bench, the weight of travel slipping from his shoulders. “Your wife still spoils you with her cooking?”

Shikaku’s grin softened. “She does. Though she claims I don’t notice half the time because I fall asleep at the table.”

“You would,” Minato said, chuckling. His expression gentled. “And your boy? How is Shikamaru? Last I heard, your boy Shikamaru was giving tutors headaches with riddles no one could solve.”

Shikaku chuckled, the sound low. “Still is. Too clever for his own good, but lazy enough to pretend otherwise. He’ll grow into it. And how’s Naruto doing?”

“Restless as ever,” Minato said, a glint of pride softening his eyes. “Naruto has spirit, even if half the palace thinks it’ll be the death of me. He remembers meeting Shikamaru once, back when they were boys. He asks after him.”

“Then they should meet again soon,” Shikaku replied smoothly, pouring wine into carved cups once they reached the sitting chamber. “It’s good for them. Bonds forged young endure longer than treaties signed old.”

“How is the crown prince is faring,” Shikaku said, his tone deceptively casual. “Rumors travel faster than ravens, and most of them are nonsense. It’s better to hear it from a voice we trust.”

Minato’s lips pressed thin. “Prince Obito is getting better by the day. Alive and well.”

Shikaku studied him, then gave a faint grunt. “Alive is good enough. For now.”

They drank.

The conversation shifted, naturally, to heavier matters.

Shikaku’s gaze sharpened. “Tell me, how fare things in Akatsuki? Rumors reach even here—that Father stirs again in Stone?”

Minato’s jaw tightened slightly. He set down his cup, hands folded. “The rumors are true enough. Father’s reach is longer than we thought.”

Minato’s expression cooled, business returning like armor. “The cult is moving more cautiously since their mercenaries failed. But the danger hasn’t passed. We believe they’ve secured the twin jinchuriki. Our scouts say the stars are aligning in their rites.” He shook his head.

Shikaku’s gaze dropped, heavy. “A dangerous enemy. Worse than we thought.”

“It is,” Minato agreed. “But if this is all you wanted — an update on Father’s movements — you could’ve written me a letter, as you’ve always done. Why drag me across the border for tea?”

Shikaku smirked faintly, setting his cup down. “Because sometimes, old friend, letters can’t carry the weight of certain matters. Some words need to be spoken face-to-face. Especially when kingdoms stand to bleed from them.”

Minato studied him, cautious. “Go on.”

“We want a union. Stronger than treaties. A bond to end the cycle of blood between us. A union,” Shikaku said, voice calm, deliberate. “Between Akatsuki and Konoha. Strong enough to put aside centuries of blood. A marriage. The youngest daughter of King Jiraiya and Queen Tsunade — Princess Himari. And your crown prince, Obito Uchiha.”

The words landed heavy as stone.

“It is the season for weddings,” Shikaku continued smoothly. “One more would not surprise the people. Two nations long at odds, bound by vows instead of war. Imagine it — banners flying side by side, peace sealed with kinship, not parchment.”

Minato’s jaw tightened. His voice was calm when it came, but iron beneath.

“An elegant proposal. But there is one flaw. Prince Obito already has a consort. And there is only one woman from Konoha he intends to marry.” His eyes burned. “Rin Nohora.”

Shikaku’s brow rose, just slightly. Not surprise, but the faint curve of amusement.

“Ah. Yes. I’ve heard the whispers. A healer at his side. Some even claimed she never left him when he lay near death.”

“They are not whispers,” Minato snapped. “She saved his life. She is his consort in all but name.”

Shikaku steepled his fingers, eyes glinting.

“All but name. That is the problem. No royal decree. No seal from the Uchiha house. No announcement before the courts. Without that, Lord Minato, what you call truth — we must call rumor.”

Minato’s jaw tightened.

“You think him a man of rumors? He would burn the world before he gave her up.”

“Then you should know, it is already impossible.”

Minato’s lips parted, but no words came. A flicker of disbelief crossed his face before he masked it with steel.

Minato leaned forward, voice low. “What did you say?”

“Married,” Shikaku repeated calmly. “Barely a month past. Quiet, but witnessed. A union sealed by temple scribes. Whatever tie she had to your prince, it is bound elsewhere now.”

Minato’s hands curled into fists against the table.

“That’s a lie.”

Shikaku’s mouth quirked faintly.

“It’s a fact. And if you want proof — there is a certificate. Signed. Sealed. Do you wish me to place it in your hand?”

The torches hissed, shadows stretching long across the maps on the wall. Minato’s gaze burned into him, but his voice when it came was steel wrapped in restraint.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I will need it. Proof. To bring back before my prince will take my head before believing a word.”

Shikaku inclined his head, satisfied. “Then proof you shall have.”

The council hall fell quiet again. Only the tea steamed between them, untouched, bitter as the truth it carried.

 

 

 

                                                                     OBITO

 

The night draped itself over the palace like a velvet shroud, the torches flickering in the courtyards below throwing faint, restless shadows across the marble walls.

Beyond the balcony stretched Akatsuki’s capital, its spires and domes glimmering faintly under a swollen moon. It was a city of power, pride, and history.

But Obito saw none of it.

His attention was riveted on the parchment in his hand.

He had read the words once.

Twice.

Ten times.

And each time, they struck harder than the last.

His hands trembled around the parchment he held, the flickering light making the inked names gleam like a wound.

Rin Nohora.
Kakashi Hatake.

The marriage certificate felt heavier than steel in his grasp. The names burned, black against the cream paper. Her name, joined with another man’s, stared back at him in cruel, unshakable truth.

It was as if the parchment radiated heat, searing his fingertips.

His grip shifted, but the fire only spread, crawling up his arm, into his chest, until his entire body was a furnace barely contained by skin and bone.

He could almost imagine smoke rising from the page, though he knew the fire was his, not the ink’s.

The muscles in his jaw pulsed. He forced his teeth tighter, grinding against the rage that threatened to rip free.

He had faced down armies without flinching, slaughtered men who begged for their lives, watched entire villages burn with his own eyes.

Nothing—not war, not steel, not fire—had ever torn through him the way those words did.

His chest constricted, and he thought for a moment his still-healing ribs had cracked anew. But no—it wasn’t his body failing him. It was rage. Raw, suffocating rage.

No. Not rage. Something deeper.

Something heavier.

Obito had known anger his whole life—at enemies, at betrayal, at a kingdom that demanded so much of him.

He had worn anger like armor, wielded it like a weapon. But this… this was not the sharp, clean cut of rage.

This was the crushing weight of betrayal pressed down on his chest. This was jealousy that coiled around his ribs like a serpent, constricting, suffocating.

This was grief so fierce it scorched the edges of his heart raw.

The parchment burned his fingers, and still he could not let it go.

He wanted to tear it apart, to shred it until there was nothing left but ashes caught in the wind.

And yet some sick, masochistic part of him forced him to hold it, to look at it, to face the betrayal written there in ink.

Kakashi.
Of all people.

And all of it because of a single name written where it did not belong.

He wanted to kill him.

Slowly.

To carve into Kakashi’s chest and make him feel what it was to have something sacred stolen from you.

Rin. His Rin.

The woman who had healed him with trembling hands, who had whispered stay with me, my love when his heart had faltered. The woman who had looked at him as though she saw a man beneath the monster.

How could she let this happen?

He closed his eyes, nails digging into his palm through the parchment.

He saw her again, not in passion but in tears—crying over him, begging him not to leave her when his blood had run hot and his breath had slowed.

He had fought his way back from the darkness because of her. Because without her voice, without her warmth, he had been lost.

And now—now she was another man’s wife.

The letters crawled like poison, searing into his mind.

His grip tightened until the parchment crumpled, until his knuckles screamed white.

He should tear it.

He should cast it into the wind and watch it scatter like ash.

But no—his fury demanded he hold it, that he suffer the weight of it, that he let it scorch him raw.

Because this was more than ink.

It was theft.

Treachery.

Obito’s breath came ragged, chest heaving as his vision blurred with red.

His mind dragged him back—back to that night.

The study.

Rin on her knees before him, undone, desperate, her lips sliding over him with a devotion that made his soul quake. Her hands trembling as she clutched him tighter, the soft whimpers swallowed against his skin, the hot tears she shed as if even her shame belonged to him. She had been his then—completely, irrevocably.

And Kakashi had seen it.

He’d sat in the shadows, silent but wide-eyed, his silver hair half-lit by candlelight. Watching. Witnessing. Obito had let him. He had wanted him to see, to choke on the truth, to understand with his own eyes that Rin was not free to be taken, not some woman to be courted or claimed. She belonged to Obito.

And afterward, Obito had spoken to him. Cold, cutting, final. He had made it clear: Rin was his. Only his.

Kakashi had known.

And still—still—that bastard had signed his name next to hers.

Still he had placed a ring on her finger, still he had stood before priest and witness and claimed what was not his to claim.

The thought shattered something inside him.

Obito slammed his fist against the balcony’s stone rail, the sound cracking through the night. The certificate trembled in his hand, edges curling, parchment folding under the violence of his rage.

He wanted to break him. To drag Kakashi into the same shadows he’d hidden in and show him what it meant to defile what was sacred. To make him bleed, make him choke, make him beg.

But the betrayal cut deeper still, for it wasn’t only Kakashi’s crime.

It was Rin’s silence.

Her name—her name—etched beside another’s. She had let it happen. She had not stopped it.

Obito’s breath caught, ragged, shuddering. The fire in his chest seared through marrow and bone, clawing its way up his throat.

He pressed the paper flat against his heart as though daring it to kill him, daring it to rip through flesh the way it had already torn his soul.

“You knew,” he rasped, voice low, broken with venom. His words vanished into the wind, spoken to ghosts. “You knew she was mine. You watched her, you heard me, you knew—and still you put your name beside hers.”

The night air bit at his skin, but Obito felt only the burn of the parchment in his hand.

“Then I’ll burn you,” he whispered, and this time the promise was meant for Kakashi, meant for the world itself. His eyes gleamed in the dark like a predator’s, endless fury coiling in their depths. “I’ll burn everything you touch before I let you keep her.”

The marriage certificate creaked as it bent further under his grip, but Obito couldn’t release it.

Because letting go meant accepting it.

And Obito had never accepted a chain placed upon him—not by gods, not by kings, and certainly not by another man daring to steal what was his.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 29: The Royal Wedding of the Kingdom of Fire Part 1

The Kingdom of Fire glistened like a jewel beneath the summer sun. Its palaces rose from marble terraces that overlooked the sea, their red-tiled roofs catching the golden light as if aflame.

Beyond the palace walls, the city was alive—banners of crimson and ivory strung from balconies, flower petals scattered across cobblestone streets, drums and flutes echoing down every alley.

No corner of the kingdom was untouched by the wedding. Merchants sold candied figs and honeyed wine.

Children wove garlands of roses into each other’s hair.

The air itself seemed steeped in anticipation.

Carriages rolled through the gates, their wheels rattling over cobblestones as delegations from every kingdom arrived.

Nobles and envoys dressed in silks and jewels poured into the palace grounds, laughter and music spilling like wine across the courtyards.

Inside the Nohora carriage, Rin smoothed a wrinkle from Sakura’s skirt that didn’t exist.

The moment the carriage wheels touched the Fire Kingdom’s roads, her stomach had not stopped twisting.

“Stop fussing,” Sakura murmured, but she didn’t move Rin’s hand away. “You’ll crease your own dress.”

Rin huffed a soft breath. “If I sit still, I’ll think about tripping on those stairs in front of half the crowned heads in the world.”

She sat between her cousin Sakura and her brother Ruen, who looked far too smug for a man who hated long ceremonies.

Their carriage rolled beneath an archway of roses, greeted by cheers from the townsfolk lining the avenue.

Opposite them, their father adjusted the cuff over his mending leg, cane laid across his knees.

“You’ll do no such thing,” he said, kind but firm. “You’ve both stood straighter in sickrooms than most nobles at court.”

Ruen leaned forward, grin crooked.

“If anyone falls, it’ll be me, and I’ll take three dukes and an entire dessert table with me. Think of the entertainment.”

“Don’t temp the gods, Ruen.” Rin muttered, though the girls couldn’t help their laughter.

Sakura pressed her face briefly to the glass, her eyes wide, cheeks warm with awe.

“They weren’t exaggerating,” she whispered. “It’s… breathtaking.”

Rin glanced too, unable to deny the sight. Marble steps swept down to a courtyard lit by hundreds of lanterns. Fountains glittered, their spray catching sunlight in jeweled arcs.

The Fire Palace loomed above them, a fortress of pale stone carved with ancient sigils, its towers crowned in banners that snapped in the wind.

Terraces spilled down from its gates, each lined with gardens of citrus and roses, fountains glittering in the sun. Nobles and courtiers were already gathered on the palace steps, their silks a riot of color, their jewels catching the light like flame.

Trumpets blared. The herald’s voice rang out.

“Presenting the noble House of Nohara of Konoha!”

The carriage door swung open, and Rin’s father stepped down first, leaning on his cane but carrying himself with dignity. Her mother followed, then Ruen, and at last Rin and Sakura emerged, blinking against the brilliance of the sun.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as the two young women appeared.

“Rin!”

The voice cut across the ceremony, breaking through the herald’s grandiose tones.

Kurenai Yūhi was already descending the steps, skirts of crimson and gold swirling around her ankles. She ignored the startled gasps of courtiers at her breach of protocol and flung herself at Rin and Sakura both, arms wrapping them into a fierce embrace.

“You’re finally here!” she exclaimed, her voice catching with relief. “I thought the roads would swallow you whole before the wedding even began.”

Rin laughed, clinging to her. “You think I’d miss this? Never.”

Sakura laughed too, hugging her tightly. “Gods, Kurenai—we thought you’d forgotten what waiting feels like.”

Kurenai pulled back just enough to look at them, her eyes shining. “I thought you’d never come. It’s been years—years—and here you are, standing beside me again.”

Ruen cleared his throat pointedly. “Yes, yes. Reunions are lovely, but can we not block the stairs? Some of us would like shade before we melt.”

Kurenai shot him a withering look over her shoulder. “Still insufferable, I see.”

Their father coughed into his hand to cover a laugh, while Rin smirked. “Some things never change.”

Behind Kurenai, Prince Asuma descended with more measured dignity. He bowed respectfully to Rin and Sakura’s parents, then offered a warm nod to the young women. His voice carried the weight of his position, though his eyes softened each time they strayed to Kurenai.

“You honor us with your presence,” Asuma said. “Rooms have been prepared for your family. Please, refresh yourselves after the long journey. Later today, the seamstresses will call for the bridesmaids to begin their fittings.”

Sakura’s mouth twitched into a grimace. “Pins. Corsets. Needles. Wonderful. I’ve always dreamed of dying a martyr’s death.”

Kurenai nudged her sharply in the ribs.

“Don’t you dare complain. You’ll both look radiant, and I won’t have my bridesmaids whining before we’ve even begun.”

Rin laughed, though her nerves twisted tighter at the thought of the days ahead.

“Radiant is easy to say when you’re not the one suffocating in lace.”

“Radiant is easy to say when you’re in love,” Sakura muttered, her smile crooked as she looked at Kurenai.

Kurenai’s cheeks colored, but she held her chin high. “Perhaps. But you’ll see—I’ve chosen colors that flatter you both.”

Ruen groaned audibly.

“I pity the poor seamstress forced to deal with you three.”

Asuma’s mouth quirked into a smirk, though he said nothing, wisely choosing silence over fueling the banter.

At the top of the stairs, more figures waited: King Hiruzen Sarutobi himself, regal in white and gold, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he greeted each guest, and at his side his queen, her bearing graceful, her smile kind but commanding.

Behind them stood Kurenai’s family—her father, still tall despite his graying hair, and her younger brother and sister, both fidgeting at the edge of formality.

When Rin’s family bowed, the king raised his hand in welcome.

“The House of Nohara,” Hiruzen said warmly. “Long have we awaited you. Come, be honored as kin beneath our roof.”

The words hung heavy, full of ceremony, but there was genuine kindness beneath them. Rin felt it in the way his gaze lingered on her father, recognition between old men who had once served crowns side by side.

As the formal greetings concluded, Kurenai tugged Rin and Sakura subtly aside, her voice dropping low.

“Rest for now. But later, after the noon meal, the handmaids will fetch you. No escape this time.” Her grin softened into something tender. “I want you both beside me tomorrow. We’ve dreamed of this since we were girls, remember?”

Rin’s chest tightened, the memory sharp and sweet. Whispered promises in candlelight, hands clasped under blankets during sleepovers at the palace, little girls swearing they would stand by each other’s sides at their weddings.

‘We remember,” Rin said softly. “Always.”

The castle chambers offered a view unlike any Rin had ever seen. Her room, high above the sprawling courtyard, overlooked the grand entrance where the world itself seemed to arrive.

From the high windows of their chambers, Rin leaned lightly against the sill, her hands gripping the carved edge of the frame. Beside her, Sakura shifted the curtain just enough to peek out as well.

They had been watching since dawn, eyes wide as one by one, kings, queens, and nobles arrived at the gates. From their vantage point they could see the long sweep of the entrance courtyard, where Fire King Hiruzen and Queen Biwako stood with Crown Prince Asuma and his bride-to-be, Kurenai.

Guests had crossed through all morning—the sand-swept procession of Sunagakure with their golden-veiled princess, the desert banners of Kumogakure snapping proudly, and the luminous white silks of the royals of Stars and Shadows.

Each was met with ceremony, with warm greetings, with the kind of reverence that left the girls whispering back and forth like children again, despite the finery they wore.

“They’re beautiful,” Sakura breathed softly, watching the Hyūga royals bow with graceful precision. “Look at her—Hinata looks like she walked straight out of the old stories.”

Rin smiled faintly but said nothing, her gaze lingering longer on Kurenai than the royal guests. Her friend was radiant even in the simple red gown she wore for welcoming, a woman fully grown into the role they had always imagined together as little girls.

But then the air shifted.

The castle gates opened again, and the sound of iron-shod hooves echoed off the stone walls like thunder. A hush rippled through the courtyard below as shadows fell across the banners of Fire.

The Uchiha had arrived.

First came the princes—four horsemen in black leathers and crimson cloaks, their masks stark and terrible against the sunlight. Obito rode at their head, his mask pale and carved with three dark circular design giving the impression of an unblinking eye.

Shisui rode just behind, his posture loose but his aura sharp as flame; Itachi beside him, composed and unreadable; and Sasuke at the rear, younger but no less fierce, his gaze cold as steel.

Together they looked less like wedding guests and more like generals arriving at the front lines.

Rin’s breath caught, her fingers tightening on the stone sill.

“Obito…” The name slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

Sakura turned sharply toward her, eyes wide.

“He wasn’t supposed to come. They said—”

“I know,” Rin whispered.

Rumors had been circulating for weeks—that the Crown Prince of Akatsuki was too unwell to travel, that he hovered on the edge of life and death, that his brothers now carried the full weight of command. She had half-believed them herself. Even last night, she had told herself not to expect him.

Not to hope.

And yet there he was, alive, unyielding, riding at the head of his brothers.

Behind them came the princesses, riding tall on their own mounts. Their dresses gleamed like spilled wine and midnight under the sun, their hair adorned in silver combs, their guards flanking them in disciplined formation.

The Uchiha women were elegance and severity twined, their presence softening the army’s edge without ever diminishing its power.

Then the carriage rolled forward. Its lacquered black wood gleamed beneath the sun, curtains drawn back just enough to reveal the royal family within: King Fugaku, stern and grave; Queen Mikoto, graceful in crimson silk; Izumi, holding little Yusuke in her arms while young Yuri pressed curious hands to the window; and Tsubaki, poised and proud even in the confines of the carriage.

Their guards marched in step, the sound of boots and armor like a second drumbeat to the horses’ gait.

The sight was overwhelming—a show of strength that silenced even the busiest courtyard.

Rin’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. She could not take her eyes from him, from the curve of his shoulders, the cut of his cloak, the way his presence seemed to swallow the very air. She had almost convinced herself he would not be here—and yet he was.

And then—Obito looked up.

It was no accident. His head tilted just so, as though some unseen thread had tugged him, and his gaze lifted straight toward Rin’s window. His Sharingan eyes burned through the slits of his mask, catching hers across the impossible distance.

Rin froze.

Her lips parted, her body going still as her pulse thundered in her ears. For a fleeting second it felt as though the noise of the courtyard, the banners, the crowds—all of it had collapsed into silence, leaving only him and the weight of his stare.

Sakura stiffened beside her, realizing at the same time that Sasuke was staring too. His gaze had found her window, locking with hers for one suspended heartbeat before his horse turned and the moment broke.

Neither girl spoke. Neither needed to.

A knock at the chamber door shattered the spell. Rin jumped, her hand flying to her chest.

“My ladies,” came a servant’s voice through the wood, polite and clipped. “It is time. The seamstresses await to fit you for your bridesmaid dresses.”

Sakura and Rin exchanged one last glance towards the courtyard below. Then, without a word, they turned from the window and followed the servant, leaving the sight of the Uchiha procession burning like fire behind their eyes.

 

The chamber was alive with color and motion, a place large enough to hold twenty girls and still leave space for the seamstresses, servants, and trays of wine and fruit carried in by attendants.

It had once been a winter hall, Rin had overheard, but was now repurposed into one of the palace’s “women’s rooms,” filled with soft couches, carved tables, and firelight that cast a golden glow over the vaulted arches.

The red velvet sofas and rugs seemed to swallow the space in warmth, the air rich with the scent of spiced wine, fresh bread, and sweet fruit.

Twelve bridesmaids stood in front of tall mirrors rimmed in polished bronze, gowns half-fitted around them, servants darting in to pin hems or adjust sleeves.

The sound of scissors snipping and fabric swishing mixed with laughter, chatter, and the occasional squeak of dismay when a pin pricked too sharply.

Rin stood shoulder to shoulder with Sakura, both of them in pale under-dresses, their chosen gowns still being fussed over by seamstresses kneeling at their feet.

The fabric was cool and heavy against Rin’s skin, the color still undecided but already whispering of ceremony and promise.

Beside her, Sakura fiddled with her sleeves while watching the others in the mirrors, her expression unreadable but her eyes flicking often to Rin’s.

Across from them stood Princess Himari, the youngest daughter of Queen Tsunade and King Jiraiya. Her beauty was impossible to ignore—sharp cheekbones and lush lips inherited from her mother, with the curves of a woman who already had courtiers whispering poetry behind their fans.

Her father’s silvery-white hair fell in gleaming waves down her back, making her seem almost ethereal in the firelight. She was breathtaking—so much so that when she entered a room, all else seemed to dim.

But Himari’s beauty was often dulled by the edge of her tongue.

She had grown up coddled, and it showed in the haughtiness with which she regarded seamstresses tugging at her hem, or the way her chin tilted just a little too high as if the world were made to orbit her.

Even so, she dazzled. Beauty like hers excused much, and everyone forgave her little barbs, her dismissive airs, simply because she looked like a dream.

Kurenai sat nearby on a low velvet seat, her own gown spread like a pool of scarlet silk around her as palace dressmakers fastened pearls along her bodice.

She was glowing—radiant in the way only a bride could be, her dark hair swept back and her expression soft but bright with anticipation.

It was Kurenai who broke the chatter with a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Himari,” she said, her smile tugging sly at her lips, “Asuma told me something last night. A rumor, perhaps—but I wonder if you’ll confirm it. He said wedding bells may soon ring for you as well. That you may not stay unwed for much longer.”

The seamstresses stilled ever so slightly, their hands pausing in their work as every girl’s head turned toward the princess. Even Rin froze, her breath catching in her chest, though she quickly lowered her eyes to hide it.

Himari’s cheeks colored prettily, though the coy smile she gave the mirror was more practiced than shy.

“Perhaps,” she answered simply, her voice velvet smooth. “I cannot say for certain yet. But there has been… discussion. With Akatsuki.”

Gasps, whispers, delighted giggles filled the air.

The room stirred, ripples of delighted murmurs and knowing glances moving through the circle of girls.

One of the younger bridesmaids clapped her hands, eyes wide. “The Crown Prince himself?”

And Rin’s world tilted.

Akatsuki.
The Crown Prince.

Himari’s blush deepened, and she didn’t confirm, but neither did she deny. Instead, she lifted her chin higher, as if wearing the speculation like a crown.

“Now that his health is improving, the conversations may move forward. Their family being here, in the Kingdom of Fire… it is the perfect opportunity for a final talk, don’t you think?”

Kurenai clapped her hands softly, delighted.

“Oh, Himari, that’s wonderful! To think—soon, we may celebrate another union. You’d make such a beautiful bride.”

The laughter and chatter resumed, the girls buzzing with new energy as if a spark had been dropped into dry grass.

But Rin felt none of it.

Her heart lurched painfully in her chest, her fingers tightening around the folds of her half-pinned gown until the seamstress at her feet frowned and asked her to relax.

The words “health improving” rattled in her mind, the rumors she had clung to—Obito too unwell to travel, too weak to write, too close to death—now twisting into something crueler.

Was this why?

Her eyes flicked across the room, to Himari glowing like a goddess in the firelight.

To her hair that shimmered like silver, to her curves, to her easy grace.

She could almost understand.

What prince wouldn’t want her?

What man wouldn’t turn from a commoner’s daughter when such beauty was within reach?

Her reflection stared back at her in the mirror, pale and still as a ghost. She forced her lips into a faint curve, tried to match the laughter around her, but her eyes betrayed her.

They were glassy, fixed on Himari’s blushing cheeks as though each beat of silence was a hammer striking deeper into her chest.

Sakura noticed.

She always noticed.

In the mirror, Rin’s eyes flicked sideways and caught her cousin’s gaze. For a moment they said nothing—could say nothing with the seamstresses hovering so close and the room filled with chatter.

But their eyes spoke, a silent language written in the twitch of Sakura’s brow and the sharp, worried press of her lips. Rin swallowed hard, blinking quickly, her lashes lowering to mask the crack threatening in her composure.

A servant slipped by then, placing trays of wine, soft cheese, and bowls of ripe fruit on the low tables by the couches.

Another followed with sweet cakes and sugared figs. The smell of honey and citrus filled the air, drawing the attention of the younger bridesmaids who hurried to steal pieces between fittings.

The fire roared in the grand hearth, the golden light spilling across velvet and silk. To anyone else in the room, it was a moment of celebration, of easy laughter and girlish delight.

But for Rin—her chest burned with silence, her smile an unsteady mask.

Her heart whispered one question, louder than all the chatter around her:

Obito… is this why you never wrote back? Why you’ve been silent? Because you’ve already chosen someone else—someone brighter, someone…...better than me?

Still, as the seamstresses bowed and withdrew, Rin’s chest ached with silence.

No matter the food, the crowns, the laughter filling the air, all she heard was the cruel echo of Himari’s coy smile, and the unspoken certainly that perhaps…

Obito had chosen differently.

 

By late afternoon, the chamber had emptied.

Seamstresses carried away bolts of fabric, servants gathered pins and trays, and the laughter of the bridesmaids drifted down the corridors as they were dismissed to their chambers.

Rin and Sakura followed in silence; their slippers soft against the marble floors as attendants led them back through the palace halls.

The corridors glowed with torchlight, polished stone catching the flames so that the walls seemed to shimmer.

Even now, nobles and guests bustled through the grand spaces, messengers hurrying with scrolls, servants carrying trays of fruit and wine toward the banquet halls.

The feast tonight would mark the true beginning—the gathering of all kingdoms before two days of sacred ceremony.

It was a night of welcome, of celebration, of politics disguised as laughter.

When Rin entered her guest chamber, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The room was large and richly appointed—arched windows spilling the last of the sunset over silken drapes, a carved bed heavy with embroidered quilts, and a low table already laden with fruit, bread, and watered wine.

Sakura sank into one of the cushioned chairs by the window, unpinning her hair with an exasperated sigh.

“Those seamstresses nearly stabbed me to death,” she muttered, tossing a pin onto the table with a clink.

Rin smiled faintly, though the ache in her chest still lingered. She moved toward the mirror, her fingers tracing absently along her sleeve where the fabric had been pinned.

She tried to imagine tomorrow—tried to imagine standing in the ceremony beside Kurenai, smiling, celebrating—but all she saw was Himari’s reflection, all she heard was the echo of those whispers.

A knock at the door broke her thoughts. A maid entered, bowing deeply.

“My ladies, the feast begins at sundown. You are asked to change and prepare. Servants will return shortly to guide you to the hall.”

Sakura straightened. “So soon?”

“Yes, Lady Sakura. The King and Queen are already with the Crown Prince and Princess Kurenai. Guests from Sunagakure, Kumogakure, and the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows are gathering as we speak.”

Rin’s heart lurched. That meant Obito would be there too.

The thought of seeing him again, after weeks of silence, after Himari’s whispered “perhaps”—her hands trembled at her sides. She pressed them into the folds of her gown, steadying herself.

“Very well,” she said softly. “We’ll prepare.”

The maid curtsied again and withdrew, leaving them in silence once more.

Sakura turned toward Rin then, her gaze sharp, her voice lower.

“You’re quiet,” she said. Not a question—an observation.

Rin forced another small smile, though her throat tightened.

“It’s nothing. Just tired.”

But they both knew better.

Outside, the bells of the palace began to toll, low and steady, announcing the beginning of the feast.

 

 

Rin slipped into the adjoining chamber once Sakura was gone, steam already curling faintly through the air.

The marble floor was warm beneath her bare feet, the great bath sunk into the floor like a pool, filled with steaming water perfumed faintly with rose oil and herbs.

She unpinned her hair with shaking hands, the dark strands falling loose around her shoulders.

Her dress slid away, pooling silently at her feet, and she stepped carefully into the water. The warmth should have soothed her aching body, but it only loosened the tightness in her chest until the sobs returned.

She sank down until the water rose over her shoulders, hiding her face in her hands.

It was real, she thought desperately, the memory of his voice pulling at her heart. The way his hands trembled when he touched her, the way his gaze burned like fire only for her. It had to be real.

But the silence of the last weeks haunted her. No letters answered. No word sent. Only rumors of him courting a princess. Himari’s coy smile replayed in her mind, sharper than any blade.

Rin’s tears slipped freely, hot and endless, mingling with the steam. “Was it all a lie?” she whispered into the empty chamber. “Was I just… something to pass the time? Another foolish girl who thought she mattered?”

She pressed her forehead against the smooth stone edge of the bath, her shoulders shaking. Images crashed into her one after another: Obito covered in blood, fighting for her. Obito whispering I love you in the quiet hours of the night. Obito’s lips against hers, fierce and desperate as though she were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

And now… nothing.

Her sobs echoed off the stone walls, hollow and broken.

She hadn’t even realized how much she was crying until the water around her shimmered with ripples, the salt of her grief mingling with the bath oils. She dragged her hands down her face, her chest aching with every breath.

“Maybe I was a fool,” she murmured, her voice barely audible above the faint splash of water. “Maybe princes don’t love girls like me. Maybe they just… take.”

She curled into herself, arms wrapping around her knees beneath the water, eyes closing against the flood. Alone in the steaming chamber, with no one to hear, she let the tears fall until exhaustion dulled the ache.

Only the echo of her own voice remained, whispering against the walls:

Was it ever real?

 

The great hall of the Fire Palace blazed with torchlight and chandeliers dripping with flame-shaped crystals, their glow reflecting off polished stone until the room itself seemed alive with fire.

Banners of crimson and gold lined the high walls, and long banquet tables stretched beneath them, groaning with roasted meats, steaming breads, and bowls of fruit and sugared nuts.

The air hummed with music. Minstrels played flutes and lutes in the gallery above, their songs weaving through the laughter and chatter of gathered nobles.

Servants slipped like shadows among the crowd, refilling goblets with golden wine and offering trays of delicacies as if the kingdom were not at war only a border away.

It was not only Sunagakure, Kumogakure, and the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows that had sent their banners. Tonight, the Fire Kingdom welcomed a mosaic of nations.

Envoys from the northern fjord-kingdoms draped themselves in wolf pelts and silver torcs; emissaries from desert empires wore long silks and golden bangles that jingled as they moved; island lords from across the eastern seas brought bright coral dyes and pearls threaded into their braids.

Even smaller kingdoms—some barely larger than a single city-state—had come to witness the union of Crown Prince Asuma and Lady Kurenai.

The hall shimmered with this patchwork of colors and cultures: deep indigos and sun-bleached golds, emerald silks and scarlet velvets, all gathered beneath Fire’s blazing banners.

Nobles bowed and embraced; whispers traded as swiftly as wine. Alliances were being negotiated with each smile; old rivalries disguised beneath the courtesy of celebration.

There was no order to the flow of the evening—only movement.

Courtiers drifted like silk banners in the wind, crossing from one group to another, weaving a tapestry of colors and alliances.

Robes of desert silk brushed against the furs of northern lords; pearls from island emissaries gleamed beside the hammered bronze of mountain chieftains.

Fire’s palace was a mirror of the world itself tonight.

At the center of it all moved Crown Prince Asuma and his bride-to-be. He walked with the ease of a man accustomed to both battlefield and court, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd.

But it was Kurenai who drew eyes wherever she stepped.

She was radiant.

Draped in a gown of crimson silk that seemed to catch and hold the firelight, embroidered in silver so fine it glittered like frost, she carried herself with a quiet grace that belied her nerves.

Her long dark hair was pinned with gemstones that winked with every turn of her head, and her smile—warm, luminous, steady—softened even the hardest gazes.

She spoke gently with each noblewoman, bowed with dignity before each king, her hand brushing lightly at Asuma’s arm as they passed from group to group. Where he was strength, she was serenity; where he was steel, she was flame.

Together, they moved through the courts like a pair already crowned.

The Uchiha princes stood together in their dark finery, their masks now at their belts, their eyes smoldering embers scanning the crowd.

At the far edge of the courts, the Uchiha family stood gathered.

King Fugaku’s presence loomed steady and unshakable, Mikoto poised with regal elegance at his side.

Izumi was close to Itachi, their hands brushing lightly now and then, her soft smile a contrast to his cool silence.

Shisui’s laugh occasionally broke the air, though sharper and more restless than usual, Tsubaki at his side grounding him with her calm, perceptive gaze.

And at the center of it all stood Obito. His dark finery cast him in shadow, his mask now at his belt, though its weight seemed to linger in the tilt of his shoulders.

His crimson eyes flickered across the hall, sharp as a blade, yet unreadable. He had spoken little since their arrival, his silence heavy enough that even the hum of voices seemed to bend around him.

Nobles shifted under their gaze, eyes darting toward the Uchihas before sliding quickly away again.

The family carried an aura like wolves at the edge of firelight—beautiful, dangerous, and wholly untouchable.

Everywhere, nobles watched one another as carefully as predators circling prey.

The feast before the sacred wedding rites had begun.

 

                                   

Naruto had been weaving through the crowd, half distracted by the sheer noise of the court, when a familiar voice cut through the hum.

“Didn’t think I’d find you here of all places.”

He turned, and his grin broke wide as his eyes landed on the tall figure leaning lazily against one of the marble pillars.

“Shikamaru!” Naruto bounded forward, clapping him hard on the shoulder before dragging him into a rough half-hug. “Man, it’s been forever!”

“Two years,” Shikamaru corrected calmly, though he accepted the hug with a faint, crooked smile. “Last time was when our fathers dragged us along to that council in Akatsuki. You nearly got us killed sneaking into the war chamber.”

Naruto threw his head back with a laugh. “Oh, come on, don’t make it sound that bad! We were just curious.”

“You were curious,” Shikamaru drawled. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

“And yet you still followed me.”

Shikamaru smirked. “Yeah, because I knew you’d get caught if I didn’t figure a way out. Which you did.”

Naruto scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Heh. Okay, fair. Maybe I owe you one for that.”

“You owe me ten,” Shikamaru said flatly, but his tone was more amused than annoyed.

The two stepped back, giving each other a once-over with the easy measure of men who had known one another since they were boys.

“You’ve changed,” Naruto said, nodding slowly. “Taller, broader. And—what, you’re a soldier now?”

Shikamaru rolled one shoulder in a lazy shrug, though his eyes flickered sharp across the hall, noting every guard, every exit, every grouping of nobles. “Trying to be more than just a soldier. My father’s grooming me for command. General, strategist, something that uses my brain more than my sword.”

Naruto’s grin widened. “Hah! Still the same Shikamaru. Working smart, not hard.”

“It’s the only way to survive,” Shikamaru replied dryly. “Why break your back when you can make ten others do the heavy lifting?”

Naruto laughed again, but there was warmth in it. “Some things never change. I’ve been out on the front lines more times than I can count, and you—you’re still finding ways to skip out of work.”

“Not skip,” Shikamaru corrected. “Redirect.” He smirked faintly. “Besides, I’ve heard stories about you too. The Demon of Akatsuki, tearing through soldiers like a storm. Not much of a strategist, but you’ve made a name for yourself.”

Naruto puffed out his chest a little, then caught himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta do the heavy lifting when you’re not around.”

Shikamaru chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Figures.”

There was a pause—easy, comfortable—as they took in the bustle of the court around them.

The years melted in an instant; despite the wars, despite the distance, they slipped back into that easy rhythm that came from growing up on the edges of power.

Both sons of the crown’s Hands.

Both used to slipping between the worlds of soldiers and nobles. Both carrying more weight than they let on.

Before Naruto could say more, the herald’s voice rang across the hall.

The crowd hushed, turning toward the archway at the far end of the court.

The Sunagakure royals entered.

They came robed in desert finery, their attire distinct from the silks and velvets of Fire.

Bronze and gold shimmered in the firelight, fabrics dyed in sand and flame, jewels set in patterns meant to echo the desert sun.

King Gaara walked at the front, his red hair a crown of its own against his pale gold robes, his presence commanding in its quiet intensity.

At his side, his new wife moved with poise, veils of desert blue trailing in her wake. Kankuro followed, shoulders broad beneath his heavy bronze-stitched tunic, his dark eyes scanning the hall with guarded suspicion.

And then—

Temari.

Her gown was the bold green of desert oases, cinched at the waist with golden cords that gleamed in the lamplight.

Her hair, pale as sun-bleached sand, was swept up into an intricate crown of jeweled pins, leaving her strong jaw and sharp eyes bare for all to see.

A necklace of jade lay against her throat, catching the glow each time she moved. She carried herself with the confidence of a warrior—straight-backed, unflinching, her gaze cutting sharper than steel fans.

Shikamaru’s breath caught.

He hadn’t expected it—hadn’t expected her. For the briefest heartbeat, the din of the court faded, and all he saw was her.

Temari’s eyes swept across the hall, cool and calculating, until they caught on his. The glance lingered—only a moment, but enough. His chest tightened, his mind, usually so quick, suddenly blank.

Naruto’s grin turned sly as he caught it. “Oi, Shikamaru. You good? You look like someone just stabbed you.”

Shikamaru dragged his gaze away, clearing his throat. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though a faint flush tinged his cheeks. “Just… troublesome.”

Naruto snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

But his teasing stopped short the moment his own gaze slid across the hall. There—among the delegation of the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows—stood Hinata. Draped in lavender silk that shimmered like twilight, her dark hair gleamed under the lamplight, and her pale eyes seemed to glow like moonlight itself.

She stood with her family, poised and elegant, but when her gaze flickered toward him, Naruto’s heart slammed hard against his ribs.

“Excuse me,” he muttered quickly, already striding away, the grin on his face softening into something nervous, tender.

Shikamaru shook his head faintly as he watched him go. Then, inevitably, his gaze strayed back to Temari.

She was speaking to her brother now, her fan of jade and gold tapping idly against her palm. But he still felt the echo of that single look, sharp and unshakable.

Troublesome, indeed.

 

Naruto’s steps slowed as he approached the cluster of silken shadows where the Hyūga royals stood. He smoothed his tunic with one hand, a nervous habit, before bowing his head in respect.

“Your Majesty. Your Grace. Princess Hanabi.” His voice was warm but steady as he greeted each in turn, before turning to Hinata’s older brother. “Prince Neji.”

Neji inclined his head, his expression cool and composed, though there was a flicker of something protective in his pale eyes.

“Naruto.” His tone was flat, not unfriendly, but not welcoming either.

Hinata stood just behind them, her lavender gown gleaming like twilight spun into silk. Her eyes flickered toward Naruto, shy yet luminous, her lips curving with the faintest smile. For a moment, the noise of the court blurred, fading into silence.

King Hiashi’s pale gaze was sharp as a blade. “General Minato’s son.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Naruto replied, forcing his grin into something steadier, though his chest hammered.

“I hear you have distinguished yourself on the battlefield,” Hiashi said. His words were cool, deliberate, like a man measuring worth with every syllable. “A soldier who makes his kingdom proud.”

Naruto bowed his head. “I only do my duty, Your Majesty. For my family. And for Akatsuki.”

Hiashi’s gaze lingered, unblinking. “A bond between our houses is… not unwelcome. For now. But I had hoped to see my daughter wed to a prince. Not merely a general’s son.”

Naruto swallowed hard, fists curling at his sides before he steadied them.

“I understand, Your Majesty. But I swear to you—with everything I am—I’ll protect her. Always. Even if it costs me my life.”

A silence stretched.

Then, to his surprise, it was the Queen who spoke, her voice warm and gracious.

“Brave words. And from what I hear, not empty ones.” Lady Hitomi’s gaze softened as she looked from Naruto to her daughter. “You remind me of someone, years ago, who swore the same.” She smiled faintly, though it carried a bittersweet edge.

“Do not forget, Naruto… protecting her means more than raising a sword. It means standing beside her, even when the battle is quiet.”

Naruto blinked, her words sinking deeper than he expected, and for a moment his grin softened into something quieter.

“Yes, Your Grace. I’ll remember.”

Hiashi gave the faintest nod. “We shall see.” Then, turning back, he added, “When there is time, I would meet your father. If you can arrange it, I would welcome the introduction.”

Naruto brightened instantly. “Of course! I’ll find him and make sure it happens, Your Majesty.”

The introductions lingered a moment longer, but the court was already moving in waves of chatter and laughter, shifting like the tide.

Neji’s sharp eyes flicked once more toward Naruto, then softened just a fraction as he caught the way Hinata’s gaze clung to him. Protective still, but no longer dismissive. Naruto dipped his head respectfully, then turned toward her.

“Would you…” his voice dropped lower, meant only for her, “like to take a walk? Or maybe grab something to eat, something to drink?”

Hinata’s lips curved shyly, a whisper of a smile. “A walk would be nice.”

Your Majesties, Prince Neji,” he said with a respectful bow after their brief exchange, his grin a little softer now. “If you’ll excuse us… Hinata and I could use some air.”

Hiashi’s pale gaze lingered, unreadable, but at his side Lady Hitomi inclined her head gracefully, her faint smile giving permission her husband withheld.

Hanabi arched a brow, smirk tugging at her lips as though she knew far more than she should. Neji’s eyes narrowed slightly, protective, but after a moment he gave the smallest of nods—grudging approval.

Hinata’s cheeks warmed as she lowered her eyes, then stepped to Naruto’s side.

He guided her away gently, weaving through courtiers and servants until the press of bodies gave way to quieter halls.

Beyond carved archways, the palace gardens stretched open, lanterns flickering along stone paths that wound through fountains and flowering trees.

The night air wrapped around them—cool, fragrant with the perfume of jasmine and roses. Crickets hummed softly from the grass. For a while, they said nothing, just walking together along the moonlit path, shoulders brushing, the silence between them full but not heavy.

Finally, Naruto exhaled, breaking it. “Gods, Hinata… I’ve thought about this every night since I left.”

She turned her face up to him, eyes wide and shining. “Me too,” she admitted softly.

“Your letters… they kept me strong. Every word, Naruto. I read them until the ink nearly faded.”

He grinned, sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Half of them were written in the dark with a sword at my side. But I meant every word.”

They stopped beneath a willow, its branches swaying gently in the night breeze.

Lantern light spilled in patches through the leaves, dancing across her face.

Naruto reached for her hand then, calloused fingers threading with hers, and the tension he’d been carrying since he saw her across the hall finally eased.

“Hinata,” he murmured, voice low, hoarse with everything he hadn’t said. “I don’t care about courts, or crowns, or who thinks I’m not enough. You’re it for me. Always have been.”

Her breath caught, chest rising with the swell of her heartbeat.

She touched his cheek, thumb brushing along the faint scar at his jaw.

“Then promise me,” she whispered. “Promise me you’ll come back. No matter how dark it gets, no matter what they ask of you. Promise me, Naruto.”

His hand tightened around hers, grip firm as his gaze burned into hers. “I swear it. I’ll fight through hell itself if that’s what it takes. I’ll always come back to you.”

Her lips parted, trembling faintly. “Then… show me.”

Naruto didn’t hesitate. He leaned down, capturing her mouth with his in a kiss that was fierce, aching, desperate.

Weeks of longing, of blood-soaked nights and lonely days poured into that single moment.

Hinata gasped softly, clinging to him as his arms slipped around her waist, pulling her close.

The kiss slowed, softened, lingered—his lips moving over hers with reverence now, not just hunger.

He broke away only to rest his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the cool night air.

“I love you,” he whispered roughly. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

Hinata’s lashes lowered, tears shimmering at the corners of her eyes, though her smile was radiant. “I never will.”

The kiss deepened quickly, no longer tentative, but wild with months of separation.

Naruto groaned into her mouth, the sound raw and unrestrained, as though he had been holding it in since the moment he left her.

Hinata answered with a soft whimper, her hands flying up to his shoulders, clutching desperately at the fabric of his tunic as if afraid he’d vanish again.

His arms closed around her waist, firm and unyielding, lifting her slightly off the ground before pressing her back against the ivy-draped stone wall.

Hinata gasped at the sudden motion, but her legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, holding him close.

The world melted away—the lanterns, the hum of crickets, the palace not far behind.

There was only him, his breath hot against her lips, his heartbeat thundering in rhythm with hers.

“Gods, Hinata…” Naruto whispered hoarsely against her mouth between kisses, words breaking apart with every brush of their lips. “I missed you so much. So damn much.”

Her reply came in broken gasps, her fingers tangling in his sun-rough hair, pulling him even closer. “Me too… every night… I dreamed of this.”

His hands roamed—up her back, across her sides, down to grip her thighs as if grounding himself in the reality of her. She arched into him, her body trembling with the force of the moment, with the months of waiting that now burned away in the heat of their closeness.

He kissed her hungrily, then pulled back just enough to look at her, his forehead pressed to hers. His blue eyes were fierce, glassy with emotion, his voice ragged when he spoke. “I thought about you every damn day. Every battle. Every night I closed my eyes—I saw you.”

Hinata’s breath caught, her tears finally slipping free as she whispered, “I prayed for you. I was so afraid… but I always knew you’d come back. You promised.”

“I’ll always keep that promise,” he growled softly, capturing her mouth again, slower this time, but deeper, his tongue brushing hers in a kiss that stole what little breath she had left.

Her body pressed closer, every inch of her needing him, aching for him, as though the weeks apart had carved a hollow that only he could fill.

She let her legs tighten around him, her head tilting back as he kissed down her jaw, his lips trailing to the soft skin of her throat.

“Gods, Hinata…” he murmured against her pulse, his voice breaking. “If I didn’t have to leave again—if I could just stay here with you—I’d never let you go.”

Her fingers fisted in his tunic, her voice trembling. “Then hold me… just for tonight… like you’ll never let me go.”

Naruto obeyed, arms locking around her as if he could fuse them together, his kisses growing slower but no less desperate—each one a vow, each one a prayer.

She clung to him, wrapping herself around him as though she could anchor him to her, and for a moment, the world truly stopped.

No wars.

No duties.

No eyes watching from the shadows.

Just Naruto and Hinata, breathless in the garden, drowning in the fire of a love that had survived absence, fear, and longing—and would only burn brighter still.

 

The palace was alive with color and voices, laughter spilling between the high columns and across the marble floors.

Lanterns burned low, golden light rippling over silks and jewels, over soldiers dressed in their kingdoms’ proudest colors.

Everywhere, words sparked and spun—diplomats making their rounds, old friends greeting after years apart, generals whispering strategies even beneath the excuse of celebration.

Sai stood apart from it all.

His back rested against a carved pillar at the edge of the hall, his expression as still and unreadable as ever. A goblet of wine rested untouched in his hand, his pale eyes scanning the crowd the way an archer might sight a field.

He wasn’t looking for enemies, though the instinct was always there. He was watching people—cataloguing, sketching with his mind where he couldn’t yet put charcoal to parchment.

It was the same habit that had followed him since boyhood. Where others drank or laughed or danced, Sai observed—collecting faces, details, moments.

He had already memorized the line of Queen Tsunade’s jeweled crown, the way King Hiruzen’s shoulders sagged beneath years of weight, the subtle glances exchanged between generals across the hall.

Every gesture was a story waiting to be drawn.

And yet, all night his eyes had been dragged to the same place.

Ino’s golden hair caught the lantern light like it was spun from fire, her smile bright enough to draw eyes without trying.

She stood among her countrymen, her hand brushing lightly against the arm of a young noble at her side—too lightly to claim, too familiar to be nothing.

He leaned close to murmur something, and Ino laughed.

Sai’s fingers tightened on the goblet until the stem cracked. The sound vanished under the din of the hall, but his chest burned with something ugly and raw.

He had seen that laughter before. Felt it—like sunlight he had never believed belonged to him.

But she hadn’t even looked at him.

Not once.

It wasn’t until the noble stepped away to refill his cup that her gaze swept the room—and caught him.

For the barest second, her eyes widened, surprise flashing across her face.

Then, just as quickly, the brightness dulled. She blinked once, her lips pressing together, and turned back to her circle as if nothing had happened.

She thinks I’m dead. Or worse, he thought grimly. She thinks I never cared.

He had read her letter until the parchment grew soft in his hands, until the ink threatened to fade.

But he had never answered.

Words had always betrayed him, tangled on his tongue, stubborn and clumsy on the page.

Silence was easier.

Safer.

But silence had cost him.

The way she had looked through him just now—it was like a blade in his chest.

To her, he wasn’t the man who had traced her face in sketches under flickering lamplight, who had carried her words through the hell of war like a talisman.

He was a ghost.

Sai exhaled slowly, forcing his face into its mask of calm. But inside, something shifted, a restless ache crawling against his ribs.

The court had thinned, the laughter of nobles giving way to the quieter murmur of the night. Lanterns swayed in the breeze, spilling golden light across the balcony where Ino stood alone.

The young general had gone to fetch her a drink, leaving her with a rare moment of solitude.

She leaned against the stone balustrade, exhaling softly, her gaze lost somewhere in the gardens below.

Sai’s steps were silent, but the weight of his stare wasn’t. He stopped a few feet behind her, heart hammering, words struggling like caged birds in his throat.

“Ino,” he said at last.

She turned sharply, her eyes widening when she saw him.

Surprise gave way to something harder, brittle.

“So, you are alive,” she whispered, then her voice rose, sharp as the edge of a blade. “And what? Now you decide to speak?”

He swallowed. “That man you were with. Who is he?”

Her brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“The general,” Sai pressed, his tone low but tight. “You were laughing with him. Smiling. Are you… with him?”

Ino stared at him for a long moment before a bitter laugh escaped her.

“Amazing. Suddenly you have questions? Suddenly you can talk?” She stepped closer, eyes flashing. “Funny, coming from someone who couldn’t even spare a single word for me when it mattered.”

“I…” Sai’s throat closed around the words.

“You what?” she snapped, her voice breaking. “Do you know what it was like, Sai? Waiting months. Hoping for a letter, a scrap of parchment, anything. And every time—nothing. Silence. Do you have any idea what that does to a person?”

Sai flinched, but still his question came, desperate.

“Is he important to you?”

Her breath caught, then she squared her shoulders.

“His name is Daichi. He’s a general now—youngest in his division. He’s kind, he’s steady. He’s been asking me for years, and when you—” her voice faltered, then hardened again, “—when you couldn’t be bothered to answer, I finally said yes to dinner. And you know what? He listens. He actually talks. He makes me feel seen. Do you even know what that feels like?”

Her words cut sharper than any blade, but Sai didn’t move. His face was pale, his hands trembling at his sides.

“He’s not me,” he said hoarsely.

Her lips parted, disbelief flashing across her face.

“Gods, Sai—you arrogant, selfish—” She broke off, shaking her head. “You don’t get to say that. You had your chance, and you threw it away. You don’t get to stand here now, after months of silence, and suddenly decide I belong to you.”

Her eyes glistened, fury and hurt tangled so tight she could barely breathe.

“Do you know how humiliating it was? To pour my heart out, to tell you how I felt, and to be met with nothing? Not a word, not a line, not even a damn goodbye. So yes, I gave someone else a chance. Because you gave me none.”

Sai’s mask cracked, his voice raw.

“I wanted to. Every day. I read your letter until it nearly fell apart in my hands. But the words—when I tried to write them back, they broke. I broke. Silence was all I had.”

Ino’s chin trembled, but she bit down hard, refusing to let the tears spill.

“That silence told me everything I needed to know.”

And something in him snapped.

Sai closed the distance in two strides, his hands cupping her face as his mouth crashed against hers.

The kiss was fierce, almost violent with how much he had held back, how much he had lost.

Ino stiffened, her fists curling against his chest in protest—but the heat of him, the desperation in the way he clung to her, tore at her anger.

She shoved him back a step, breath ragged, eyes wide and furious.

“You don’t get to do that,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Not after everything.”

Sai opened his mouth, but the words barely formed before her hand flew.

The slap cracked through the quiet like a whip. His head snapped to the side, his cheek burning red.

Ino’s chest heaved, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“It’s too late for that,” she hissed, voice breaking. “If you had that courage, you should’ve used it months ago—not now, not when you feel challenged, not when you think you’re losing me. Do you really believe one desperate kiss is all it takes to make me fall into your arms?”

Her words were a blade, sharp with betrayal.

“You let me bleed in silence, Sai. You left me waiting. Wondering if you were dead or just didn’t care. And now—now you come back because you saw me smiling at someone else? Because your pride can’t stand the thought?”

He stood frozen, the sting of her hand nothing compared to the sting of her words.

His silence—the thing that had always been his shield—was now his greatest enemy.

Ino’s voice wavered, raw and trembling, but she forced the words out like steel. “You don’t get to decide when I’m worth fighting for. Not anymore.”

Her hands fell from where she had shoved him, curling into fists at her sides.

She turned her back to him, shoulders stiff and whispered so quietly he almost didn’t hear it— “It’s too late.”

And then she walked away, her steps sharp against the stone floor, leaving him standing in the shadows—cheek stinging, chest hollow, and heart breaking with the weight of everything he hadn’t said.

Chapter 30: The Court of Fire and the Weight of Desire (The Royal Wedding Part 2)

 

The Uchiha princes had drawn a quiet circle near one of the carved stone pillars of the court, the torchlight gilding their dark finery in shades of bronze.

Shisui was the loudest of them, as always, leaning lazily against the pillar with a cup of wine in hand, his grin sharp enough to cut glass.

Shisui leaned lazily against the pillar with a cup of wine, grin sharp as ever. “Tsubaki,” he teased, tilting the rim of his cup toward his wife, “how many dances are they going to drag you into before the night’s over? Ten? Fifteen? Should I start counting now?”

Tsubaki’s dark eyes flicked up at him, unimpressed. “If you keep talking, I’ll make sure it’s twenty—because I’ll volunteer you for each one.”

Shisui clutched his chest dramatically. “Cruel, cruel woman. You see how I suffer, brothers? Marriage has sharpened her tongue into a blade.”

“You married her knowing that,” Itachi said evenly, his voice flat as steel. “You deserve what you reap.”

Izumi laughed softly, her eyes gleaming. “And yet, he reaps far more than he admits. Don’t let him fool you.”

Tsubaki raised her cup in mock salute. “Exactly.”

Izumi, standing gracefully at Itachi’s side with her hand resting lightly on his arm, hid a smile behind her cup. “Don’t listen to him, Tsubaki. He’d die of boredom without your tongue to keep him in line.”

“You hear that, brother?” Shisui grinned, raising his cup toward Itachi. “Even your wife admits I’d be miserable without mine.”

Itachi’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes stayed sharp. “She was speaking of you. Not me.”

Their laughter carried easily enough, but Obito stood a step apart, shoulders squared, silent.

His wine sat untouched, his gaze drifting now and then toward the grand doors of the court as though he were waiting—for someone, or something.

Shisui caught it, of course. He always did.

“Careful, Obito,” he drawled, swirling his cup lazily. “Keep staring like that and you’ll burn through the wood. Try to look like you’re enjoying yourself for once.”

Obito’s eyes cut to him, the faint gleam of crimson beneath his lashes. “Enjoyment feels… irrelevant.”

“Gods,” Shisui muttered into his wine. “You sound like a funeral hymn.”

Tsubaki, ever the steady one, touched Shisui’s sleeve gently, then looked back at Obito.

“No one expects you to dance through the night,” she said softly. “But don’t vanish from us again. We’ve had enough of that.”

For a flicker of a moment, Obito’s expression shifted—guilt or something heavier—but he swallowed it down, spine stiff as iron.

It was then Naruto’s voice rang out, bright and warm as a sunrise.

“There you are!”

He strode toward them with Hinata at his side, guiding her with a care that was both proud and protective. Her pale lavender gown shimmered under the lantern light, her dark hair caught back with a circlet.

“Late, as usual,” Shisui grinned, clapping Naruto on the back. “And who’s this vision?”

Hinata flushed, bowing her head lightly. Izumi and Tsubaki greeted her warmly, taking her hands as if welcoming her into the fold.

“Princess Hinata,” Izumi said with a gentle smile. “It’s been too long.”

Hinata’s gaze finally rose—and found Obito. Her voice was soft but deliberate. “Prince Obito. I’m glad to see you… well again.”

Naruto tensed at her words.

He’d warned her before—don’t bring up Rin, don’t bring up Sakura—but Hinata’s tone was respectful, her meaning carefully veiled.

Obito inclined his head in return, his voice low and unreadable. “Standing,” he said simply. “For now.”

Shisui rolled his eyes skyward. “Gods above. I swear, if he broods any harder, the torches will go out.”

That earned the faintest flicker of a smirk from Sasuke, though Obito ignored them all.

And then—the great doors opened, banners of gold and green unfurling. The Sunagakure royals entered, their desert silks catching the torchlight. Gaara led the way, crown of stone and gold glinting against his red hair, Kankurō in painted armor at his side, and Temari… radiant, fierce, her gaze sweeping the hall like the edge of a blade.

Obito, silent at Shisui’s shoulder, noticed—but said nothing.

Gaara crossed the court without hesitation, seizing Obito in a rough embrace that startled more than a few nobles. “You bastard,” Gaara muttered low, his voice tight. “I should’ve sent my best men with you.”

Obito’s mouth quirked, not a smile but something close. “If you had, they’d all be dead. Better your men live than follow me into hell.”

Kankurō barked a laugh, clapping Obito’s shoulder. “Still sharp as ever. Good. I’d hate to drink with a dull ghost.”

Kankurō barked a laugh, clapping Obito’s shoulder. “Still sharp as ever. Good. I’d hate to drink with a dull ghost.”

Obito smirked faintly, though the scar at the corner of his mouth made it look harsher than it was. “Careful what you wish for. I might make you regret keeping me alive.”

Temari rolled her eyes, her golden hair catching in the torchlight as she stepped forward. “You two sound the same as when you were teenagers. Honestly, I thought near-death might’ve mellowed you out, Obito. But no—still brooding, still biting.”

Her words were sharp, but her arms softened as she pulled him briefly into a firm embrace. Obito stiffened, then allowed it, his chin brushing the curve of her shoulder before he let her go.

“It’s good to see you breathing,” she added, voice low. “We weren’t sure we’d ever again.”

Gaara’s silence pressed heavier than either of their banter. He stood just behind them, robes of Sunagakure cut in white and gold, his crown simple yet commanding. His green eyes burned like a desert sun as they locked on Obito.

“I told you,” Gaara said flatly, his voice as even as shifting sand. “I should have sent my best with you. You refused. And look what happened.”

Obito met his gaze without flinching, his hands sliding behind his back. “And if you had sent them, Gaara, they’d be buried now with the rest. I barely clawed my own way out. You think your men would have done better?”

The corner of Gaara’s jaw tightened. Kakuro’s grin faltered. Temari, arms folded now, studied the both of them with sharp eyes.

“You always did put too much weight on your shoulders,” Gaara said finally. “One day it’s going to break you.”

Obito’s Sharingan flickered faintly, though his tone stayed cool. “Better it breaks me than your soldiers. Better me than her.” His throat worked once, unspoken words hanging between them like smoke.

Gaara’s stare softened—barely. He stepped closer, pressing a firm hand against Obito’s arm. “You’re alive. That’s enough. For now.”

For a heartbeat, something unspoken passed between them—old trust, old grudges, the bond of kings-in-waiting who had grown into leaders in blood instead of choice.

Behind them, Temari broke the silence with a dry cough. “Enough gloom. It’s a wedding. Try not to scowl through the whole thing, or people will think the Sarutobi cursed us all before vows are even spoken.”

Kankurō chuckled again, though quieter now. “She’s right. Tonight’s for wine, not war stories.” He turned toward the hall. “Come on—there’s plenty to drink. And I promised myself I’d find a bottle stronger than Akatsuki steel.”

Obito’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but close enough to pass. “You’ll need it if you think you’re keeping up with Shisui.”

Temari snorted. “No one in their right mind tries to keep up with Shisui. That man drinks like a dragon with a hollow leg.”

Even Obito gave the faintest grunt of amusement at that, before Gaara finally inclined his head and the siblings began to move further into the throng.

Obito lingered, his eyes narrowing just slightly before he shifted and beckoned someone closer.

“There’s someone you should meet,” he said, his voice carrying that low, commanding timbre that drew attention without trying.

Naruto stepped forward, a little rough around the edges from too much wine and laughter with the others, but when Obito’s hand clapped firmly onto his shoulder, he straightened at once.

“Naruto Uzumaki,” Obito said simply. “My comrade. My family.”

Naruto’s grin softened into something steadier.

He pressed his fist briefly to his chest, then bent into a deep, formal bow — precise and courtly, the kind meant for kings. Yet more than ritual moved through him; his words carried the weight of sincerity.

“It is an honor to stand before you, King Gaara.”

Gaara’s eyes flicked to him, sharp and assessing, but there was no mistaking the flicker beneath their surface — recognition.

“The Nine-Tails’ host,” he said quietly, his voice even, though the words hung heavier than steel.

Naruto rose from the bow and met his gaze head-on. This time, his grin didn’t return.

His voice was softer, earnest.

“That’s true… but I’m more than that. I’ve heard of you, King Gaara, and what you carry. I know what it means — that weight, that loneliness. And I respect the strength it takes to endure it.”

The court noise dulled to nothing for a moment, leaving only the two of them standing in measured silence.

Something unspoken shifted in Gaara. His lips never moved, his expression remained composed, but his eyes softened by a fraction — the kind of acknowledgment only another jinchuriki would notice.

 A faint nod followed, slow and deliberate.

“Kin, perhaps,” he said, his voice low. “But survivors… certainly.”

Obito stood with arms crossed, watching closely. His expression was unreadable, though the glint in his eye betrayed his approval.

Temari sighed, breaking the silence.

“Enough glaring contests. If you two brood any harder, the torches are going to burn themselves out.”

Kankurō chuckled, Naruto scratched the back of his head with a sheepish laugh, and even Gaara allowed his gaze to drift aside — but not before one last glance lingered between them.

A silent pact.

Unspoken.

Understood.

Kakuro’s smirk returned as he leaned lazily on his spear.

“Speaking of jinchuriki…” His dark eyes flicked toward Obito, sharp with mischief. “Where’s the host of the Three-Tails? Your consort, Crown Prince. Surely, she’d be at your side for a gathering like this.”

The words hung heavy in the air, casual to anyone listening—but Obito’s shoulders tensed just slightly, his jaw tight beneath the mask of calm.

Naruto shifted uncomfortably, fists curling, but Obito gave him a look sharp enough to keep him silent.

Before an answer could form, a warm, commanding voice cut through the press of voices around them.

“Prince Obito. King Gaara. Princesses. Princes.”

The group turned as King Hiruzen Sarutobi approached, his queen beside him, their presence carrying the weight of age and authority.

And beside them walked a man whose very bearing seemed to hush the crowd.

His robes were heavier than those of common priests, dyed in deep crimson and edged with gilded thread, each fold etched with the delicate symbols of the gods.

Around his neck hung a chain, silver and old, set with nine tiny charms—each no bigger than a thumbnail.

To most, they seemed nothing but abstract designs, swirls and nine tailed beasts barely visible in the glow of lanterns.

Father Danzo inclined his head, his smile composed and measured. His eyes gleamed darkly beneath the firelight, sharp and far too alive for a man so still.

King Hiruzen’s voice carried warmly as he gestured.

“Allow me to present to you the one who will bless tomorrow’s sacred ceremony—our head priest of the Holy City, Father Danzo.”

Danzo’s gaze swept slowly over the gathered royals—pausing briefly on Gaara, whose sharp eyes narrowed the faintest degree, then on Kankurō, then Temari… and finally on Obito.

For a breath too long, their eyes locked.

Then Danzo turned toward Naruto, and the boy felt a prickle run down his spine at the sudden weight of the man’s stare.

“May the gods watch over this union,” Danzo intoned smoothly, his voice deep as stone.

The firelight caught the faint glimmer of those strange charms on his chest—nine beasts bound together in silver—and then it was gone, like a trick of the eye.

King Hiruzen Sarutobi, sovereign of the Kingdom of Fire, let the silence stretch before he spoke.

His voice carried the weight of a ruler accustomed to testing men with words sharper than swords.

“Prince Obito,” the king said, tone measured but probing, “My halls have been thick with whispers. They say talks of marriage have been entertained. They say Konoha’s daughters are to be bound to Akatsuki’s sons. Tell me, are these rumors the babble of drunk courtiers—or do they carry truth?”

Obito’s Sharingan flared faintly in the firelight. His jaw set, unreadable.

Sasuke shifted beside him, tense, and Shisui’s fingers drummed idly against the hilt of his cup, the movement just a touch too restless.

Before Obito could speak, Danzo’s voice slipped in, calm as oil poured over flame.

“Majesty, is it not clear enough?” His gaze swept toward Obito, his expression serene.

“The prince stands before us alive when death reached for him. What greater proof of divine favor do we require? The gods shield what they have chosen. Perhaps it is not ours to question.”

Hiruzen’s eyes flicked toward the priest, unimpressed.

“I did not ask the gods for their counsel, Father. I asked the man.”

The king’s words struck like a blade across the hush.

Obito’s voice finally came, low and iron, heavy with restrained fire.

“No promises have been made. No vows spoken. Whatever tongues wag in the dark, I have given them no reason.”

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then Danzo bowed his head with mock piety, the faintest smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“Then the gods will continue to guide us. Their hands are already upon this house. Let us trust their wisdom.”

Obito inclined his head slightly, nothing more, the muscles in his jaw still taut.

The matter should have ended there, but Danzo’s eyes shifted—sliding across the group until they landed on the blond at Obito’s side.

“And here he is,” the priest said smoothly, his voice dipping with false reverence, “Akatsuki’s own vessel. The boy who carries the Nine.”

Naruto stiffened, caught off guard. His fists balled at his sides, but before he could speak Sasuke’s eyes narrowed sharply.

Shisui leaned forward, his grin fading into a dangerous line. Even Itachi’s hand flexed faintly at his side.

“How do you know that?” Itachi asked, his tone flat but cutting.

Danzo only smiled, tilting his head as though the question were almost beneath him.

“There are no secrets among the faithful. We remember our dead, and we remember the marks they left upon this world.”

His gaze lingered on Naruto, steady, knowing.

“Your mother—Kushina Uzumaki. She was head priestess once, of Akatsuki’s own Holy City. When she died bringing you into this world, the truth of what you carried was not hidden. The priests and priestesses bore witness. We kept the record.”

Naruto’s breath caught, his throat tight. “You knew my mom?” His voice cracked despite the anger burning under his skin.

Danzo’s eyes gleamed faintly in the firelight. “I knew her as one knows the dawn: fleeting, but unforgettable. You have her smile, boy. The same fire behind your eyes.”

A muscle jumped in Obito’s cheek, the faint flicker of crimson spinning in his gaze.

The brothers stiffened around Naruto instinctively, as if some invisible line had been crossed.

And then, as if the priest had not already unsettled enough, Danzo turned his attention toward the Sand royals.

His voice softened, almost mocking in its reverence.

“And here stand the heirs of Sunagakure,” he said, spreading his hands ever so slightly.

“Blood descended from the Oasis itself. Do you not shine like your ancestors? I wonder—have you heard the old tale of the Oasians? A myth, some call it. But myths, as we know, are often truths clothed in rags.”

Gaara’s eyes narrowed, his arms folding as the priest’s words pressed closer.

Gaara’s silence was colder than stone, but Danzo pressed on, his words spreading like incense through the air.

“They say,” Danzo began, voice pitched low and heavy, “that once, long before our kingdoms took shape, the Oasis thrived with wealth and splendor. Its people grew arrogant. Its priests and priestesses grew greedy. And so—” his fingers brushed one of the strange charms at his chest, that faint glimmer of nine beasts tangled in silver “—they hatched a plan.”

The fire crackled. The courtyard seemed to lean in closer.

“They would offer the gods the ultimate sacrifice: nine vessels, nine beasts, all at once. Their throats slit upon a stone altar carved for that purpose alone, so the gods might grant the city anything it wished. Power. Immortality. Dominion.”

Naruto’s stomach twisted, his fists clenching harder. Sasuke’s jaw tightened, and even Itachi’s stillness felt sharpened, knife-edge alert.

Danzo’s lips curved faintly.

“But the gods are not so easily bought. They saw arrogance where men saw piety. And so, rather than reward them, the gods cursed them. Every soul of the Oasis turned white and hollow. Undying, yes—but no longer human. They wandered beneath the sand until the desert swallowed them whole.”

His voice lowered, carrying a thread of theatrical sorrow. “All but two sisters. Zemari, the younger, had spoken against it. She had warned them, cried out that the gods did not want their blood. But they mocked her, silenced her. She was spared—not out of mercy, but to be a witness. To remember the price of pride. She and her sister alone lived to carry the tale.”

The words hung heavy, almost choking.

Kankurō shifted uneasily, muttering under his breath. Temari’s eyes darkened, flicking to Gaara. And Gaara—he did not move, save for the faint tightening of his jaw.

Danzo bowed his head as if finishing a prayer.

“So, it was. So, it will be remembered. Myths preserve the truth others would forget.”

His gaze slid across Naruto again, then Obito, then back to Gaara, lingering too long, too knowingly.

“The gods favor those who heed their warnings. Those who do not…” His hand brushed the charms on his chest once more. “They meet the same fate.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The fire hissed, the music of the feast ringing faintly in the distance, jarring against the weight of his words.

King Hiruzen of Fire inclined his head to the circle with a host’s polished grace. “We won’t keep you—there are many yet to greet.”
Danzo folded his hands. “And I must make ready for tomorrow’s rites.”
With a final, courtly nod, the king and priest turned and moved back into the current of guests, their retinue flowing after them.

For a moment, no one spoke.

The fire hissed, the music of the feast ringing faintly in the distance, jarring against the weight of Danzo’s words.

Kurama’s growl curled in Naruto’s chest like claws scraping stone.

How the hell does he know about that?

Naruto stiffened but said nothing. His jaw clenched, forcing the fox’s voice into silence, though his eyes stayed narrowed on the place where Danzo had stood.

Shisui broke the quiet first, snorting, though the sound was brittle.

“Priests,” he muttered. “Always love their stories. Swap a few myths over wine and suddenly they all sound like prophets.”

Izumi smoothed the front of her gown, voice calm, though her eyes betrayed unease.

“It isn’t impossible. Priests travel more than soldiers do. They correspond, trade knowledge between temples. Perhaps that’s all it is.”

“Perhaps.” Itachi’s voice was flat, his gaze following the flicker of torches. “But it’s remarkable, isn’t it? To know the details of rituals buried under sand for centuries. Conveniently remembered, conveniently recited.”

Tsubaki rested a hand on Shisui’s arm, trying to ease the tension.

“This is a wedding, not a council chamber. Let it rest for tonight. We’re guests, and we owe our hosts respect.”

Kankurō huffed, breaking the mood with a sharp laugh.

“Well, if he was trying to curdle the wine, it worked. I need another drink before I start seeing desert ghosts dancing in the firelight.”

Temari folded her arms, giving her brother a look before sighing.

“Too many walls, too many ears. I’ll take air while I can.” She tilted her head toward Gaara, who said nothing, only gave a single nod before following her.

Naruto cleared his throat, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes slid across the courtyard where Hinata lingered a step behind him, her presence quiet but steady.

She gave him the faintest smile, one that softened the tension in his shoulders.

“I think Hinata, and I will…uh…take a little walk before the next round of speeches starts.”

Hinata dipped her head politely to the group, and Obito inclined his chin in acknowledgment, waving them both off.

Shisui leaned close to Tsubaki, voice dropping into a low, teasing drawl.

“If the priests are all spinning ghost stories, then maybe I should spin you one in our chambers.” His wife rolled her eyes, but her laugh was warm as she tugged him toward the exit.

Izumi touched Itachi’s arm, murmuring, “The children will be needing us.” Itachi inclined his head, and together they slipped quietly into the flow of guests.

Within moments, the crowd shifted, couples splintering off into private corners, duties, and distractions—until the bustle of voices carried them all away.

And so, at the edge of the firelit court, only two remained.

Obito stood rigid, his mask hanging at his belt, crimson eyes glinting faint in the torchlight. Sasuke leaned against a carved pillar, arms crossed, studying his brother in silence.

The music of the feast swelled faintly through the walls, but here in the quiet, it was just the two of them.

Shisui leaned close to Tsubaki, voice dropping into a low, teasing drawl. “If the priests are all spinning ghost stories, then maybe I should spin you one in our chambers.” His wife rolled her eyes, but her laugh was warm as she tugged him toward the exit.

Izumi touched Itachi’s arm, murmuring, “The children will be needing us.” Itachi inclined his head, and together they slipped quietly into the flow of guests.

Within moments, the crowd shifted, couples splintering off into private corners, duties, and distractions—until the bustle of voices carried them all away.

And so, at the edge of the firelit court, only two remained.

Obito stood rigid, his mask hanging at his belt, crimson eyes glinting faint in the torchlight. Sasuke leaned against a carved pillar, arms crossed, studying his brother in silence.

The music of the feast swelled faintly through the walls, but here in the quiet, it was just the two of them.

 

The music of the feast swelled faintly through the walls, muffled laughter and the sharp ring of goblets carried through the air like distant ghosts.

But here, away from the press of nobles and courtiers, it was only the two of them—two princes standing in the hush between torches.

Obito leaned into the shadows, his jaw tense, Sharingan burning faintly beneath lowered lashes.

His silence had weight, heavy as a drawn bow.

Sasuke stood opposite him, posture deceptively loose as he crossed his arms, but his eyes were sharp—too sharp, watching his brother like he might snap without warning.

It was Obito who broke the silence first. His voice was low, rough, but steady.

“You’ve seen her yet?”

Sasuke’s brow arched faintly.

Obito’s gaze flicked toward him, unreadable in the dim light.

Sasuke exhaled, a sharp breath through his nose, before answering.

“No. Not yet.” His tone was clipped, but it carried more than he intended. He’d avoided her since arriving—not out of indifference, but because seeing her here, surrounded by the pomp of Fire’s palace, felt like a knife.

Obito studied him for a long moment, then looked away, eyes catching the flicker of torchlight.

“You should,” he muttered. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Sasuke gave him a sidelong look.

“And what about you? Are you going to speak to Rin? Or keep glaring across the hall like a man possessed?”

Obito’s jaw tightened, his silence stretching taut.

“If Rin’s part of this… marriage business,” he said finally, voice low but controlled, “then she had a reason. And it had better be one worth bleeding for.”

The words fell like iron.

There was no venom in them, no bitterness toward her—only a fire that smoldered beneath the surface, dangerous and unyielding.

Sasuke’s gaze narrowed, reading him.

“You don’t believe she betrayed you.”

Obito’s lips curved—not a smile, but something sharper.

“If she did, I’ll know why. And if she didn’t…” His voice dropped to a near-growl.

“Then someone else will pay for trying to put her name in the fire with mine.”

Before Sasuke could reply, the sound of movement stirred at the far end of the court.

Both men turned as a hush fell briefly over the hall.

The bridesmaids were entering.

They glided in like a procession of jewels, gowns catching the light of braziers and chandeliers alike.

Sakura wore a gown was a blush silk, pale as dawn, the fabric draping over her body in liquid folds that caught the light with every step.

Silver-threaded blossoms trailed across the hem and bodice, delicate and intricate, as if stitched to remind him of the girl who had once pressed flowers between her books.

Her hair—usually loose around her shoulders—was swept up in an elegant twist, jeweled pins glimmering like stars, leaving the delicate slope of her throat and the long line of her neck bare to every man’s eyes.

But it wasn’t her neck alone that stole his breath.

The silk clung to her curves with cruel precision, showing every soft dip and rise he knew by heart.

The swell of her breasts beneath the fabric—he had kissed them, worshipped them, once held them in his hands as if the world might end if he let go.

The dress cinched at her waist, then spilled over her hips in a way that made his pulse pound, reminding him of how perfectly her body had once fit beneath his, how she had arched for him, gasped for him, broken for him.

And her ass—the memory of it made his jaw clench.

Round, perfect, the kind of shape that even silk couldn’t hide.

He remembered the way his hands had gripped her there, pulling her flush against him, her breathless laughter against his mouth as she whispered his name.

He could still feel it—the weight of her legs locked tight around his hips, her nails dragging down his back when he filled her.

The image seared through him, vivid as flame.

The night they had made love, the heat of her skin, the wild, desperate way she had held him like he was the only man in the world—every detail cut deeper now, with her standing radiant and unreachable before him.

Sasuke’s chest ached, his hand flexing at his side as though his body ached to claim what his mind told him he no longer had the right to touch.

That was his.

No other man had the right to drink in her body like this, to imagine her naked when he knew the truth of her softness, her fire, her surrender.

And yet here she was, clothed in silk, shining before a hundred strangers—untouchable, untamed—and every second he had to watch it was agony.

But Rin—

Obito’s breath caught.

Her gown was a deep mauve silk, soft as dusk, the fabric clinging in subtle, fluid lines that swayed with every step.

Gold-thread embroidery shimmered at the hem like falling starlight.

Her hair, usually loose and wild, was swept up high, pinned with pearl accents, leaving the smooth line of her neck bare to the world.

And her back—gods, her back—her gown dipped low, a daring sweep that left pale skin exposed in the glow of the torchlight, every curve revealed for strangers to drink in.

But it wasn’t just her back.

The silk hugged her in ways that made Obito’s breath catch—showing the soft curve of her breasts, just the right size to fill his hands, perfect in their shape.

His memory betrayed him, flashing to the times she’d slept near him, when his hands had wandered in the dark, greedy for her warmth.

The curve of her ass beneath the gown was enough to make his jaw tighten—plump, perfect, the kind of shape that haunted him in the quiet of his chambers.

How many times had he fisted himself to the thought of her like this—her bare skin against his palms, her soft body arching into his touch, her breath catching the way it always did when he kissed down her neck?

He remembered the way she looked that morning, naked in his arms before they were interrupted—the image burned so deep it carved him open now.

The sight made Obito’s chest tighten, his hands flexing unconsciously at his sides.

That was his.

No other man had the right to look at her that way, to see the soft lines of her spine, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her ass moving like sin beneath silk.

And yet here she was, radiant and untouchable, forcing him to endure it in silence.

Sakura’s eyes swept the room, catching Sasuke’s for the briefest flicker—just long enough to make his throat tighten before he forced himself to look away.

And Rin’s eyes—

Obito felt them before he saw them.

She glanced up, and their gazes collided across the hall, the world narrowing to a single breath between them.

For a heartbeat, it was as if the hall fell away—the feast, the kings, the endless noise.

Just her. Just him.

Her eyes widened slightly, the faintest tremor betraying something raw beneath her calm. And then, as quickly as it came, she looked away.

The moment shattered.

Sakura touched Rin’s arm, guiding her forward, and the bridesmaids moved toward their place near the head of the feast, laughter and silk trailing behind them.

Neither looked back.

Obito’s fists curled tight at his sides.

His Sharingan burned, but his face stayed carved from stone.

Beside him, Sasuke’s gaze lingered on Sakura’s retreating figure, his expression unreadable—but his silence heavy with all the words he refused to say.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t,” Obito muttered again, eyes still locked on Rin’s empty place.

“And you?” Sasuke asked quietly, voice sharper now. “What will you do, brother?”

Obito exhaled slowly, the sound rough in his throat. His eyes didn’t leave the bridesmaids’ corner, even as the music of the feast swelled again, mocking him.

“…Whatever it takes.”

Chapter 31: Shadows at the Feast (The Royal Wedding Part 3)

 

 

The feast had roared into full swing. Laughter echoed through the vaulted hall, goblets clashed, and music pulsed like a heartbeat beneath the stone arches.

At the center, the fireline still burned—tall braziers and rows of torches running like a wall of flame, glowing between the groom’s side and the brides.

The flames licked high, throwing shadows that danced across the gilded walls, a living reminder of the old tradition: no man and woman of the wedding party would cross until the sacred rites were complete.

When the music shifted, the bridesmaids rose. A hush fell, guests turning toward them with anticipation.

It was the moment for the traditional bridesmaids’ dance—a display meant to honor the bride, to show the grace and strength of the women who stood beside her.

The music shifted—drums deep, strings thrumming, flutes high and bright. The crowd hushed with anticipation.

“The bridesmaids,” someone whispered eagerly, turning toward the polished center of the hall.

Rin’s heart hammered as she rose with Sakura, skirts whispering against the stone.

Kurenai moved into the center, regal in crimson, her beauty blazing even as her hands trembled slightly at her sleeves.

Himari smirked as though the entire hall awaited her performance.

“Remember,” Kurenai murmured low to the circle of girls as they spread into formation. “We dance for joy, not for ourselves.”

Sakura leaned closer to Rin, muttering under her breath, “Tell that to Himari.”

The corner of Rin’s lips twitched, but then the first beat struck and the dance began.

Silks swirled, arms arced high, skirts flared in waves of color. It was a dance of tradition, meant to honor the bride, but its elegance shimmered with a dangerous undercurrent—every sway of hips, every bend of backs held an allure that caught eyes across the room.

On the guest side, the Akatsuki royals watched.

Shisui tipped his goblet lazily, his grin already wide.

“Our brother looks like he’s about to leap through the fire.”

Beside him, Tsubaki hid a knowing smile behind her hand.

Itachi’s eyes flickered, steady and sharp, toward Sasuke. “Not just one brother.”

Shisui laughed under his breath. “Gods save us, then.”

But Obito heard none of them. His gaze was locked—unyielding, unblinking—on Rin.

She twirled, her gown catching the firelight, and felt his stare burn across her skin. She tried to focus on the rhythm, on Kurenai’s steady movements at the center, but every step was a battle. Against herself. Against him.

Traitorously, her eyes flicked up.

And there he was—standing with his brothers, broad shoulders tense, goblet forgotten in his hand, the glow of the flames carving his face into something hard, scarred, and unmovable.

His Sharingan caught like embers in the torchlight, unrelenting as it seared into her.

Rin faltered for half a heartbeat.

Sakura caught it instantly, whispering sharply as they passed each other in the circle: “Focus.” Yet even as she scolded, Sakura’s gaze betrayed her—darting toward Sasuke, whose dark eyes pinned her from across the flames.

On Rin’s other side, Himari laughed lightly as she spun, brushing close enough to murmur, “Don’t look so stiff jinchuriki. You’ll ruin that pretty dress. And honestly—don’t think I haven’t noticed. Prince Obito hasn’t taken his eyes off us all night.”

Rin forced her lips into a serene smile, voice flat beneath the music: “Then by all means, Himari, keep them for yourself.”

Himari only smirked wider, twirling away with a flourish.

The drums deepened.

The dance grew bolder, sweeping arcs of arms, sharper turns of hips. Rin lifted her arms, her back arching gracefully, her gown clinging like a second skin.

The firelight caught the gold-thread embroidery at her hem, scattering starlight at her feet.

Obito’s chest ached, his hand tightening unconsciously at his side.

That back—her bare skin laid out for strangers to see, the delicate line of her neck—gods, it drove him mad. She was his, though no one here knew it. And yet tradition and silence chained him where he stood.

Across the circle, Sakura’s own dance matched Rin’s—fluid, strong, but her emerald eyes kept betraying her.

They pulled again and again toward Sasuke, who hadn’t moved a muscle, but whose stare cut through the fire as though nothing in the world existed but her.

When the final note struck, the bridesmaids spun one last time, skirts fanning wide.

Their bodies stilled, perfect in their symmetry, the hall erupting in applause.

Rin’s chest rose and fell sharply, her lips curved in a calm smile for the crowd.

But her eyes—her eyes stayed down, refusing him.

Obito did not look away. Not once.

 

 

 

The feast roared around them—music, laughter, goblets clashing—but on the far side of the fire, a different kind of gathering was forming. The Uchiha stood together like shadows against the flame, their dark finery catching light at the edges. Shisui, already two cups deep, had Tsubaki laughing softly at his side. Sasuke stood silent, brooding as ever. Obito lingered just beyond them, the cut of his jaw stark, his presence commanding without a word.

Naruto and Hinata crossed to them, and with them came Neji—Hinata’s elder brother. He walked with the quiet discipline of a soldier, posture sharp, pale eyes sweeping the hall with measured suspicion. He stayed just half a step behind Hinata, as if to remind every man present that her safety was his to guard.

“Good,” Naruto grinned, clapping Obito’s arm. “Thought I’d find you sulking in some dark corner. Nice to see you upright again.”

Obito’s lips twitched faintly, the closest thing to a smile. “And you’ve only gotten louder since the last time I saw you.”

Hinata bowed her head with quiet grace. “It’s a relief to see you well again, my lord. We… we all prayed you would recover.”

Neji gave the faintest of nods, his eyes narrowing on Obito, weighing him, as though making his own judgment on whether the Crown Prince of Akatsuki was truly fit to stand again.

Before Obito could answer, a booming voice rolled over the crowd, cutting through the music like thunder….

“Obito Uchiha! Back from the brink—alive and standing!”

They turned as King A of Kumogakure approached, his frame broad, robed in black and gold silks that gleamed in the firelight.

At his side strode his younger brother, Prince Bee, all swagger and rhythm, his grin flashing as though he carried his own drumbeat in his chest.

“Yo, look at you, back on your feet,
Death tried to claim you, but you brought the heat.”

“Obito,” King A said, his voice rich and commanding. “I heard whispers of what happened in the Oasis. To see you alive—strong—it is a relief.”

Bee leaned in, smirking. “Man, we thought you were gone,
Glad to see the fire’s still burning on!”

Obito inclined his head with rare humility. “Your concern honors me. I won’t pretend it was an easy battle… but I survived.”

“Barely,” Shisui muttered with a crooked grin, earning a sharp elbow from Tsubaki.

Tsubaki’s brows lifted, warmth flickering in her smile. “Your wife delivered safely?”

King A gave a small nod. “A daughter. Strong lungs, healthy.”

Bee’s grin widened, pride gleaming in his eyes. “Yeah, man—tiny but fierce. Already got her mama’s kick. My wife couldn’t travel—still resting after the birth. But she sent her love to the bride and groom.”

Shisui raised his goblet. “To daughters, then. And proud fathers.”

The group clinked quietly before Obito’s expression sobered. He turned his gaze to King A. “And what of the Forgotten One? You still keep him locked below?”

The mood shifted, the laughter bleeding away.

King A’s mouth pressed thin. “Contained, perhaps, but not silent. My men report strange things. Shapes he takes. Sometimes… he is a boy. Ten years old, no more. Black hair. Pale skin. Sharingan eyes.”

The words struck like a blade.

Naruto’s jaw tightened, Hinata’s hand froze on her cup, Neji’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Even Shisui went still, his smirk fading. Sasuke’s expression hardened, sharp as glass.

King A finished heavily. “The guards say he looks like an Uchiha child. One who could be yours, Prince Obito.”

Every gaze shifted toward Obito.

But Obito didn’t flinch. His eyes burned faintly, but his face stayed carved from stone—as though this was something he had already known.

Bee, unusually quiet now, leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low, stripped of its usual rhythm. “The thing don’t just look, man—it talks. Speaks riddles, sings in tongues none of us can follow. But sometimes it’s clear as day. ‘Where is my mother? I want to see my mother. I want my mother’s blood.’”

King A’s tone darkened further. “And when not that… it whispers one word. Over and over. More.”

The torches hissed. Music swelled faintly from the other side of the hall, mocking the heaviness of the moment.

King A let out a slow breath, then clapped Obito’s shoulder with heavy finality. “Stay vigilant, Prince. The world does not need another shadow loosed upon it.”

Bee’s grin returned, though it lacked its usual shine. “We’ll drink again before the night is done. But for now—duty calls.”

With that, the brothers withdrew, melting back into the tide of guests.

Silence settled in their wake. The weight of what they’d said lingered like smoke, heavy and choking.

Sasuke’s gaze slid sideways, sharp as the edge of a blade. “You didn’t even blink.”

Obito’s eyes flickered crimson for a moment before fading back to black. His jaw worked, but he said nothing.

Sasuke stepped closer, voice low, steady.

“They described a boy with Uchiha eyes. A boy who looks like he could be yours. And you didn’t look surprised. Why?”

Shisui shifted uncomfortably, his drunkenness not dulling the edge of unease.

Tsubaki’s smile faltered, her hand resting lightly on her husband’s arm, eyes darting between the brothers. Naruto frowned, glancing between them, but for once he kept his mouth shut.

Hinata, standing close at his side, looked down, fingers knotted in her sleeve. Neji’s gaze was like steel, pale eyes narrowing at Obito as if he could peel the truth from him.

Obito exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable, his voice rough as gravel. “Because shadows don’t surprise me anymore.”

 

Lantern-light bathed the courtyard in gold, shadows swaying with the dancers.

The musicians shifted to a slower piece, strings humming like a pulse beneath the air.

The rhythm wasn’t festive—it was older, ceremonial, the kind of song that seemed to sink into the floor itself.

Ino moved among them like she belonged to the music itself.

Her gown of pale silver-blue shimmered whenever she turned, the thin fabric clinging to her in all the right places before flowing out like water.

She carried herself with the natural grace of someone born to be watched, her golden hair gleaming like polished silk, braided back only enough to keep from hiding the elegant line of her neck.

From the shadows at the edge of the crowd, Sai’s eyes tracked her every movement.

He didn’t breathe.

He didn’t blink.

His jaw was tight, his fingers flexing against his cup until he set it down without realizing, feet carrying him forward.

He slipped into the dancers’ circle without invitation.

One moment, Ino was spinning alone, skirts trailing like smoke.

The next, Sai was there—shoulder to shoulder, step for step.

Her eyes snapped to his instantly. Shock widened them before narrowing into suspicion.

He said nothing. He never did.

She did not stop. Did not stumble.

But her chin lifted just slightly higher, as though daring him.

Instead, he matched her step for step, his body answering hers as though they had rehearsed this a hundred times in secret.

His hand hovered, never quite daring to take hers, yet close enough that she could feel the heat of his palm.

Her heart betrayed her, leaping at the nearness.

She turned sharply, letting her skirts flare wide, brushing against his leg as she came back around.

Still, he was there, waiting.

Always waiting

The silence between them screamed louder than the music.

She arched away from him, skirts trailing, only to be caught again by the echo of his stride.

Her sleeve brushed his forearm, silk on skin—small, fleeting, but enough to make her pulse jump.

She hated that it did.

Her lips curved faintly, cool and mocking. So now he moves.

He leaned closer with the turn of the dance, so close she could smell the faintest trace of ink and parchment clinging to him, the scents of a man who spent more time in silence than in company. His eyes—dark, unreadable—never left hers.

Every glance was a question.
Every brush of fabric, an accusation.
Every step, a reminder of all the words he had never given her.

Ino’s lips curved faintly, sharp and knowing.

Her eyes mocked him.

Too late. Too late to find your courage now.

She arched closer in the next turn, deliberately brushing his chest with her arm, forcing his breath to catch.

His jaw clenched, his face a mask, but the muscle in his throat worked as if swallowing words he’d never let free.

The music swelled. The steps pulled them apart, only to drag them back together again.

Her hand pressed briefly against his chest as part of the dance, and it was enough to undo him—his skin burned under her palm though her touch lasted no longer than a heartbeat.

Her pulse hammered, and for a split second her composure slipped.

She wanted to shove him, to scream, to demand why now, why like this—but she forced herself back into the rhythm, turning away before he could see.

The song slowed, the musicians dragging out the last lingering notes like an exhale.

The crowd burst into applause, couples breaking apart to laugh and catch their breath.

Ino lingered just a moment too long in front of him, eyes glittering with fury and something softer she’d never admit to.

Her lips parted as though she might speak—but no, not here, not now.

She gave him a faint scoff, sharp as glass, and turned, skirts flaring as she walked away into the sea of guests.

Sai remained rooted where he stood, chest rising and falling too quickly, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. His silence had spoken for him, but even he knew—it wasn’t enough.

Not anymore.

 

The crowd had begun to thin in the central court, groups breaking off to wander the corridors, to refill their cups, to gossip in clusters of velvet and steel.

Shikamaru Nara had done his duty—standing politely with his parents as introductions were made, nodding where expected, bowing when needed—but the moment his father’s sharp eyes turned elsewhere, he slipped away.

“Troublesome,” he muttered, tugging loose the stiff collar of his formal coat. The air inside was thick with perfume and sweat, music humming under the chatter. He needed quiet.

Just a corner. Just a moment where people weren’t talking about alliances, heirs, or dowries.

He ducked through a side archway, following the faint breeze into one of the open courtyards.

That was when he saw her.

Temari.

She stood by the fountain, moonlight silvering her hair where it spilled from its braids.

She wasn’t dressed like the women of Konoha—her gown was cut in the style of Sunagakure nobility, golden fabric cinched at the waist, flowing open over layered skirts of desert red and ivory. The embroidery along her bodice glimmered like dunes in the sun, sharp, proud, unapologetic.

She hadn’t seen him yet. She was adjusting one of her bracelets, eyes scanning the stars above, her posture regal but restless, like a woman too sharp-edged for her surroundings.

Shikamaru froze mid-step. His breath hitched.

She’s…

His mind stalled, then caught itself.

Great…. Just great.

 Another royal.

Exactly what I need.

He could’ve turned back.

He should have.

But she turned her head then, catching him in the act, her green eyes locking with his.

They were steady, assessing—like a blade measuring where to cut.

“Well?” she said, one brow arching. Her voice was smooth, confident. “Are you planning to stand there all night, or do you need an invitation to breathe?”

Shikamaru blinked, then sighed, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“Troublesome. I was just looking for quiet.”

“Then you walked into the wrong courtyard,” she retorted, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I don’t do quiet.”

He huffed a laugh despite himself. “Figures.”

She studied him openly now, eyes dragging over his dark hair, the lazy set of his shoulders, the way he leaned like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“You’re not a soldier,” she guessed.

“I am,” he countered. “Konoha’s ranks. But I work smarter than harder.”

“Smarter?” Temari tilted her head, a hint of mockery in her smile. “That what you call running from the crowd?”

Shikamaru shrugged, unbothered.

“Strategy. Let the nobles exhaust themselves. Then, when no one’s watching, I get what I need.”

“And what is it you need?” she pressed, stepping closer now, her skirts whispering across the stones.

Shikamaru swallowed, caught between irritation and something far more dangerous.

“Peace. A little quiet. A moment where I don’t have to pretend.”

Her smile sharpened.

“You’re honest, at least. Most men lie before they even say their names.”

He almost smiled back. Almost.

“You haven’t asked mine yet.”

“I don’t need it.” She gave a small shrug, as if he were already cataloged in her mind. “I’ll remember you without it.”

The silence that followed stretched taut between them, heavy with something unspoken. His heart thudded, traitorously loud.

Finally, Shikamaru muttered, “Troublesome woman,” under his breath.

Temari caught it. Of course she did. Her grin widened, fierce and amused.

The silence that followed stretched taut between them, heavy with something unspoken. His heart thudded, traitorously loud.

Finally, Shikamaru muttered, “Troublesome woman,” under his breath.

Temari caught it. Of course she did. Her grin widened, fierce and amused. But instead of brushing past him, she tilted her head, her gaze narrowing as though fitting puzzle pieces together.

“You’re Nara,” she said matter-of-factly. “Shikaku’s son.”

Shikamaru blinked. “…You know my father?”

“Everyone who matters knows your father,” she replied coolly.

“Choza Akimichi spoke of him more than once when he stood at my father’s side. And the Kings don’t keep their right hands hidden. They call him brilliant. Relentless.”

Her eyes flicked over him once more, sharp as cut glass. “I expected someone… taller.”

Shikamaru gave a low groan, dragging a hand over his face.

“Figures.”

Temari smirked, satisfied she had landed her strike. Then, softer, almost as an afterthought: “But the eyes… those are his. Calculating. You don’t miss much, do you?”

For the first time all night, Shikamaru didn’t have a ready answer. His throat worked, but words failed him, leaving only the sound of her faint laughter and the rush of water in the fountain between them.

Temari’s faint laughter lingered in the night air, low and unhurried, like she had already won some unspoken game.

Shikamaru shifted, tugging at the cuff of his sleeve, wishing the ground would swallow him up.

“Relax,” she said, reading him like an open scroll. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I’ve had enough politics for one evening.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Shikamaru muttered.

Her smirk curved wider.

“That’s because you’re easy to read. You slouch like a man who hates his uniform, and you keep glancing at the exits. You’re dying to escape.”

He clicked his tongue. “Sharp eyes.”

“Sharp enough to know a man who pretends he doesn’t care usually cares the most.”

Shikamaru sighed, tilting his head back to the stars overhead. “What a drag.”

Temari chuckled, folding her arms, unimpressed. “You say that like it’s an excuse. But I think it’s just who you are—someone who thinks faster than everyone else and gets bored waiting for them to catch up.”

He gave her a sideways glance. She wasn’t wrong. And that was the problem.

“You talk too much,” he said flatly, but his lips twitched, betraying a ghost of a smile.

“And you not enough,” she shot back.

The fountain splashed quietly between them, the music of the feast muffled beyond the walls.

For a moment, the noise and weight of the royal halls felt far away.

It was just the two of them—two soldiers caught in the middle of a game larger than either kingdom could control, sizing each other up, neither willing to admit they were intrigued.

Temari stepped closer, the desert-red hem of her gown brushing the stone.

“For what it’s worth, Nara… I don’t think you’re as much of a drag as you pretend to be.”

Shikamaru swallowed hard, every nerve on edge. And before he could stop himself, the thought slipped through his head with startling clarity: troublesome woman.

Temari’s words still hung in the air, bold and unrepentant. Shikamaru opened his mouth, some half-lazy, half-clever retort on his tongue—

“Temari.”

The voice was calm. Controlled.

Both turned.

Gaara stood at the archway, shadows pooling around him like loyal hounds. His robes of Sunagakure royalty gleamed under the torchlight, desert crimson with black embroidery curling like sandstorms across the fabric. His arms were folded, green eyes steady—always steady.

Temari lifted her chin, smirk curling back into place. “Brother,” she greeted, her voice smooth, unshaken.

Shikamaru straightened quickly and bowed low, one arm across his chest. “Your Majesty,” he said with quiet respect, though his dark eyes flicked up once, meeting Gaara’s before lowering again.

Gaara’s gaze moved between them once, sharp and unhurried. Then, almost too quietly, he added, “Making new friends already?”

It wasn’t biting, not entirely, but the weight beneath it was unmistakable. A warning wrapped in something that could almost be mistaken for teasing.

Temari only arched a brow, answering her brother’s look with a smirk of her own. “Always.”

Shikamaru, still half-bowed, exhaled through his nose.

“What a drag,” he muttered under his breath.

Gaara’s reply was soft, clipped.

“Don’t be long.” His eyes lingered on Shikamaru a moment longer—measuring, weighing—before he turned and moved away, shadows trailing him like a second cloak.

Temari rolled her eyes but, before following, glanced back at Shikamaru.

Her look said what her lips didn’t: This isn’t over.

Then she swept after her brother, skirts whispering flame against stone.

Shikamaru stayed where he was, tilting his head back to the stars. His chest felt too tight, thoughts running faster than he cared to admit.

“Tch. Troublesome,” he muttered—though this time, the word carried something dangerously close to a smile.

 

 

Across the hall, the music softened, strings and flutes weaving a rhythm meant for pairs.

Couples drifted together in the glow of torchlight and lanterns, laughter spilling like wine.

But for Sasuke, the sound faded, drowned beneath the sharp thrum in his chest.

His gaze had already found her.

Sakura stood among the bridesmaids near the edge of the hall, her gown catching the light like it had been spun from dusk itself — soft silk in rose and shadow, her hair drawn up to bare the curve of her neck.

Her laughter was polite, but her eyes… they betrayed her. Every so often, they flicked toward him, quick and sharp, like a tether she couldn’t quite sever.

And when they did, when emerald caught on obsidian, the world stilled.

She didn’t smile. Neither did he.

But something passed between them — too fierce to ignore, too fragile to hold. His jaw tightened, recalling the letter that had gutted him, the finality of her words.

Don’t come looking for me. Don’t write back. Lies or truth, he still couldn’t tell.

He saw the questions in her eyes, the ones she never gave him time to answer.

So why did her eyes tonight betray her? Why did they plead, when her letter had ended them?

Sasuke dragged a hand down his face, nails scraping the rough shadow along his jaw.

He hated this weakness, hated the knot she twisted inside him.

And yet, gods, when he closed his eyes, he could still remember the warmth of her skin beneath his hands, the way she trembled when he touched her, the way her lips had parted around his name like a prayer.

He had known her body like it was his own, and now it was nothing but memory clawing at his ribs.

When he opened his eyes again, the hall was louder, brighter, and she was nowhere to be seen.

Only the ache she left behind remained.

And across the hall—

Obito stood in shadow, unmoving.

Obito had not moved.

He couldn’t.

His body was stone, his hands coiled fists at his sides, but inside he was fire, roaring, consuming.

His gaze was fixed on Rin.

She had been beauty before — wild and unshaped, like firelight breaking through storm clouds.

But tonight?

Tonight, she was devastation.

Her gown clung to her in ways no man should be allowed to see, silk hugging her hips, her breasts, the swell of her ass in lines that made his breath hitch.

The low cut of her back had undone him completely. Skin he had kissed, touched, memorized in shadows, now exposed for strangers to drink in.

And he hated it.

Because it wasn’t just desire. It was possession. It was memory.

Every curve of her body dragged him back — to the nights she had fallen asleep against his chest, trusting him so completely that he could only stare at her and wonder what he had done to deserve it.

To the mornings when she rose half-dressed, and he had nearly taken her against the wall, sanity breaking on the altar of her bare skin. To that one night, when she’d offered herself fully, trembling and brave, and he had nearly lost all control.

He had touched her breasts, perfect for his hands. He had gripped the curve of her ass, greedy, unrepentant.

He had stroked himself in the dark, again and again, with her name raw on his lips, imagining the heat of her body, the sound of her breaking beneath him.

She haunted his hands, his cock, his very dreams.

And now—

Now she stood across the hall, radiant, untouchable. Pretending not to see him. Pretending as if the letters they had shared, the blood and nights and confessions, had never happened. Pretending she wasn’t his.

But when her eyes lifted—just for a heartbeat, just long enough—he saw it.

The truth.

Her mask cracked, her gaze finding his, and for that sliver of time, it was all there: the longing, the ache, the same torment clawing her apart that was shredding him.

Then Sakura tugged her arm, and she was gone.

Obito’s Sharingan burned in his skull, but his face did not move.

The only thing betraying him was the way his hands flexed, aching for her, aching to drag her away from the crowd and remind her who she belonged to.

“…Whatever it takes,” he muttered again, but this time it wasn’t just an answer to Sasuke.

It was a vow.

 

The music of the feast swelled, spilling through the vaulted hall in waves of laughter, clinking cups, and shoes brushing over marble.

But Kakashi’s focus wasn’t on the dancers, or the kings exchanging pleasantries. His eye had found the shadows.

Obito stood there. Half-hidden. Silent. Watching.

Kakashi froze mid-step, the warmth of the wine in his hand forgotten.

He’d meant to cross the hall — to thank Obito for saving his life, for dragging him back from death’s door when everything had gone black.

The words were ready, waiting at the back of his throat.

Then he saw it.

That gaze.

The Sharingan burned low in the dim light, its scarlet glow locking on him like a predator fixing its mark.

There was no curiosity in Obito’s eyes, no acknowledgment of what they had endured together. Just cold finality. Possession.

And beneath it, something darker.

Kakashi’s breath stilled.

It was like staring into death itself, and he didn’t know why.

But then he noticed something else.

Rin.

She was across the hall with the other bridesmaids, her laughter faint, her smile carefully in place — but she hadn’t once gone near Obito since the feast began.

Not once had they spoken.

Not once had they crossed paths. And yet her eyes found him when she thought no one was watching. The same way Obito’s found her.

Sasuke and Sakura were no different. Both stood apart, each tethered to the other with invisible chains, glaring when they thought it safe, retreating when eyes turned their way.

The air was thick with it — a tension that had nothing to do with the feast, nothing to do with politics. Something was unraveling between them, something silent, dangerous.

And Kakashi couldn’t place it.

Why hadn’t Obito gone to Rin?

Why hadn’t Rin approached him?

Why did they look at each other like lovers denied and enemies betrayed all at once?

He shifted, unsettled, the weight of it pressing into his chest.

Before he could think on it further, a hand clamped his arm.

“Come on,” Ruen muttered at his side, eyes hard, tone leaving no room for argument. “They’re asking for us. Don’t keep them waiting.”

Kakashi hesitated, his gaze flicking back one last time.

Obito hadn’t moved. He still stood in the shadows, his Sharingan fixed on Kakashi, a red promise that burned hotter than the torches overhead.

Kakashi swallowed, let Ruen pull him away, but the thought lingered, clawing at the back of his mind.

Something was wrong.
Something between all of them.

 

The feast pressed on, the hall alive with firelight and music.

Servants flowed like water through the crowd, pouring wine into golden chalices, carrying silver trays laden with roasted meats, spiced fruits, and delicate pastries dusted with sugar.

Every corner of the chamber hummed with voices — kings and queens, generals and lords, leaning close, smiling too widely, measuring every word.

King Hiruzen moved with the patience of a man who had ruled longer than most of the guests had lived.

His queen at his side, they crossed from court to court, greeting each arrival with warmth that never fully reached his sharp eyes. Wherever he went, Danzo followed — the priest’s rich crimson robes trailing just behind, his presence a shadow that never seemed to leave the king’s side.

From one corner, the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows gathered, their silks pale as moonlight, their jewels shimmering like constellations.

Across the way, the delegation from Sunagakure stood like carved stone. Gaara’s crimson robes of state caught the light, his pale eyes unreadable as he listened to his Right Hand Choza Akimichi at his elbow.

And then there was Kumogakure. King A’s laughter boomed like a drum, shaking the air as he clasped hands with Fugaku Uchiha, the sound a strange contrast to Bee’s rhythmic cadence as he rhymed his way through courtesies.

They were loud where others were quiet, bold where others whispered — and yet, every eye turned when they spoke.

The Uchiha princes lingered near their allies, their black finery like shadows against the torchlight.

Shisui kept a wineglass in one hand, whispering something to Tsubaki that drew a roll of her eyes and a reluctant smile. Itachi stood a little apart, his mask of serenity unbroken, though Izumi’s hand never left his sleeve.

 And Obito… Obito remained silent, his gaze flitting only when he thought no one noticed. Toward Rin. Always toward Rin.

The air itself felt heavy with unspoken things.

“Strange, isn’t it?” murmured one of the visiting lords — a minor noble from a distant coastal kingdom whose name few remembered.

He leaned toward his neighbor with a smirk. “So much power in one room. You’d think the walls might split from the weight of it.”

“They might,” his companion replied dryly, eyes flicking toward the Akatsuki royals. “Or from the heat of all those glares.”

Whispers coiled like smoke through the feast. Alliances were being measured. Enemies weighed. Lovers restrained.

And above it all, the music played on.

Chapter 32: Moonlight Against Fire (The Royal Wedding Part 4)

 

The bells of the Kingdom of Fire tolled low and solemn, their deep song carrying across the hills and valleys until it reached the farthest banners of the palace.

Within, the castle had been transformed into something out of legend.

Torches burned in gilded sconces, the flames reflecting in panels of polished obsidian and marble that gleamed underfoot.

From the high-arched windows, streams of colored glass poured shafts of crimson, amber, and sapphire light into the grand hall, painting the noble guests in shifting hues as though the gods themselves watched through fractured eyes.

Everywhere, flowers—rare blossoms harvested from the Fire Kingdom’s mountains, their petals threaded into garlands that draped from the vaulted ceiling, trailing with the glow of enchanted lanterns.

The air smelled faintly of spice and smoke, the mingling of incense with sweet fruits, an aroma that seemed to wrap around the hall like silk.

The temple courtyard glowed beneath hundreds of lanterns, their light scattering across marble pillars and polished stone.

Incense curled in the air, mingling with the low hum of sacred chants.

The guests had come from every corner of the world.

Nobles from Sunagakure in desert golds and deep blues, warriors of Kumogakure in flowing black robes marked with threads of lightning-silver, the elegant royals of the Stars and Shadows

Kingdom draped in silks that shimmered like night skies.

And among them—the Akatsuki royals, clad in their signature black and red, their very presence a weight upon the air.

Each kingdom bore its own style, its own voice, yet here they blended into one grand chorus, whispering, watching, measuring one another as predators do before the feast.

At the heart of the hall stood the altar, framed by a roaring pyre that burned in a great iron brazier—the sacred flame of the Kingdom of Fire.

By ancient tradition, the bride and groom would stand on either side of the fire, their vows exchanged through it, as proof their union was blessed by flame and witnessed by gods.

The bridesmaids and groomsmen formed their walls of honor, their presence both symbolic and binding.

One by one, the bridesmaids entered.

Gasps rose like a tide as twelve women glided into place, each one a vision in her chosen gown, their colors painting the aisle in shades of heaven and earth.

Rin came forward draped in moonlight itself.

Her gown shimmered pale silver, delicate as frost on glass, yet clinging to her like it had been spun directly over her body by starlight’s hand.

The fabric traced the line of her curves without shame—the perfect swell of her breasts, the graceful dip of her waist, the full, round curve of her hips.

Every step set the gown rippling like liquid light, and when she passed beneath the torches, the tiny crystalline embroidery at her hem sparkled like constellations.

Her hair had been swept into an elegant crown of twists and braids, pearl pins winking through the strands, leaving her long, pale neck bare, vulnerable—and utterly captivating.

The back of her dress plunged daringly low, exposing the smooth expanse of her spine, soft skin catching firelight with each step.

It was a gown that did not ask permission to be looked at.

It commanded it.

Sakura followed, radiant in rose-gold.

Where Rin glowed like moonlight, Sakura blazed like the last blush of sunset.

Her gown was a soft blush silk, almost the color of her own hair, layered with threads of gold embroidery that caught and bent the torchlight until she seemed bathed in flame.

The bodice hugged her firmly, lifting her chest in a way that drew the eye to the perfect curves Sasuke knew too well, while the skirt flared with subtle grace, trailing behind her in golden shimmer.

Her hair had been twisted into a high knot, loose tendrils spilling to frame her face, a circlet of gold and rubies perched delicately across her brow.

She looked every inch a princess—untouchable, radiant, devastating.

And on the other side of the hall, Obito and Sasuke saw them.

Obito’s hands clenched at his sides the instant Rin appeared, his Sharingan burning behind his lashes.

That dress was a crime.

It revealed everything he wanted to keep hidden—her back, her curves, the gentle swell of her breasts, the way the silk swayed over her ass as though it had been made for his eyes alone.

His mind betrayed him, recalling the nights he had held her, the mornings when she had been nearly his, the soft skin he had touched in the dark.

Rage and desire churned together in his chest until he could barely breathe.

That was his.

No other man had the right to look at her like this, no matter how calm his face remained.

Sasuke’s jaw tightened when Sakura took her place.

She looked like the dream he had lost, the ghost that haunted his every step.

The rose-gold silk clung to her body in ways that struck him like knives—her breasts, her waist, her thighs, the soft arch of her back beneath the plunging line of the gown.

His memory twisted cruelly, dragging him back to nights when those same curves had been under his hands, her breath hot in his ear as she whispered his name.

He had thought he’d hardened himself against it, thought the break between them was final.

But one glance, one gown, one heartbeat—and he was undone.

Neither Rin nor Sakura looked their way.

Both women stared ahead, shoulders straight, refusing to let their gazes wander.

But it didn’t matter.

The air between them and their men burned hotter than the sacred pyre itself.

Father Danzo stepped forward.

His robes were not plain like other priests’. Heavy black silk hung from his shoulders, embroidered with threads of gold and crimson fire.

At his chest gleamed small, almost hidden charms—silver pieces strung together so subtly one might have missed them if not for the way the firelight caught their shapes.

Curved lines, sinuous marks—nine beasts bound together in miniature.

“On this day,” Danzo intoned, his voice deep as stone, carrying with ease across the cavernous hall, “beneath the eyes of the gods and their eternal flame, we bear witness to a union of fire and vow. A bond that shall rise in smoke to the heavens, so the gods themselves may mark it eternal.”

The crowd bowed their heads, murmurs falling away like ash.

Kurenai entered, crimson silk trailing behind her like a river of blood.

The embroidery along her sleeves shimmered silver, and her veil caught the glow of the sacred flame.

She walked with the measured grace of a woman ready to leave her old life behind, her hands steady even as her breath trembled.

Across the pyre, Asuma stood tall and broad, his dark eyes softening only when they found her.

Danzo turned to the flames, his lips curling into the faintest shadow of a smile.

“The gods favor those who burn brightly. They favor those who endure. May their blessing fall upon this night.”

But Obito did not hear him.

His gaze was locked, chained, upon Rin.

She stood among the line of bridesmaids, her gown a river of moonlight clinging to every curve, the soft shimmer of starlight embroidery scattered like frost across her bodice. Her hair was swept up, exposing the long line of her neck, her back bare where the fabric dipped dangerously low.

She looked untouchable. Untouchable—but his.

And yet here she was, standing beneath holy fire, where every noble eye could drink her in.

His jaw tightened, his fists flexing at his sides.

Beside him, Sasuke was caught in the same torment.

Gold-thread embroidery caught the firelight as she moved, her poise perfect, her face calm.

But Sasuke knew better.

He remembered that body beneath him, remembered her breathless gasps, remembered every curve his hands had traced.

And the forged letter that tore them apart—her cruel words telling him not to seek her, not to write—burned through his chest now as he watched her pretend.

Danzo’s voice rolled on, low and commanding.

“Fire binds. Fire cleanses. Fire destroys, and in destruction, it remakes. So shall your vows be sealed.”

The sacred oils were poured, the fire roared higher.

Choirs of priestesses sang from the balconies above, their voices weaving into haunting harmony.

Danzo lifted his hands as though offering the flames to the gods themselves.

For Obito, there was only Rin.

Gods, she was killing him.

The perfect shape of her breasts beneath silk, the curve of her ass moving as though made to drive him mad.

Every inch of her was a torment.

His torment.

Danzo’s final words fell like an invocation and a curse all at once:

“May the gods watch over this union.”

The bridesmaids were not permitted to move until the final vows were sealed, yet their stillness was its own act of rebellion.

Rin’s knuckles whitened where her hands gripped her skirts, as if holding herself together.

Sakura’s lips pressed thin, as though keeping words locked behind them.

Each woman refused to look—but both men could see the truth written in every line of their bodies.

When the sacred pyre roared high to mark the sealing of vows, the hall erupted in applause.

Nobles rose, cheering the union of the bride and groom, the music swelling into triumphant glory. Wine was poured, voices lifted, the feast began.

Obito’s eyes burned into Rin. Sasuke’s into Sakura.

Neither woman dared return the look.

The silence said everything.

 

The feast raged inside the palace, loud and thunderous — a swell of music, laughter, and goblets clashing like swords.

But outside, the gardens breathed differently.

The night was soft, scattered with a thousand lanterns swaying in the breeze. Their glow danced over marble paths and ivy-covered arches, pools of light cutting across shadow.

The air smelled faintly of blossoms and incense smoke carried on cool wind, and the murmur of a fountain trickled somewhere deeper within the hedges.

Naruto tugged Hinata gently down one of the quiet paths, away from the crush of nobles.

“Finally,” he sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I thought I was gonna suffocate in there. Too much perfume, too much bowing and fake smiles. Give me ramen over this any day.”

Hinata smiled faintly, her lavender gown glimmering like dusk in the lantern-light.

“It is overwhelming… even for me. The walls of a palace always seem to listen.”

Naruto snorted, but his grin softened as he looked at her.

“Yeah. Guess it’s not just me then.”

They reached a fountain carved from pale stone, its basin shaped like a crescent moon spilling water into a shallow pool.

Fireflies blinked lazily above the surface, tiny stars mirrored in the water.

Hinata’s pale eyes caught the lantern light, and for a moment Naruto just looked at her, chest tight with something he couldn’t name.

But footsteps broke the quiet.

Heavy. Dragging.

“Uzumaki,” a low voice intoned. “Princess Hinata.”

Naruto stiffened.

They turned.

Father Danzo emerged from the shadows of the hedge, his heavy robes whispering across the stones.

Black silk embroidered with threads of crimson fire, each fold sharp as a blade.

But it wasn’t the robes that made Naruto’s stomach twist. It was the chain.

Silver and old, it hung against his chest.

Nine charms, each no bigger than a thumbnail, linked together. Curved etchings. Sinous marks like tails twining around one another.

Nine tails.

Naruto’s breath caught.

That man reeks, Kurama snarled inside him instantly. Rot. Shackles. Chains. He looks at you like you’re not flesh, but a vessel. Tear his throat out where he stands.

I can’t kill a priest because of a bad feeling, Naruto shot back, jaw tight.

A bad feeling? Kurama’s voice rumbled like stone grinding under claws. Boy, he’s death in silk. You should have gutted him the second he stepped close. I don’t like him. I don’t like what he wears. I don’t like the way he looks at you.

Naruto’s fists curled at his sides, but his face stayed guarded.

Danzo inclined his head smoothly.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to intrude. These gardens reminded me of another land I know well… the Kingdom of Waste and Waterfall.” His lips curved faintly. “Ah. Forgive me. The Kingdom of Stars and Shadows, as it is now called. I often visit its Holy City. Your priests there keep much wisdom… and many records.”

His gaze slid, not to Hinata, but to Naruto.

Cold.

Measuring.

Like a merchant weighing a prize.

Naruto’s jaw clenched. He forced a stiff bow. “Father.”

Danzo’s smile was thin.

“May the gods keep you.” He turned, robes dragging like whispers as he vanished back down the garden path.

Naruto waited until the sound of his steps faded before he blew out a sharp breath.

“Gods, that priest gives me the creeps.” He ran a hand through his blond hair. “Did you see it? That chain — silver, with nine charms, tails carved into them. He was wearing—” Naruto broke off, scowling. “He was wearing you, Kurama.”

Hinata blinked at him, brows faintly drawn.

“I… didn’t notice.”

Naruto stared.

“Didn’t notice? It was right there, staring us in the face.”

She shook her head.

“Priests often wear charms to show their rank. But nine tails? That is not of our temple.”

Kurama’s growl shivered through Naruto’s chest.

Mark me, boy. That man knows too much. He should be ash under your hands.

Naruto ignored him with effort.

“Whatever he is, we’ll deal with it later.” He turned back to Hinata, his voice gentler. “What was that about? Him calling your country something else?”

Hinata stilled. For a moment, her eyes drifted away, thoughtful, as if seeing far beyond the palace walls. Then she spoke.

“Long ago, before my ancestor changed it, our land was known as the Kingdom of Waste and Waterfall. It was founded by a child of legend.”

Naruto tilted his head, curious.

Hinata’s voice was soft, reverent.

“The moon god once loved a star. But they could not be together. From their love came a child — the first of my bloodline. His eyes reflected the moon itself. He grew, and he built a kingdom by the great falls, where water and stone met. He called it the Kingdom of Waste and Waterfall.”

Her gaze lowered.

“But centuries later, one of my ancestors despised the name. He said it carried no pride, no meaning of what we were. So, he renamed it — the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows. To honor our myth. To remind us of the god and the star, of the eyes we carry. And because in our land, the stars and moon shine brightest of all. We see more starfalls than any kingdom on earth. That is our blessing.”

Naruto listened in silence, lips parting.

Slowly, he smiled.

“That’s… that’s amazing. No wonder your eyes look the way they do.”

Hinata’s breath caught, startled.

“My eyes?”

“Yeah.” He grinned, sheepish. “Your Byakugan — it’s like the moon itself. Like you’re carrying that god’s gaze. Kinda makes sense now, huh?”

Color rose faintly across her cheeks. She lowered her gaze quickly, fingers brushing the silk of her gown.

“You… think so?”

Naruto rubbed the back of his neck, flustered.

“Yeah. Shadows aren’t scary if the moon’s there.”

Silence stretched between them, fragile and warm.

Then Hinata asked quietly, “When will you come back to visit us? To Stars and Shadows.”

Naruto blinked, then grinned.

“Soon. Once this wedding mess is over, I’ll come. Promise.” He tilted his head playfully. “But how about you visit me in Akatsuki Land? Bring Ino with you. I bet Sai would be thrilled to see her.”

Hinata’s smile faltered. “…Ino is seeing someone.”

Naruto’s grin vanished. “Wait, what? Who?”

“One of our new generals.” Hinata’s voice was quiet. “She’s moved on.”

“Shit.” Naruto dragged a hand down his face. “Poor Sai… does he even know?”

Hinata shook her head gently.

“She waited for him, Naruto. Before the war with Stone, she wrote him a letter. She confessed her feelings. She thought… he might die. She just wanted him to know. But he never wrote back.”

Naruto swore under his breath.

“She thought he was dead,” Hinata whispered. “She cried for him like a widow. When I asked you if Sai had fallen, and you said no… she was relieved, but angry too. She believed his silence meant rejection. That he didn’t love her back. So, she buried her feelings. And when she was asked to stand at a general’s side, she said yes.”

Naruto blew out a low whistle, shoulders heavy.

“Damn. Sai’s not good with words, but he’s not heartless. He just… he probably didn’t know what to do.”

Hinata’s lips curved faintly.

“Perhaps it isn’t too late.”

Naruto shoved his hands into his pockets, smirking despite the weight in his chest.

“Then maybe I’ll drag his stoic ass by the ear to Stars and Shadows myself. Make him spit it out this time.”

Hinata laughed softly, her voice like bells in the dark.

Together, they turned back toward the hall, lantern-light flickering across their path.

Behind them, the fountain spilled endlessly, silver water glimmering like moonlight — a reminder of a god, a star, and the kingdom their love had left behind.

 

The hall roared with life—music, laughter, goblets striking like steel on steel.

Torches burned high along the carved stone walls, and yet Sai lingered at the edges, a shadow among flame.

His sketchbook hung loose at his side, unopened.

Tonight, he wasn’t drawing.

His eyes followed her instead.

She moved through the sea of nobles like the blossom pinned in her hair—bright, delicate, impossible not to notice.

At her side was General Daichi Mizuhara, newly appointed but already respected, his presence commanding without effort.

His hand rested lightly at the small of her back, guiding her through the throng.

To anyone else, it looked protective.

To Sai, it looked like possession.

They turned toward the colonnade where Sai stood.

He could have stepped back into shadow.

He didn’t.

The collision was small—a brush of shoulders.

“Apologies,” Sai said flatly.

Daichi’s eyes flicked to him, sharp and assessing.

He did not remove his hand from Ino’s back.

Then, after the briefest pause, his gaze narrowed.

“You’re General Haruto Sumiya’s youngest son. Brother to Commander Shien Sumiya.” His mouth edged into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “The artist… and Akatsuki’s Shadow-Killer…Sai Sumiya.”

The words carried, rippling outward in murmurs.

A few nobles turned, pretending not to eavesdrop.

Sai inclined his head once.

“General.” His eyes lingered on Ino for the span of a breath before sliding back.

Daichi’s palm pressed just slightly firmer at Ino’s back.

A subtle gesture, but one clear enough: She is mine.

Ino’s breath caught. Her voice was careful, practiced.

“Good evening, Sai.”

“Good evening,” he returned. His tone was flat, but his eyes betrayed more, holding hers for one beat too long.

Daichi saw it.

Soldiers knew when battle lines were drawn. He broke the silence with smooth finality.

“Please excuse us. We’re expected at the high table.”

He guided Ino forward.

She went, chin high, though her fingers curled faintly at her skirts.

As they passed, Daichi glanced back—not long, not loud, but long enough to make sure Sai understood.

A warning without words.

Sai stayed in the colonnade, sketchbook creasing under his grip.

He did not follow.

 

The balcony lay quieter, away from torches and song. Stone balustrade, a rush of cool night air, the garden below glittering with lantern-light.

Ino leaned against the railing, head bowed, one hand pressed over her mouth.

The blossom in her hair trembled with each ragged breath.

Her shoulders shook once, then again.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

“I said I needed a moment,” she snapped softly, her voice sharp from the effort of holding herself together. “Daichi, please—stop. I told you it isn’t what you think. He means nothing. He’s just a ghost from another life, and I am not that girl anymore. I’m not still waiting for letters that never came, praying a man wasn’t dead so my heart wouldn’t look like a fool—”

Silence.

Her breath caught, but she kept going, fiercer now, almost breaking.

“You don’t get to punish me for the past. I chose you. But you don’t get to cage me because of him.”

Still, silence.

She spun, ready to fight again—only to freeze—only to see him.

Her breath stuttered.

The tears she’d tried to hold back broke free.

His face was unreadable, but the weight of his silence said everything.

He didn’t give her time to speak.

In two strides he was there, and his mouth was on hers, devouring her like a man starved.

She gasped, and the sound tore a groan out of him, low and rough, like pain turned to pleasure.

His hands were everywhere—her waist, her hips, sliding up her back, tangling into her hair.

His lips broke from hers only to drag hot down her jaw, over her throat, kissing, biting, worshipping every inch he could reach.

She moaned at the feel, the sound soft and helpless against the night.

“Sai…” It broke from her lips before she could stop it.

The sound shattered him.

He groaned against her neck, kissing harder, deeper, as though her voice was the only thing that could keep him alive.

Her back slammed into the stone cool against her spine.

His body pressing full against hers, all hard muscle and trembling hunger.

Her body arched into his, as if her own fury couldn’t deny the pull of his mouth, his touch, his heat.

His hands dropped lower, gripping beneath her thighs, lifting her like she weighed nothing.

Her legs wrapped tight around his hips, locking him there.

The world disappeared.

He thrust against her, rough and frantic, the heat of him grinding against the thin silk between her legs.

She cried out, the noise muffled in his mouth as he kissed her again, swallowing every sound.

Her moans came faster, ragged, breaking each time his hips bucked into hers.

“Sai—” She gasped his name again, head falling back as his lips marked her throat.

Her voice undid him.

He groaned against her skin, desperate and trembling, rutting into her like a starving man, every drag of her body against him pushing him closer to ruin.

His breath came sharp, frantic, the rhythm breaking as he lost control.

“Gods—Ino…” His voice cracked against her skin, low and wrecked.

Her nails clawed down his back through his jacket, her body arching into him, her moans spilling soft and desperate in his ear.

The sound made him dizzy, made him buck harder against her, every thrust more ragged than the last.

He was so close—his body jerking with the edge of it, ready to fall apart in his clothes, undone by her voice, her heat, her moans.

And that was when she shoved him.

Her legs tore from around his hips as she pushed hard against his chest.

He stumbled back, breath ragged, lips swollen, eyes wild with desperation.

Her palm cracked across his cheek.

The slap echoed sharp against the stone, her tears burning as she whispered, broken and furious: “Damn you.”

She shoved past him, silk skirts brushing as she fled the balcony.

At the threshold she faltered for just a heartbeat, trembling—but never looked back.

Sai stood alone, chest heaving, body still aching from the ghost of her wrapped around him.

His cheek burned where she’d struck him, but it was nothing compared to the hollow in his chest.

At last, he pulled out his sketchbook. His hands shook as he opened it.

The page waiting inside already bore her face. Drawn long before tonight.

 

 

The music slowed, softer strings unfurling like smoke, and the floor cleared into a wide circle of swaying silks and dark suits.

Couples drifted out—Hinata glowing beside Naruto, Sakura poised with her bridesmaid’s train trailing, even courtiers too drunk on wine stumbling into rhythm.

Shikamaru stayed where he was, slouched near a marble pillar, his arms crossed like a man trying to become part of the architecture.

He was already calculating how long it’d take before he could slip away without anyone noticing.

Then Temari’s shadow fell across him.

“Really?” she said, hand on her hip, eyes narrowing.

 “All these partners to choose from, and you’re going to sulk against a wall?”

He cracked an eye open, sighing.

“What a drag…”

“On your feet, Nara.” She extended her hand, chin tilted like a challenge. “Or should I find someone else who can count past three?”

Shikamaru groaned but slipped his palm against hers anyway.

“Troublesome woman.”

They stepped into the flow of dancers.

Where most pairs glided dreamily, they moved sharp, deliberate, almost sparring with the rhythm.

His hand at her waist, hers steady at his shoulder. Eyes locked, neither willing to yield the upper hand.

“You’ve got the look of someone calculating troop numbers,”

Temari murmured as they turned past Rin and Obito—who weren’t even touching yet smoldered across the firelight like a storm waiting to break.

“Three exits,” Shikamaru muttered. “Two guards. One priest staring like he knows more than he should.” His gaze flicked briefly to Danzo, still lingering at the edge of the hall. “It’s a habit.”

“You really can’t switch it off, can you?” she said.

“Not if I want to stay alive.”

Temari’s lips curved faintly. “Paranoid.”

“Prepared,” he corrected. “Big difference.”

Her grip at his shoulder tightened just slightly.

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re just scared of being wrong.”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Arguing with you is a guaranteed loss.”

“Smart man,” she said, but her tone was light.

The music carried them past the dais where King Gaara sat with Temari’s siblings close by the fire of Sunagakure’s banners behind them.

For a moment Shikamaru glanced at her crown of golden hair, the proud lift of her chin. His voice came quieter, almost curious.

Shikamaru’s gaze lingered on the proud lift of her chin, the steel wrapped in silk. His voice dropped, quieter, as they turned through the circle of dancers.

“Tell me something,” he said.

Temari’s brow arched. “What?”

“Did you ever… want it? The crown, before Gaara’s birth made it his?”

Her eyes flicked sharp to his, surprised—but not offended. “What makes you think I didn’t?”

“You fight like someone who should be in command,” he said, steps steady as he guided her through a tight turn. “You see ahead. Anticipate. That’s not something people stumble into.”

Temari’s expression softened—just for a beat, enough to betray that the question had cut deeper than the dance required. “Our laws are clear. If a royal child is born a jinchuriki, the throne passes to them. End of story.” She shrugged, though her voice was quieter. “When Gaara came into this world… I stopped entertaining the thought.”

“And just like that, you gave it up?”

Her mouth curved, sharp again, though her eyes lingered longer on his than they needed to. “You sound disappointed.”

Shikamaru gave a half-smile, almost lazy, but there was a flicker of honesty in it. “I think the crown would’ve suited you.”

Temari let the silence hang between them, weighty as the pause in a game of shogi before the decisive move.

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she looked away, pretending to track the steps of a fumbling couple nearby. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, Nara.”

“Not flattery,” he said simply. “Observation.”

She didn’t reply right away, but her eyes lingered on his longer than they needed to when he spun her beneath his arm. Her hair brushed his jaw, the faintest whisper of perfume cutting through the smoke of torches.

They fell into step again, closer now.

“What about you?” she asked. “You’ve got the brain of a general. So why not climb higher? Why play soldier when you could be seated in your queen’s council?”

He sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Because higher seats mean more meetings. More meetings mean more talking. More talking means more headaches. And that…” He leaned in just a little, his voice dropping like a secret. “…is a drag.”

Temari laughed—sharp, surprised, genuine. Heads turned briefly at the sound, but she didn’t care. She leaned closer, her breath brushing his ear. “I think you’re more ambitious than you pretend.”

“And I think you’re more dangerous than you let on.”

Their eyes caught again—longer this time, weightier. For one suspended beat, the music around them blurred, the swirl of other couples disappearing until it was only them, circling, countering, testing.

“Check,” she whispered.

He slid them through a neat turn that dodged a stumbling courtier, reclaiming the center of the floor. His lips quirked just faintly. “Not yet. You left your flank open.”

Her brow arched, impressed despite herself. “Annoying.”

“Accurate.”

The final chord stretched, holding them together in stillness. Her palm lingered at his shoulder, his hand steady at her waist. Neither moved until the last note faded, and even then, she didn’t drop her gaze.

“You survived,” she said softly, almost amused. “Impressive.”

“Barely,” he muttered. “What a drag.”

Her smirk sharpened. “Then I’ll consider round one mine.”

He sighed, hands sliding back into his pockets as she pulled away into the crowd. “Troublesome woman…”

And though his words were tired, his eyes followed her like a man already planning the rematch.

 

 

The feast glittered on around them. Wine poured freely, nobles laughed too loud, and the music rose with each round of dancers.

At the bridesmaids’ table, though, the air was thick with a very different kind of heat.

Himari leaned forward on her elbows, eyes gleaming like a cat who’d cornered a mouse.

She didn’t even bother lowering her voice.

“Did you see him? Prince Obito hasn’t stopped looking over here. Every time I lifted my eyes, there he was, staring at me.” She gave a breathy laugh. “Honestly, I thought the fire itself might burn under the weight of his gaze.”

The girls closest to her tittered politely, though it was nervous laughter, meant more to appease than agree.

Rin’s fork hovered above her plate, unmoving.

Himari pressed a hand delicately against her collarbone. “It’s flattering, of course. And—” she paused, letting her gaze sweep slowly over the hall until it caught on the Uchiha princes gathered near the groomsmen’s circle—“it makes sense, doesn’t it? They say Minato Uzumaki is meeting Lord Shikaku himself in a few days to draft the marriage agreement. Konoha and Akatsuki bound by blood. Through me.”

Rin’s stomach clenched, her nails digging crescents into her palms beneath the tablecloth.

She fought to keep her expression neutral, though heat prickled at her neck.

Sakura’s patience cracked first. She set her goblet down with a sharp clink.

“You really shouldn’t spread rumors you can’t back up,” she said, her tone clipped as steel.

Himari’s smile only widened, feigning innocence.

“Rumors? Oh, Sakura, I’m only repeating what I’ve been told. And honestly, does it look like gossip? You saw the way he stared. Men don’t glare at women unless they’re interested.”

Sakura arched a brow.

“Prince Obito doesn’t stare because he’s interested. He stares because he’s brooding. There’s a difference.”

One of the younger bridesmaids stifled a laugh, though she quickly ducked her head when Himari’s eyes snapped her way.

Himari ignored the jab, fingers drumming delicately against her wine cup.

“Brooding or not, it’s attention. And attention from an Uchiha prince isn’t something I intend to dismiss. Especially not from him.”

Rin swallowed hard, keeping her gaze fixed on the rim of her glass.

Every word scraped raw.

“So…” she began, dragging out the word as she swirled her wine. “You two lived in Akatsuki Land for six whole months, didn’t you?”

Himari’s smile sharpened. “That must’ve been… fascinating. I mean, imagine it—walking their halls, eating their food, sleeping under their roof. All because little Rin had to be protected.” She tilted her head, mock sweet. “Because of that beast inside you, wasn’t it?”

The other bridesmaids shifted uncomfortably, a few casting wary glances at Rin.

Heat crept up her neck, but she kept her face still, her grip white-knuckled around the stem of her glass.

Sakura’s voice cut sharp. “That’s enough.”

But Himari only arched a brow, feigning innocence. “What? I’m curious. We all are. What’s the prince like up close? Is he truly what they say? Cold? Dangerous? Handsome?” Her smile widened as she leaned in. “Or all three at once?”

Rin’s pulse hammered, but she said nothing.

“And the queen,” Himari went on, relentless. “Mikoto Uchiha—was she kind to you? Or does she glare the same way her sons do? Gods, I’d give anything to see their court for myself.”

One of the younger bridesmaids, emboldened by the wine, chimed in softly, “I heard a rumor…” Her gaze darted nervously to Rin. “That you were his consort. Is it true?”

Rin stiffened, the heat crawling up her neck, but before she could form an answer, Himari’s laugh cut through, sharp as glass.

“Rin? Obito’s consort? Don’t be ridiculous. As if he would ever choose a commoner—let alone a jinchuriki—to sit at his side as queen. You’d sooner see him wed a stone idol than disgrace Akatsuki’s throne with that.”

The table went deathly still.

No one met Rin’s gaze. Their silence was worse than laughter.

Sakura shoved back her chair, the scrape loud against the marble.

“I’m out of here,” she snapped, her voice shaking with fury.

The sudden silence at the table was deafening.

Rin rose quickly after her, gathering her skirts with steady hands though her chest burned.

“Excuse me,” she said simply, her voice even though the weight of every stare pressed against her back.

Without another word, she followed Sakura into the torchlit corridors, leaving Himari smirking behind her.

 

The torches hissed as Rin stepped into the quiet. Her composure cracked only enough for her jaw to tighten.

You should’ve clawed her tongue out.

The voice curled through her mind, deep and resonant. Isobu.

Let her laugh now. One snap of my tail and her crown would be dust.

Rin’s teeth ground together.

“That’s what she wants. For me to lash out, to prove her right. To be nothing but the beast.”

A low growl rumbled inside her.

You are not the beast. You are my vessel. My chosen. If they cannot see the strength that makes them tremble, then they deserve their ignorance.

Rin’s throat tightened.

She drew a sharp breath, forcing her steps steady as she trailed after Sakura.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s a princess. I’m… nothing beside her.”

Wrong, Isobu snapped, his voice echoing like waves against stone. She hides behind titles. You’ve faced death with bare hands. You’ve stared into gods’ flames and lived. You are worth more than her crown, Rin. Never forget that.

Rin blinked hard, shoving the sting from her eyes as she stepped deeper into the corridor.

Her pulse still burned with humiliation, but Isobu’s rumble steadied her stride.

One day, he murmured, softer now, they will choke on their words. And I will be laughing.

She clenched her fists tighter around her skirts, forcing the sting in her eyes down.

“Not tonight,” she thought back. “Not here. I won’t give her that.”

Up ahead, Sakura leaned against a pillar, her face half-turned into shadow.

She looked carved from glass—hard, but fragile in the edges of her eyes.

Rin slowed, hesitating before stepping closer. “Sakura.”

Her cousin’s head lifted, her green eyes still blazing with anger.

“That girl makes me sick,” she spat. “Talking like that— Himari, with her smug little smile—acting like she knows anything about you. About me. About what we’ve lived through.”

Rin let out a breath through her nose, the corner of her mouth twitching.

“Ignore her. She feeds on reaction.”

Sakura’s lips pressed thin.

“Still, it isn’t right.”

Rin tilted her head, studying her cousin’s face more closely—the way her jaw trembled beneath the anger, the shadows of exhaustion hiding behind her eyes.

“You’re not only angry about Himari,” Rin said gently. “I’ve seen you tonight. You and Sasuke—” she tried to add a touch of humor “—the way you’ve been staring across the hall, the two of you could win wars without drawing a blade.”

Sakura blinked, caught off guard. A strangled little laugh slipped out, though it carried no joy. “And what good does staring do me? He won’t even speak to me, Rin.” Her voice cracked low, so soft only Rin could hear. “I don’t understand it. The coldness. The way he looks right through me, like I’m some stranger he’s forced to endure.”

Rin’s chest tightened. She reached out, resting a hand over Sakura’s.

“You’re not a stranger to him. Not now, not ever.”

Sakura’s throat worked, her eyes glossing faintly.

“Then why does it feel like I’ve lost him? Like… everything we were, everything we had, meant nothing?”

Rin squeezed her hand, voice firm. “You haven’t lost him. Whatever’s making him act this way—it isn’t indifference. Don’t doubt it. You’re the one who has his eyes, Sakura. No one else.”

For a heartbeat, Sakura looked at her cousin with raw vulnerability, her walls cracking open. Her laugh this time was shaky, bitter at the edges. “You always say the right thing, you know that? I wish I could believe it as easily as you do.”

Rin shook her head softly. “It isn’t about belief. It’s about what I see. And I see the way his eyes follow you, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.”

That made Sakura’s breath hitch, her lips parting like she might argue—but no words came. Instead, she blinked fast, as if fighting tears, then turned her face aside.

“I can’t… not right now.”

Rin frowned.

“Sakura—”

“I just need a moment,” Sakura interrupted, her voice breaking as she straightened. “Alone. If that’s alright.”

Rin’s hand lingered a second longer before falling back to her side.

“Of course. Take the time you need.”

Sakura nodded quickly, her eyes still glassy but her back straightening with practiced poise.

She brushed past Rin, her gown whispering against the marble, and disappeared into the shadows of another hall.

Left behind, Rin leaned lightly against the pillar, staring down at her trembling hands.

Himari’s insult still clawed at her chest, but Sakura’s pain weighed heavier.

Even fire burns itself out, Isobu’s voice rumbled, quiet but steady. You cannot carry her battles, Rin. But you can stand when she returns.

 

The night air was sharp, heavy with the scent of roses and burning lantern oil.

Sakura walked farther than she realized, her slippers brushing gravel until the laughter of the feast dimmed into nothing.

She hugged her arms around herself, not from the cold but from the weight pressing on her chest.

She was so lost in thought she nearly missed it—the faint crunch of footsteps behind her.

The air shifted, familiar in a way that tightened her throat.

She didn’t turn, but her voice was steady.

“You followed me.”

His answer came low, rough, cutting straight through the dark.

“You walked too far.”

Slowly, she turned—and her heart twisted.

Sasuke stood there, shadows clinging to him as though he were made from them, his dark eyes burning in a way she remembered too well.

Something inside her snapped.

The words spilled out before she could stop them.

“Why?” Her voice cracked, anger tangled with grief. “Why didn’t you write me back? Not once. Months, Sasuke. I sent letters—pleas—and nothing.” She stepped closer, fists trembling. “Why did you leave me like that? What did I do?”

He flinched, barely. But enough.

Her voice rose, fierce.

“Is there someone else? Tell me. Was it easier to vanish than to face me? To face what we were?”

Sasuke’s jaw clenched, his silence suffocating.

His eyes burned, but no words came.

Sakura’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

“Gods, say something! Anything! You can march into war without fear, you can look death in the eye, but you can’t even look me in the face and tell me why you left?”

Finally, his voice came, low and ragged.

“Because you asked me not to.”

She froze, her breath caught in her throat.

“What?”

His hand moved, slow, deliberate—pulling something from his tunic. A letter, creased and worn. He held it out like a blade between them.

“This,” he said tightly. “You wrote this. Your seal. Your hand. I had it checked—it came out true.”

Her pulse roared in her ears as she unfolded it. The words stared back at her—cold, final, severing everything.

Her lips parted in disbelief.

She looked up at him, tears stinging her eyes.

“Tell me you didn’t think this was real.”

His voice broke, iron and sorrow all at once.

“It was real enough when it gutted me.”

For a moment, her whole body trembled—then a sharp, humorless laugh burst from her chest.

“You Akatsuki men,” she spat, her shoulders shaking. “You can win wars, rule over seven hells, but you can’t use your gods-given Sharingan to tell a fake letter from the truth—even if it slapped you in the face.”

His eyes flared, crimson flickering.

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not mocking you Sasuke,” she shot back, tears spilling now, hot and furious. “I’m furious! Furious that you believed it. That you let this”—she shoved the letter into his chest—“be enough to erase me. To erase us.”

His silence cut sharper than her words.

Her voice wavered, but she didn’t stop.

“Do you know what it felt like? Waiting. Hoping. And then watching you vanish as if I never mattered? You coward.”

Sasuke’s grip on her wrist tightened, his voice low, rough.

“I left because you told me to. The letter said it plain—don’t write back, don’t look for me. You wanted me gone, so I obeyed.”

Sakura’s breath caught.

Her hands shook as she shoved at his chest, the paper crumpling between them.

“Obeyed? Gods, Sasuke—do you even hear yourself? You, of all people. The boy who never listened to anyone, who defied kings and gods, who carved his own path no matter the cost—and you expect me to believe you just obeyed?”

His jaw tightened, the faint flicker of Sharingan burning in the dark.

“I thought it was mercy. If my presence was a weight, then leaving was the only way to free you.”

“Mercy?” she laughed bitterly, eyes shining with tears. “Do you know what that felt like for me? Not mercy. Abandonment. You vanished without a word, without a fight—like I was nothing. Like we were nothing.”

The words struck him like a blade, but his silence only fanned her fury.

Her voice rose, sharp and trembling.

“If it had been real—if I had actually written those words—would you have just disappeared forever? Like a dog doing what it’s told?”

His teeth grit, the muscles in his jaw taut.

“Don’t say that.”

“Then answer me!” she demanded, stepping closer, her fists pounding against his chest now.

“Why was it so easy for you to believe I’d cast you aside? Was I really that disposable to you?”

Sasuke caught her wrists, holding them firm, but his voice came ragged, almost breaking.

“You think it was easy? You think I wanted to believe it?”

His Sharingan flickered, crimson glinting in the dark.

“Your letters were the only thing keeping me sane,” he said, each word deliberate, measured. “The only proof that something outside of blood and ash was still waiting. I read them until the ink faded. I kept them close when the nights felt endless. And then—” his jaw flexed, his breath harsh through his nose, “you told me to leave you. To never write, never look for you. You broke me with ink, Sakura. Clean, final. As if I meant nothing.”

Her eyes filled, her lips trembling, but he pressed on, merciless.

“And don’t pretend you didn’t know better,” he said, voice like a blade. “You told me once—your aunt, your uncle, your family—yes, they’d disapprove. But you said they’d learn. You said they’d come around because they were good people. You swore you wouldn’t let their fear decide for you. And then suddenly, you did.”

He finally let her wrists go, shoving the crumpled letter back against her chest, his hands falling away like he couldn’t bear to touch her.

“That was my punishment,” Sasuke said flatly. “To believe every word. To live with the silence, you left behind. To tell myself it was what you wanted while it gutted me alive.”

The garden was still, the air thick with incense and the faint murmur of the feast in the distance.

Sakura shook her head, tears streaking her cheeks. “No, Sasuke, I—”

But his eyes cut her off, hard and unflinching.

“Tell me it wasn’t real. Tell me you didn’t write it. Because gods help you, Sakura—if you did, then I was a fool to ever think I mattered.”

Sakura’s tears burned hot as she pressed the letter back against his chest.

“Gods, Sasuke—you’re supposed to be the vigilant one. The sharp one. The man who sees through shadows before they even fall.” Her voice shook, but her words cut. “And yet here you are, fooled by the cheapest trick in the book. You’re brilliant, you’re ruthless, you’re everything the world fears—”

Her breath hitched, her eyes locking with his. “—and you’re an idiot.”

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then the corner of Sasuke’s mouth curved—half-smirk, half-scoff, bitter but alive.

A sound escaped him, almost a laugh, dry and sharp.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” she shot back, chin high despite the tears streaking her cheeks.

That was all it took.

His restraint snapped.

In one step he closed the distance, his hand tangling into her hair, dragging her mouth to his.

The kiss was harsh, desperate, full of teeth and anger and everything unsaid between them.

Her gasp melted into it, her hands clutching his shoulders, pulling him closer even as her body trembled.

He kissed her like a man starved, like he had been holding his breath since the day he lost her, and now the only air in the world was hers.

The kiss consumed them, teeth clashing, breath ragged.

Sakura’s fingers curled into his tunic, dragging him down, clutching as though letting go meant losing him again.

Sasuke’s hands were everywhere—at her waist, her back, her hair—greedy, frantic, like he couldn’t decide which part of her to claim first.

The garden’s winter chill was nothing against the heat of their bodies colliding.

She broke away only long enough to gasp, “You—” her voice sharp, trembling, “—you absolute idiot.”

“Say it again,” he growled against her mouth, his smirk cutting through even as his voice was rough.

Her nails dug into his shoulders.

“Idiot.”

He kissed her harder, swallowing the word, swallowing the sound of her soft moan when his lips dragged down the column of her throat.

His teeth grazed her pulse, and she shuddered, her head tipping back against the cold stone of the pillar behind her.

Sasuke’s hands dragged down her back, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise as he pinned her to the stone column.

Her legs locked tight around his waist, the silk of her gown spilling like water between them as he ground against her.

Sakura gasped, clutching his hair, her body arching to meet him.

“Sasuke—” her voice broke, the sound half-plea, half-moan.

He growled low, dragging his mouth down her throat, tasting the salt of her skin, the pulse hammering beneath.

“I thought I lost you,” he breathed against her, ragged. “And gods, I can’t—”

She cut him off with another kiss, urgent, messy, swallowing his words.

Her gown was a curse.

Layers of silk between them when what he wanted was skin.

His hands dragged it higher, fingers trembling as they found the bare flesh of her thighs.

She shivered when his calloused palms gripped her there, rough, possessive, lifting her until her legs wrapped tight around his waist.

“Gods—Sasuke,” she moaned, her head falling back against the column as his lips left her mouth to claim her throat.

He kissed and bit his way down the pale skin, sucking hard enough to leave bruises, claiming her like a starving man branding what was his.

Her hands were frantic, tugging at the fastenings of his tunic, her fingers grazing his chest as she shoved it aside.

She needed him bare against her, needed proof he was real, alive, hers.

“Off,” she panted, tugging at the fabric, “now—”

He ripped it away himself, baring the sculpted planes of his torso, his scars catching the torchlight.

Her palms flattened against him, sliding down his chest, memorizing every line like she could stitch the months of separation back together through touch alone.

When he ground into her, hard and slow, she gasped, her nails digging crescents into his shoulders.

The thick press of him against her heat through the thin barrier of fabric made her thighs tremble, made her whimper his name.

“You’re shaking,” he rasped against her ear, his voice rough, possessive, his teeth grazing her earlobe.

“Because I missed you,” she whispered, raw and broken, before dragging his mouth back to hers.

Her underwear was nothing but an inconvenience. He shoved it aside with a growl, and when he finally pushed into her, the air left both their lungs in ragged gasps.

The heat of her enveloped him, tight and wet, pulling him deeper until his forehead pressed to hers, their breaths mingling in shattered rhythm.

“Fuck—Sakura,” he groaned, his voice breaking as he set a punishing pace, driving her against the stone column.

Her moans echoed softly through the garden, muffled only by his mouth when he kissed her again.

She clung to him, legs tightening around his waist, body arching with every deep thrust.

The column was cold at her back, but she barely felt it.

All she felt was him—the drag of his length, the heat of his skin, the rasp of his voice murmuring her name between curses and groans.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard as his mouth trailed down her neck to her collarbone.

He sucked at her skin, leaving her marked, claimed, his growl vibrating against her chest.

“You’re mine little mouse,” he ground out, thrusting harder, desperate, almost feral. “No letter, no lie changes that. You’ve always been mine.”

She sobbed his name, her body clenching around him, and he felt her break apart in his arms, shuddering and gasping against his mouth.

The sound of it, the feel of her, tore him apart too.

With one last desperate thrust, he came inside her, groaning into her mouth like he’d been waiting lifetimes for this moment.

They stayed there, tangled against the pillar, bodies trembling, hearts hammering.

His forehead pressed to hers, his thumb brushing her damp cheek as he kissed her again—slower now, lingering, their lips barely moving but speaking more than words ever could.

 

The night air cooled the sweat on their skin, but neither moved.

Sasuke still held her pressed to the column, his body shielding hers from the world as though he’d kill anyone who dared look.

Her dress clung half-twisted around her hips, her hair had come loose from its jeweled pins, and her lips were swollen from his kisses.

She was a ruin—and she had never looked more devastating to him.

Sakura exhaled a shaky laugh, brushing his jaw with trembling fingers. “If anyone saw us—”

“They won’t.” His voice was flat, certain. His eyes flicked toward the distant glow of the feast, Sharingan glinting faint like embers. “I won’t let them.”

Her heart thudded hard against his chest. She believed him. Gods help her, she always believed him.

But then—soft footsteps on gravel, too close, a figure’s shadow stretching near the garden arch.

Sasuke stiffened instantly, pulling her skirt down in one sharp tug, straightening his own tunic with the other hand even as his body still pressed possessively close.

He didn’t care if they looked disheveled; he only cared that no one else saw her.

The shadow passed just beyond the hedges, a woman’s voice drifting faintly—Temari, laughing at something Shikamaru muttered, their steps moving further toward the torchlit path.

Sakura’s breath caught, clutching Sasuke’s wrist until the danger passed.

When silence fell again, she sagged against him, forehead to his shoulder.

“Gods, Sasuke.” She laughed again, this time breathless, still trembling from the rush. “We’re insane.”

His smirk ghosted against her hair as his hand cupped the back of her neck, holding her steady.

“Maybe.” He kissed her temple, the gesture shockingly tender after the feral way he’d just taken her. “But you’re mine again. That’s all that matters.”

Her reply was a whisper against his chest, small but steady. “Always.”

Sakura’s lashes were wet with tears, but her mouth curved faintly against his.

“Idiot,” she whispered again, tender this time, her voice breaking.

Sasuke smirked faintly, though his chest heaved with the weight of it all.

His hand slid into her hair, holding her close.

“Maybe,” he murmured. “But I’m your idiot.”

Her quiet laugh turned into another kiss, soft this time, sealing what words couldn’t.

 

Chapter 33: Between Fire and Silk (The Royal Wedding Part5)

 

Rin walked the edge of the hall, her silver gown catching every torchlight like starlight had poured itself into silk. Himari’s barbed words still clung to her skin like nettles — Obito’s consort? As if he’d choose a commoner… a jinchuriki.

She tried to shake them off, but each whisper she caught, each darting glance, only tightened the ache in her chest.

She’d almost slipped past the carved pillar when a familiar figure stepped into her path.

“Rin,” Kakashi said, voice steady but softer than usual. His hand lifted — not to stop her, but to offer. “Dance with me.”

She blinked, startled. “Kakashi—”

“It’s just a dance.” His mouth curved faintly, the shadow of a smile that never reached his eyes. “You look like you could use the air.”

Despite herself, Rin let him lead her into the slow circle of couples.

The music was soft, lilting, the kind meant to thread bodies together beneath lantern light.

His hand settled at her waist — respectful, careful — while hers rested against the dark line of his sleeve.

They moved in time, the silk of her gown brushing against polished stone, the steady warmth of him grounding her.

For a few beats, neither spoke.

Then Kakashi’s voice broke the hush, low and careful.

“I know you’re Obito’s consort,” he said, not accusing, just stating. “I know you love him. And gods, he loves you.” His gray eyes flicked down to hers, searching. “But for days now… all I’ve seen is staring. Silence. You two don’t even stand together. Not tonight. Not yesterday.”

Her throat tightened.

“Kakashi—”

“What’s going on, Rin?” he pressed, quiet but insistent. “I’ve known you since we were children. I grew up at your brother’s side. Don’t tell me nothing’s wrong when I can see it plain as day.”

The music swelled, couples spun around them, but Rin’s chest ached under the weight of his words.

She looked away, fixing her gaze on the golden banners draped across the hall.

“It’s… complicated,” she murmured. “More than I can explain. More than I even understand myself.”

Kakashi’s hand tightened just slightly at her waist. Not possessive, but protective.

“You don’t have to tell me everything. But don’t shut me out. You’re family, Rin. You always have been. And if he’s hurting you—”

“He’s not,” she said quickly, too quickly. Her breath caught, the denial sharp. “Obito isn’t—he’d never—”

The look in Kakashi’s eyes softened, the concern sharper now for all he didn’t say.

He only nodded, though, letting it go, because he knew pressing further would make her retreat.

The song ebbed, the dance dissolved into bows and curtsies. Kakashi released her hand gently, his expression unreadable save for the faint shadow in his eyes.

Rin dipped her head, murmured thanks, and slipped away before the silence could swallow them whole.

She walked aimlessly, letting the tide of nobles sweep around her, until the whispers caught her ear again.

“Obito’s engagement—”
“Princess Himari—”
“Draw up the contracts within days—”

The words bit deep.

Each one like a stone pressed onto her chest. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t find him — not Obito, not Sakura, no anchor among the sea of silks and torches.

They’ll never see you as anything but a beast in silk, Isobu’s voice rumbled from within, dark and heavy. Do you feel it, little one? The way they stare. The way they whisper. You are breaking, and they smell the cracks.

“Stop,” she whispered under her breath, her hands curling at her sides.

Her eyes burned, but she forced her chin high, weaving through the throng until the doors loomed ahead.

She needed air. She needed silence.

And as the last of the music swelled behind her, Rin slipped away, whispering to herself more than anyone else:

“I’m going to bed.”

The corridor was nearly silent but for the distant murmur of the feast.

Rin’s steps were quick, almost desperate, the silver of her gown whispering over the polished stone.

She was at her chamber door—hand already on the latch—when his voice broke the quiet.

“Hello, Mrs. Hatake.”

She froze.

For a heartbeat, she just stood there, her chest constricting at the sound of him.

Alive.

Speaking to her.

After two days of nothing but glances like knives.

She turned, already staring at him where he lingered in the torchlight.

Relief crashed through her, so sharp it almost buckled her knees.

And then the words sank in.

Her lips parted, eyes narrowing as the venom laced through the syllables hit her like a blade.

Mrs. Hatake.

“…What did you just say?” Her voice was soft, but it cut.

Obito’s eyes gleamed faintly crimson in the flicker of flame. His mouth curved, not in a smile but something harsher.

“Didn’t you hear? The whispers carry faster than fire. Kakashi’s bride. The Crown Prince’s consort. The court can’t seem to decide which one you are.”

Rin’s breath left her in a hiss, fury chasing away the sting of hurt.

“So, you believe them? The same man who hasn’t spoken a word to me in days chooses tonight to throw gossip in my face?”

His jaw flexed, arms crossing over his chest.

“I don’t believe them. But I hear them. And I see you—walking these halls alone, letting every eye in this palace drink you in.”

His gaze dragged down her body, the silver gown clinging to her curves, the bare line of her back glowing under the torches. His voice roughened.

“You think I don’t notice?”

Her pulse jumped.

Her pulse jumped. Anger tangled with heat, and she stepped forward, fire sparking in her eyes.

“Notice? Gods, Obito, you haven’t said a single thing to me! You glare, you brood, but you don’t speak. What am I supposed to think? That you care? That you trust me?”

Her voice broke sharper. “Trust? Don’t you dare say that word to me. When you woke up, not once did you send me word. Not once did you write to me. I was nothing to you—not even worth a letter. And now you stand here, demanding trust?”

Obito’s jaw locked, the scar at his mouth twisting with the force of it.

Rin’s voice climbed, sharp and cutting with false cheer, her hands trembling at her sides. “But of course—you didn’t have time, did you? The Crown Prince has more important things to worry about. Like the radiant Princess Himari. I’ve heard the whispers. Congratulations.” She almost laughed, the sound raw, bitter. “Truly, I’m happy for you both.”

His eyes burned, the crimson in them dark and violent. “Is that what you think?” he rasped. “That I’ve chosen her?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” she flung back. Her breath shuddered as she forced the words out. “Obviously I meant nothing to you—because if I had, you would have written. You would have said something.”

Obito’s chest heaved, his silence scalding. Then, suddenly, his voice came low and rough: “And what about your letters, Rin?”

Her breath caught.

“I wrote to you,” she hissed, trembling with fury. “Dozens of times. Poured my soul into words you never answered. Do you know what it’s like to wait and wait and get nothing? To wonder if you were alive, if you even cared if I was?”

For the first time, his mask cracked. His eyes widened—barely, but enough—and he stepped closer, as though he’d been struck.

The venom in her voice faltered for a heartbeat, confusion flashing in her eyes. “Then what did you mean, back there? Mrs. Hatake.”

Obito’s hand dipped inside his cloak, slow, deliberate, and when it emerged, parchment glinted faintly in the torchlight. He held it out between them like a blade.

The marriage certificate.

Her breath hitched as her eyes scanned the ink. Her own name. Kakashi’s. The seals. Her blood drained cold, her lips parting in shock.

And Obito saw it. The raw, unguarded disbelief tearing through her face.

The realization hit him like a hammer.

She had no idea.

Something inside him shifted, his fury curdling into something heavier, darker.

The pieces twisted into place—the whispers, the letters that never reached him, the false union written in official hands.

Someone was playing them.

Someone wanted them broken.

His Sharingan flickered, burning wild and dangerous as his gaze locked on her.

Her breath shuddered as she stared at the parchment, her lips moving but no words coming.

The ink bled together, names and seals that didn’t make sense, that couldn’t make sense.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide, voice trembling but edged with steel.

“Explain this,” she demanded, holding the parchment between them like it was burning her.

Obito’s jaw flexed, his gaze boring into hers, hot and merciless.

“No,” he said, his voice low and ragged. “I want an explanation too. How did this end up with your name on it? How does Kakashi’s name stand beside yours?”

“I don’t know what this is,” Rin shot back, her breath hitching, her pulse wild against her throat. “I swear to the gods, Obito, I don’t know. I’ve never seen this before in my life.”

“Convenient,” he bit out, stepping closer, his shadow cutting across her as the torchlight danced along the marble walls.

Her chin lifted, fire in her eyes even as her heart hammered.

“Do you think I’d lie about something like this?”

His hand fisted at his side, knuckles whitening.

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Her voice cracked, fury tangled with desperation.

“Gods, Obito! Then look at me! Look at me and tell me I knew about this—because if I had, do you think I’d be standing here like a fool, begging you to believe me?”

The silence between them was sharp, dangerous, like the instant before lightning strikes.

The firelight roared in the brazier outside, casting their shadows long and jagged against the stone.

Obito’s breathing was heavy, controlled only by the iron discipline he was barely holding together.

Rin’s hands shook as she clutched the parchment, the seal of lies that had been placed between them.

For a flicker of a moment, neither moved. Just their eyes, locked, burning with hurt and fury and something raw neither dared name.

Obito’s eyes narrowed, his voice like a blade dragged across stone.

“Then who?” He took a step closer, the parchment still between them, crumpling slightly in her trembling hand. “Who do you think would have done this—and why?”

Rin shook her head, her breath quick and uneven. “I don’t know,” she whispered, desperate. “I don’t—Obito, I don’t know.”

His jaw worked, his voice low, guttural.

“And my letters?”

Her brows furrowed, confusion flashing through the tears stinging her eyes.

“Letters?” she echoed.

His gaze cut through her like fire.

“You didn’t get them?”

Her throat went dry.

“You… wrote to me?”

His chest rose sharply, the control snapping in his voice.

“Every damned day, Rin. Every day I bled into those words, I begged you to come, to answer me. I sent a carriage—” His voice broke with fury and grief. “I sent for you. And all I ever got back was rejection. Silence. Nothing.”

Her lips parted, horror dawning slow and brutal across her face.

“I never… I never got anything.”

He stepped in closer, his shadow drowning hers, his eyes burning crimson beneath lowered lashes.

“Minato brought it to me.” His words struck like iron. “When he went to Konoha.”

Her breath caught, the blood in her veins turning to ice.

“He knew better than to believe it without proof,” Obito continued, his tone laced with venom meant for whoever forged it. “So he put it in my hands himself. A certificate—signed, sealed—saying you belonged to another. Saying you were Hakate’s wife.”

Rin staggered back a step, shaking her head violently, her pulse hammering so hard she thought her chest might split open. “No. No, that’s impossible—Obito, I never—”

But the paper trembled between them, undeniable.

And in his gaze, for the first time, she saw something crack—something that wasn’t rage, but the quiet, searing wound of a man who had nearly believed it.

Obito’s grip tightened on the parchment before he lowered it, eyes burning into hers.

His voice was jagged now, every word meant to cut.

“Tell me straight, Rin. Did Hatake ask you to marry him?”

Her breath caught, outrage flashing through her. “No!”

“Did you kiss him?” he pressed, his jaw taut.

Her cheeks flamed, her fists curling at her sides. “Of course not—”

“Did you fuck him?” His words were low, brutal. “Did you spread your legs for him? Or worse—” his teeth bared, venom spilling like poison, “—did you suck his dick?”

The slap of shame and fury hit her all at once.

Her face flushed hot, her eyes burning as she stepped into him, shoving at his chest.

“Damn you, Obito! Damn you!” Her voice broke, trembling with rage. “How dare you? You think so little of me? After everything? After all we’ve been through. You dare?”

Her words lashed him, but he didn’t move.

His breath came harsh, his hands twitching at his sides like he was holding back a storm.

“You don’t get to stand there,” she spat, chest heaving, “and accuse me of crawling to Kakashi when it was you who never wrote me, never sent for me, left me to rot with nothing but silence! And now you want to talk about trust?”

Her fury rang through the hall like steel on stone, and for a breath it seemed she might strike him. But Obito moved first.

His hand shot out, catching her wrist, dragging her flush against him. His voice was a growl against her ear, ragged and raw.

“Because if I thought for a second it was true, Rin—if I thought for a second you let him touch what’s mine—I’d burn this whole kingdom to ash.”

Her gasp barely left her lips before his mouth crashed onto hers, bruising, hungry, consuming—venom and longing colliding in fire.

His mouth crashed onto hers, all fury and fire, bruising her lips until she gasped against him.

Obito swallowed the sound like a man starved, one hand fisting in the silk at her back, the other crushing her hip to his.

She shoved at him, furious, but the fight bled into fire the moment his teeth grazed her lip.

A broken moan slipped from her throat—soft, betraying, desperate. He growled at the sound, like her weakness was gasoline to the inferno consuming him.

Her back hit the cold stone wall, his body pinning hers there. His hand slid up, cupping the side of her throat, thumb pressing into her racing pulse.

“Mine,” he rasped against her mouth, his breath hot, ragged. “Say it, Rin.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders through the fabric of his coat, half to claw him away, half to drag him closer.

Her chest heaved, fury colliding with need until it was one and the same.

“Damn you, Obito…” she whispered, the words breaking into a moan as his mouth left hers to trail down her throat. His tongue traced the hollow, his teeth scraping, pulling another gasp from her lips.

Her legs buckled—until instinct took over.

She hooked one thigh around his hip, then the other, locking herself against him.

He caught her instantly, hands gripping the curve of her ass, hauling her higher against the wall.

She clung to him, her body arching as his mouth devoured her neck, her collarbone, anywhere his teeth and tongue could brand her.

“Obito—” his name broke from her, raw and aching, and the sound wrecked him.

He ground against her, hard and frantic, the thick press of him dragging against the heat between her thighs.

She gasped, her hips answering, rocking against him as though every nerve in her body demanded it.

Her moans grew louder, the sound sharp and wet in his ear as his thrusts grew rougher, frantic.

Her skirt rode up higher with every grind of his hips, the thin barrier of fabric all but useless against the ache of him pressing, demanding.

“Gods,” he hissed against her skin, his breath shaking. “Rin…”

Her nails raked through his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers, kissing him like drowning.

Their tongues tangled, messy, breathless, her moans breaking between every clash of lips.

He was everywhere—his hands clutching, kneading, his mouth sucking bruises into her neck, his hips rutting against her like he’d die if he stopped.

Her nails raked through his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers, kissing him like drowning. Their tongues tangled, messy, breathless, her moans breaking between every clash of lips. He was everywhere—his hands clutching, kneading, his mouth sucking bruises into her neck, his hips rutting against her like he’d die if he stopped.

“Obito—” her voice cracked, desperate, torn between fury and surrender.

That broke something in him. With a guttural sound, he tore himself from the wall, lifting her bodily into his arms. Her legs clung tighter around his waist as he carried her down the corridor, his mouth never leaving hers, their kisses frantic and raw.

Halfway to her chamber, he slammed her back against the cold stone, pinning her there again as though he couldn’t wait another step.

His coat slipped from his shoulders, the clasps of his shirt tearing loose beneath her fists as she clawed him closer.

He ripped the rest open himself, the hard lines of his chest brushing against the silk of her gown.

Her hands flattened against his skin, trembling, then sliding higher, higher, until they tangled around his neck, dragging him down to her again.

He kissed her harder, bruising, devouring, his hands locked beneath her thighs as he ground her back into the wall.

“Damn you,” she whispered against his mouth, her words breaking on a moan.

Her palm cracked across his cheek an instant later, sharp, defiant—her body trembling in his arms even as she struck him.

The sound echoed, but Obito only groaned, low and ragged, his forehead pressing to hers as his breath tore out of him.

His fists clenched in the fabric of her gown, his chest heaving.

And then, without a word, he pushed off the wall, carrying her the rest of the way.

He shouldered open her chamber door, stumbling inside with her pinned to him like he’d never let her go, the taste of her still hot and desperate on his tongue.

He tore his shirt open, the clasps snapping, the fabric sliding off his shoulders as he staggered the last steps into her chamber with her still in his arms. The firelight from the sconces spilled over him—hard planes of muscle, broad shoulders—but her breath caught not at his body, but at the scar carved deep across his chest.

The one that had nearly killed him.

Her throat closed. She had seen him broken before, bloodied, fighting for breath, and each time she had poured her strength into him, begging the gods not to take him.

But here it was again, brutal and real, etched into him as a reminder of how close she had come to losing him.

Her hand slipped from around his neck, trembling as she pressed her palm flat against that scar.

A soft glow kindled at her touch—Isobu’s power stirring unbidden, flowing through her like a tide.

For less than two minutes, the light pulsed, threads of warmth seeping into torn flesh long since hardened into scar tissue.

He froze. That feeling—gods, he remembered. The same warmth that had anchored him when he’d been slipping into the dark. Her power, her touch, her will dragging him back when he’d wanted to let go.

His eyes lifted to hers, wide, raw. “Rin…” His voice cracked, lower than a whisper. “I was gone. I was lost in the dark without you. And you—” his chest rose, fell, unsteady as her hand lingered against him “—you pulled me back. You always did.”

Her lips trembled, eyes burning, but she didn’t look away.

Obito’s grip on her thighs tightened, his forehead pressing hard to hers as though he needed her to feel the truth vibrating in him. “I love you. Gods, Rin—I fucking love you.” The words tore out of him like they’d been caged for years, every syllable shaking with desperation and devotion.

Her eyes widened, the tears spilling hot and quick before she could stop them. Her body softened against his, her breath breaking in a sob, her hand still glowing faintly against his chest.

“Obito…” she whispered, and in her voice was all the years she had waited, all the nights she had wondered, all the ache that had been festering between them.

He kissed her then, nothing gentle, nothing restrained—just raw hunger tangled with love, as though he’d die before letting her go again.

Obito’s words were still burning between them when he shifted her higher in his arms, carrying her deeper into the chamber. His mouth devoured hers as he moved, teeth grazing, tongue demanding, until her legs clung tighter around him, her fingers clutching at his bare shoulders.

The bed loomed just steps away, but he stopped short, breath ragged, Sharingan glowing like embers in the low firelight.

Slowly—deliberately—he set her down, but not gently, his hands keeping her pinned against the carved edge of a column.

His chest heaved, scar still warm from her touch, his voice breaking rough as gravel.

“Show me,” he growled, his thumb tracing her swollen bottom lip. “Show me how much you missed me. You wrote it in those letters, didn’t you?” His gaze burned, scarlet and black, daring her to deny it. “How you missed my cock in your mouth.”

Her face flushed hot, a shiver running through her as the memory of her own words came rushing back—every letter where she’d written how she ached to taste him again.

Her lips parted, breath quickening, not in protest but in need.

Her fingers lingered at his waist, as though testing the reality of him, before slipping down to the fastening of his trousers.

The memory of the last time flickered through her—how she had knelt for him, how the taste of him had burned itself into her mind long after—but it had never gone further than that.

She had never been taken by him, never felt him wholly claim her.

And yet, here she was again, trembling with want.

The button came loose beneath her touch, the quiet snap impossibly loud in the stillness. She drew in a shaky breath and pushed the fabric down, her hands reverent, almost desperate.

The sight of him made her chest ache with longing, her body clenching with need. She had missed this—the impossible size of him, the way just looking at him made her feel both terrified and alive.

Her thighs pressed together as his hand slid into her hair, fingers threading gently, guiding her closer. She leaned into the touch, welcoming it, craving it.

Slow and steady, her mouth parted for him, willingly, eagerly—her pulse hammering with the weight of a moment she had begged for in ink, and in silence, and in dreams.

Her silver gown pooling around her like starlight at his feet.

His breath caught, every muscle strung tight as her fingers brushed his belt, trembling but deliberate.

When she freed his cock, heavy and hard in her hand, she looked up through her lashes—eyes wide, lips parted—and his chest clenched so hard it hurt.

Then she took him.

Obito’s head fell back, a low, guttural sound breaking from his throat.

His hand tightened in her hair as her mouth closed around him, heat and slick pressure stealing his breath.

“Gods—Rin…” His voice was ragged, already fraying, his hips twitching forward as her lips sealed tighter around him.

She moaned low in her throat, the vibration running straight through his cock, and the sound almost buckled his knees.

Her tongue dragged deliberately along his length, swirling at the tip before sliding him back down into her mouth, deeper, until her throat flexed around him.

The wet sounds of her sucking mixed with the soft, helpless whimpers she made—sweet, broken little noises that only drove him harder.

Every time she pulled back for breath, a string of spit clung between her lips and the swollen head of his cock, and then she swallowed him again, greedy, hungry.

Her hand worked the base, stroking what her mouth couldn’t take, each squeeze syncing with the rhythm of her lips.

His fingers tangled in her hair, pearl pins digging into his palm as he held on, watching her undo him.

She looked up through her lashes—moonlit eyes glazed with heat, her cheeks flushed, her lips stretched tight around him—and the sight shattered something in him.

“Fuck—Rin,” he groaned, his hips jerking into her mouth despite himself, every thrust met with another muffled moan from her throat, like she loved the way he filled her.

The silver gown clung to her body as she knelt for him, her back bare where the fabric dipped low, her breasts rising and falling with each breath, each moan—and Obito thought he might lose his mind.

Her moans grew wetter, needier, as though pleasing him pleased her too, the sound echoing in his ears as loud as his own ragged curses.

His muscles locked, fire racing up his spine—the edge crashing far too fast.

With a broken growl, he yanked her back, dragging her off him with shaking hands before it was too late.

His cock, slick and glistening with her spit, throbbed hot against her belly as he hauled her up, his mouth crashing down on hers. He kissed her hard, desperate, tasting himself on her lips, her moan spilling into his mouth.

“Not like that,” he rasped, breathless, almost frantic, his forehead pressed to hers. “Not there. Not yet.”

Obito carried her to the bed, his shirt already discarded, scars catching in the torchlight.

He lowered her carefully onto the sheets, but the hunger in his eyes burned hot enough to set the room alight.

“Lay back,” he murmured, voice rough, broken with need. “Let me see you.”

Rin’s chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths as she reclined against the pillows, her silver gown sliding down her body until it clung at her waist.

He took his time pulling it away, his hands trembling as though he couldn’t believe she was real, baring her inch by inch.

When she was naked beneath him, he paused—just for a breath—drinking her in with a reverence that made her cheeks flush and her heart ache.

His lips brushed her stomach, her hip, then lower, leaving trails of kisses that set her nerves on fire.

And then he spread her thighs apart with firm, steady hands, settling between them as though he’d been born to be there.

“Obito—” she whispered, her voice trembling, but the rest of her words shattered into a gasp when his mouth sealed over her pussy, hot and unrelenting.

His tongue pressed against her, dragging slow and deep, and the sudden shock of pleasure ripped a cry from her throat, her hips jerking helplessly against his mouth.

He groaned low, deep in his chest, as if the taste of her undid him completely.

His tongue swept against her, slow at first, then hungrier, devouring her like he’d gone years without and might never get the chance again.

Rin arched, her hands flying to his hair, tugging, but he only gripped her thighs tighter, holding her open, dragging moans from her throat until she was nearly sobbing his name.

“Gods—you’re—ahh—Obito—”

Every moan sent heat straight through him, every shudder of her hips made his restraint fracture more.

He sucked, licked, worshipped, his mouth relentless, desperate, as though proving to her, to himself, that she was his salvation, his damnation.

Her thighs trembled around his face, her nails scraping against his scalp as he pushed her higher, deeper into bliss.

He lifted his eyes once, crimson burning, and growled against her,

“Don’t hold back. I want all of it.”

She couldn’t hold anything back. Her body gave in, arching off the bed as she came against his mouth, her cries spilling wild and ragged.

“Oh gods—yes—please—don’t stop—” The words broke into whimpers, her voice shaking as her moans turned into desperate little pleas.

“Obito—ah—my love” she gasped, trembling, her back bowing as pleasure tore through her. Her nails clawed at the sheets, her thighs quivering around his head.

“Oh gods—Obito—please—yes—” Her voice cracked, raw and broken, the sounds tumbling out like confessions she couldn’t control.

But Obito didn’t stop.

He groaned against her pussy like she was his last breath, licking her through every wave, drinking her down until she was nothing but wrecked sound and shaking limbs.

His hands locked tight on her hips, forcing her to take every stroke of his tongue when her legs tried to close from the overwhelming intensity.

When she finally collapsed, trembling and undone, he kissed his way up—her thighs, her hips, her belly—slow, reverent, still wet with her release.

By the time he hovered over her, his lips were slick, his breath harsh, and his voice shredded raw when he brushed her mouth and whispered—

Obito’s lips glistened as he dragged them back down her thighs, burying himself between them once more.

Rin was still shivering, her body sensitive from her release, but he didn’t stop—he licked her again, slower this time, savoring her.

Her breath hitched, a weak moan breaking from her lips. “Obito… I can’t—”

“You can,” he rasped against her, the heat of his breath searing her. “You will. I’m not done tasting you.”

His tongue circled her with a maddening rhythm, sucking her clit into his mouth until she was arching again, clutching his hair like she might tear him away—but she couldn’t.

He wouldn’t let her.

Then she felt it—his hand sliding up the inside of her thigh. His mouth never faltered, but his finger slipped inside her, slow, deliberate, curling just right.

“Gods!” she gasped, her hips jerking.

Obito groaned against her, the vibration sending sparks through her core. He pumped his finger slowly, stretching her, testing her, as his mouth worked her mercilessly.

Her walls clenched around him, and he only growled low, adding pressure with every stroke.

“Obito—please—”

Her plea turned into a cry when a second finger pressed in beside the first, filling her deeper, pushing her open.

His tongue never relented, lapping her up, teasing, devouring, until she was trembling under him.

“Look at you,” he muttered against her, his voice wrecked with hunger. “So tight, so perfect… clenching around me like you’ve been waiting for this.”

Her thighs quivered, her hands pulling at his hair, her breath a broken song of his name. “I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he snarled softly, thrusting his fingers deeper, curling them until she was writhing against his mouth. “You’ll give me every sound, Rin. Every. Single. One.”

Her body gave in, surrendering, the build sharp and merciless. She shattered again with a sob, her back arching, his mouth sealing over her as if he’d drink every drop of her release.

Obito didn’t stop until she was limp against the pillows, her body glowing with sweat and tears at the corners of her eyes.

His lips and chin were wet with her, his crimson eyes burning as he pulled his fingers from her, licking them clean like he’d never get enough.

“Gods,” he whispered, crawling up over her trembling body, his breath ragged. He kissed her hard, letting her taste herself on his tongue. “You’re going to ruin me tonight.”

Obito’s chest heaved as he hovered over her, the weight of years and every burning thought in his head pressing down on him.

He’d told himself a thousand times that when this moment came, he’d be careful—gentle, tender, the way she deserved.

But that was before he’d seen that gods-damned certificate.

Before he’d heard her say another man’s name. Before he’d imagined her moaning, writhing, crying out for someone else.

Now?

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe.

All he could do was claim her.

His mouth crushed down on hers, rough and consuming, swallowing every gasp. His hands pinned her wrists hard into the sheets as he shoved his hips forward. The thick head of his cock pushed against her soaked entrance, parting her folds with ruthless pressure. Rin gasped into his mouth, her body arching helplessly beneath him as slick heat clung to him, her cunt yielding inch by inch to his relentless drive.

“Obito—”

Cutting her off as he slammed into her in one hard thrust.

Her cry split the air, her back bowing against the mattress.

He felt the resistance break, the undeniable proof of her innocence tearing around him. Maiden blood. His vision went red.

He froze for half a breath, his jaw clenching, his lungs burning—but then he dragged back, saw the smear of blood on himself, and something inside him snapped.

A harsh, guttural sound tore from his throat as he shoved back into her, harder, deeper.

No hesitation now.

No gentleness.

Just raw, merciless need.

Rin clutched at him, her nails raking his back, her eyes wide with shock and tears—but her body opened for him, clenching around him, pulling him deeper even as she gasped his name.

Obito’s teeth bared in something between a snarl and a groan as he pounded into her, every thrust bruising, claiming, erasing the phantom of any other man.

His pace was relentless, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the quiet chamber.

“You thought—” he hissed between thrusts, lips dragging hot against her ear, “—anyone else could have this?”

She sobbed, shaking her head, but he didn’t slow—he drove harder, rougher, grinding himself as deep as her body could take, each thrust stealing another broken sound from her throat.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice raw, venom and devotion tangled together.

“Obito!” she cried, her voice breaking, her body quaking beneath him. “Obito—I’m yours!”

Her confession shattered his control. His hips slammed forward, punishing, his hand gripping her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes through the blur of tears and pleasure. Her cries spilled into moans, ragged, needy, her voice breaking on his name again and again.

Her body arched up to him, legs trembling, locking tight around his waist. Every brutal thrust had her gasping, moaning, whimpering—sounds that undid him, made him drive deeper, harder, until the wet slap of their bodies filled the chamber.

“Say it again,” he growled, forehead pressing to hers, his breath ragged. “Tell me who you’re giving this to.”

“You—!” she gasped, nails clawing his back, her voice a plea tangled with a sob. “Always you—only you!”

Her cunt clenched desperately around him, hot and wet, sucking him deeper until he groaned low in his throat, the sound half agony, half worship. His hand slid from her jaw to her throat—not choking, but holding her there, grounding her to him as he thrust harder, harder, until she was screaming his name into the dark.

“You don’t understand,” he rasped, every word breaking against her moans. “The thought of someone else… touching you, fucking you—” his voice cracked, unguarded, raw, “—I would’ve burned kingdoms to stop it.”

Her breath hitched, her release crashing into her, her moans turning frantic and high-pitched as she convulsed beneath him.

He lost his breath, fucking into her harder losing his rhythm.

Her body clenched around him in violent spasms, tight and wet, gripping him so hard he could barely move. Each pulse dragged him deeper, milking him mercilessly, until his control snapped. His thrusts faltered, then slammed forward with reckless desperation, grinding him to the hilt.

“Fuck—Rin,” he groaned, voice breaking against her ear, “you’re so fucking tight—I’m gonna… I’m coming—”

His words dissolved into a guttural growl as his cock jerked inside her, spilling hot, heavy spurts deep into her.

He ground harder against her, like he wanted to bury every drop, to load her full until she could feel nothing but him.

Her moans tangled with his curses, her body arching into him, trembling as each pulse of his release filled her.

He clutched her tighter, rutting through the waves, gasping against her mouth as he emptied himself inside her in hot, overwhelming rushes.

For a moment, he didn’t move. His body was locked against hers, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to hers, his mouth dragging ragged breaths against her skin. Then he dropped lower, his face buried in the curve of her neck, hot breath spilling against her damp skin as both of them struggled to catch air.

Rin’s body trembled beneath him, her legs still locked tight around his waist. She felt him everywhere—thick and heavy inside her, throbbing with every aftershock as hot waves of his release spilled deeper.

The ache between her thighs burned sharp, the sting of his rough claiming still fresh, but it blurred into something else—into warmth, into fullness, into a pleasure that stole her breath even through the pain.

She gasped when another spurt pulsed inside, her walls fluttering helplessly around him, squeezing, trying to take it all.

The stretch of him was unbearable, his heat searing through her, and yet she clung tighter, nails digging into his back as if she could fuse them together.

Obito groaned low into her neck, shuddering as her body milked him, his hips grinding one last time like he couldn’t stand to leave her empty.

Rin’s lashes fluttered, her cheeks damp, her lips swollen from his kiss. And still—still—she whispered his name like a prayer. “Obito…”

His chest clenched.

He kissed her again, softer now, but still desperate, still tasting of possession and love he could no longer hold back.

“I love you, Rin.”

Obito’s body trembled as he pulled out, his breath ragged, the last of his release leaving him in a shuddering groan.

For a moment he hovered there, staring down at her—at Rin’s flushed face, the wet sheen of tears still clinging to her lashes, the faint whimper that slipped from her lips as his heat spilled out of her.

And then he saw it.

Blood. Dark against the sheets, streaked over her thighs where he’d been inside her.

His chest seized. The fire in his body snapped into ice.

“Gods,” he rasped, his voice breaking as he dragged a hand down his face. His jaw clenched tight, guilt clawing at him as he looked at the mess he’d made of her. “Rin…”

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her hair spilled loose across the pillow, her body trembling with the echo of pleasure and pain. Tears still tracked her cheeks, but when her eyes opened, hazy and soft, she whispered his name again—this time not in anguish, but in quiet need.

Obito cursed under his breath, pressing a hard kiss to her temple before pulling back. “Don’t move,” he murmured, the command ragged but gentle. “Stay.”

He left her only long enough for the sound of water to run in the adjoining chamber. A door creaked, footsteps padded, and then he was back—barefoot, bare-chested, his scar stark in the torchlight. In his hands, a small bowl of steaming water and a folded cloth.

Obito set them on the bedside table, his movements harsh but precise, as though punishing himself for every second of his carelessness. He dipped the cloth, wrung it out, then lowered himself back onto the mattress beside her.

“I’m sorry…” His voice cracked, low and aching, as he brushed the damp cloth tenderly along the inside of her thigh, cleaning away the blood and seed.

“I should’ve been gentle. I should’ve taken my time.” His hand trembled as he wiped her, as though he feared even this touch might hurt her further.

Rin’s breath hitched, another tear slipping free—but when his eyes snapped to hers, she shook her head weakly.

“I liked it,” she whispered, voice broken but firm. Her hand found his wrist, stopping the cloth’s path for just a heartbeat.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Obito. I wanted it—I wanted you.”

His throat worked, his chest heaving, crimson eyes burning with a guilt he couldn’t let go of. He bent low, pressing his lips to her damp cheek, kissing away the tear.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he admitted hoarsely. “I swore I’d worship you, make it perfect, make it soft. And instead, I—” His jaw clenched, and he swallowed hard before he could finish.

Her fingers curled against his skin, weak but insistent. “You made it real,” she said, her voice shaking, but her gaze never wavering.

“Rough, raw—but it was us. And gods, Obito…” her lips trembled, her cheeks flushed, “…I’ve never felt more alive.”

For a long moment he stilled, cloth forgotten, bowl cooling at the bedside.

His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing gently over her skin, as though he were memorizing the shape of her face all over again.

The water bowl sat forgotten on the table, the washcloth damp and cooling in Obito’s hand until he finally set it aside.

Rin lay against the pillows, skin flushed, breath still uneven, her body marked by him in ways neither of them could ever undo.

When he finally slid back into bed, he pulled her against his chest, one arm wrapping around her waist as though he feared she might vanish if he let go.

Naked skin pressed to naked skin, her warmth melted against his as his chin brushed the crown of her hair.

Rin shifted, just enough to bury her face against the scar on his chest, her arm draping across him.

She could hear the wild, uneven rhythm of his heart.

“You’re trembling,” she whispered, voice small in the hush.

Obito exhaled hard through his nose, his hand splaying across her back.

“I nearly ruined it,” he rasped, still haunted. “You deserved tenderness. And all I gave you was fire.”

Rin tilted her head just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes heavy-lidded but steady.

“Then let it burn,” she whispered back. “Because I wanted you—not the dream of you. Not the prince. Just you.”

For a moment, the weight of her words hung between them like something holy.

Obito pressed his lips to her hair, breathing her in, letting her anchor him.

Minutes bled away in silence, the world outside forgotten.

Just the two of them, tangled together in a bed that suddenly felt less like a battlefield and more like a promise.

But then, slowly, Obito stirred.

He slid away, reluctantly, untangling himself from her warmth.

Rin’s brow furrowed in confusion, her hand catching at the sheet to cover herself as she propped up on her elbows.

“Where are you—?”

He didn’t answer at first.

He crossed the room, muscles flexing in the torchlight, and knelt before the leather pack he’d discarded hours earlier.

For a long moment, his back was to her. His hand moved inside, then stilled.

When he turned, he carried something small in his palm.

Obito returned to the bed, settling at her side.

He didn’t ask for her hand—he simply took it, large fingers wrapping around hers with a command that was both tender and absolute.

Then he slid the ring onto her finger.

It stole her breath.

A heavy band of platinum, gleaming like moonlight, clasped her hand. At its center blazed a ruby, large and blood-red, a stone cut so finely it seemed to hold fire within. Diamonds encircled it, clear and cold, glittering like stars. Flames were etched into the metal itself, curling protectively around the gem, as if to declare: this fire is eternal, this fire is guarded.

A ring worthy of a queen.

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

She could only stare as the torchlight caught the ruby, flames alive in the depths of it.

Obito’s voice was low, hoarse, the words edged with steel and devotion both.

“After this wedding is done, you’re coming home with me. Back to Akatsuki. No more distance, no more silence. You’re mine, Rin. My consort, my queen.”

His eyes burned crimson even in the dim, the truth of his vow carved into every line of his face.

She whispered the only truth left between them.

“Then take me home.”

Obito bent, capturing her mouth again—this time soft, this time steady—as though sealing the vow he’d already placed on her finger.

Chapter 34: MORE THAN A WHORE/THE SERPENT BENEATH THE STONE/BLADES AND LIES/BLOSSOMS IN POISON/LITTLE JINCHURIKI/THE GARDEN HUNT/A BROTHER’S TREACHERY/

                         

 

                 MORE THAN A WHORE

 

 

The morning sun spilled through the high windows, soft gold warming tangled sheets.

Rin’s breath came in shallow, broken gasps, her body slick with sweat, thighs quivering as they clung to Obito’s hips.

He moved over her in slow, heavy thrusts—deep, deliberate strokes that made her tremble apart beneath him.

Every drag of him inside her pulled another shiver, another helpless sound from her throat until she was gasping into his mouth, kissing him through the waves of heat crashing over her.

He was close—she could feel it.

In the rough grind of his hips, the way his control slipped.

In the harsh rasp of his breathing against her neck.

And in the way her name broke from him—low, guttural, desperate—like a prayer he couldn’t stop repeating.

And that was the moment the door creaked open.

“Rin?”

Her mother’s voice cut like a blade through silk.

Both froze.

Obito’s eyes went wide, his body seizing above hers, then he shoved back too fast—losing his balance and nearly tumbling off the bed entirely.

The sheets tangled around his legs, his bare chest heaving, the scars across him catching the sunlight as he scrambled.

Rin gasped, yanking for the nearest scrap of fabric—only to find the small towel they’d discarded hours ago.

She clutched the towel to her chest, but it was laughably inadequate—thin fabric that barely concealed the swell of her breasts and dipped short enough to leave the tops of her thighs exposed.

Every hurried step made it slip lower, threatening to give way entirely.

“Mother—!” her voice cracked.

But her mother wasn’t looking at her face.

Her eyes had dropped, shock turning to rage as she caught the sight neither Rin nor Obito had been quick enough to hide—slick wetness glistening down Rin’s thighs, staining her skin in a way that made the truth undeniable.

Obito found his trousers, dragging them on with a speed that was almost military, his jaw clenched, his face iron.

He moved instantly to Rin’s side, his hand firm around her waist, dragging her small, trembling frame closer to his, shielding her with his own body.

Rin’s mother’s gaze swept the room—and then it stopped.

On the table by the bed.

On the basin.

On the folded cloth, faintly stained, proof of what had just been taken.

Her face went rigid, the fury boiling over into words like acid.

“You couldn’t even be happy for Princess Himari,” she spat, voice shaking.

“Happy for her upcoming nuptials to the Akatsuki prince. No. You had to go and make yourself his whore.”

Rin’s chest cracked with the words, her fingers trembling as she pulled the sheet tighter around her shoulders.

Tears blurred her vision, but she bit them back, refusing to cry like a child before her mother.

Obito’s nostrils flared, rage rising in him like wildfire.

He reached, caught Rin’s hand, and raised it high—so the firelight struck the ring blazing on her finger.

The ruby burned crimson, caged in diamonds, undeniable.

“She is my future queen. Do you see this ring? It’s not Himari’s. It’s Rin’s. And how we choose to celebrate it, that is no one’s concern but ours.”

His words fell like iron—unapologetic, merciless.

Her mother recoiled as if slapped, but her lips pressed tight, her voice cutting sharper.

“You think a jewel makes her worthy? You think the crown will accept a jinchuriki as queen? You’ll damn us all.”

Rin’s tears broke free then, sliding hot down her cheeks.

“Mother—”

But Obito’s hand tightened on hers, his eyes burning red as he cut her off.

“Enough. Rin has bled, fought, suffered more than any of your pampered nobles. She is stronger than Himari, stronger than half your court—and she is mine.”

Her mother’s mouth twisted, trembling between horror and disbelief.

“You will ruin her. Do you hear me? You’ll drag her into your wars, your blood, until nothing of her is left. I raised her to survive, not to be consumed by you!”

Rin snapped then, her voice breaking but fierce.

“Consumed? I chose him! Every day I chose him, even when my letters were silenced, even when I thought he had abandoned me. Don’t you dare stand there and call me a whore when you don’t even know—when you’ve never once asked me what I want!”

The silence rang like steel.

Her mother’s eyes widened at her defiance, her mouth parting in shock.

But Obito’s chest swelled with a dark, fierce pride, his hand steady on Rin’s waist, anchoring her.

Then his gaze snapped back to her mother, unflinching, unyielding.

“Mark my words. Rin is not some passing indulgence. She wears my proposal ring, and when this cursed wedding is done, she comes home with me. And anyone who tries to deny her—be it court, crown, or family—will answer to me.”

The torchlight burned red in his eyes, and for the first time, Rin’s mother faltered.

Obito’s gaze was like steel, his voice low enough to silence the air.

Rin flinched, tears brimming. The insult cut deeper than any blade, shame burning in her chest.

Her mother recoiled, breath catching at the ruthless finality in his tone. But her spine stiffened again, fury hardening her words.

“You think her father will accept this? You think her brother will stomach it? You dishonor our house, Uchiha. Do you know what this will do to us?”

Obito’s jaw flexed, but his voice remained iron, steady and merciless.

“I’ll be speaking with her father this afternoon.”

Her mother’s lips curled in bitter triumph.

“And what if he refuses? What if he casts you out and forbids her hand?”

The faintest smirk tugged at Obito’s scarred mouth as he lowered Rin’s trembling hand, thumb brushing over the ring now snug on her finger.

His eyes burned crimson, hard as a drawn blade.

“Then it won’t matter,” he said coldly. “Whether he says yes or no—we’re getting married. I’m not asking permission. I’m giving him the courtesy of knowing.”

Rin’s mother sucked in a sharp breath, as though struck. The weight of his words pressed heavy in the chamber, defiance and inevitability wrapped together in steel.

And Rin—despite the sting of her mother’s words, despite her trembling—felt Obito’s arm still steady around her, unyielding.

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, her voice cutting like glass.

“You’ll destroy us, Rin. Do you understand? You’ll shame this house. You’ll bring nothing but ruin when the court laughs at you—a jinchuriki playing queen.”

Rin’s chest heaved, her nails biting into the sheet she clutched around her.

For a moment, her lip trembled—but then she straightened, tears burning as she met her mother’s eyes head-on.

“I love him,” she said, her voice breaking but fierce. “And he loves me. That is all that matters.”

Her mother’s face twisted, disbelief and fury colliding.

But Rin pressed on, stronger now, the words spilling like fire.

“You and Father need to get over your anger toward the Akatsuki and the Uchiha—because your daughter is going to be their queen one day. Whether you accept it or not.”

Obito’s grip on her waist tightened, pride blazing in his crimson gaze as he watched her stand her ground.

Rin took a shuddering breath, her eyes softening as she turned toward Obito briefly, then back to her mother.

“They welcomed me. Do you hear me? The Uchiha treated me with nothing but kindness, nothing but respect. None of them looked at me differently because of what I carry—none of them whispered behind my back or treated me like I was cursed. They… they loved me.”

Her voice broke, but she forced it steady. “And Obito…” Her gaze dropped briefly, then lifted again, unwavering. “Obito ran toward me. He didn’t fear me. He didn’t shun me. He worships me.”

Her mother’s lips parted, the words dying on her tongue, struck by the raw conviction in Rin’s tone.

Obito’s hand slid up her back, steadying her, and though his face remained cold, his eyes burned with a pride so fierce it almost hurt.

The silence hung thick, Rin’s words still echoing.

Her mother’s face was pale, her jaw clenched tight, but her voice came low, strained.

“Leave us, Prince Obito. I would have words with my daughter—alone.”

Obito didn’t move at first.

His sharingan eyes cut toward her, sharp and suspicious, like a predator unwilling to turn his back.

His gaze flicked to Rin, searching her face.

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening on the sheet wrapped around her body. Then she gave him the faintest nod.

“It’s alright,” she whispered. “Go.”

Obito’s jaw worked, but he obeyed her word.

He bent, gathering his discarded shirt and leathers from the floor.

Every movement was deliberate, steady, controlled rage simmering under the surface.

When he came to her side, Rin had tucked herself tightly in the towel, her hair tousled, her cheeks still flushed from both their passion and the shame of being caught.

He leaned down, close, his forehead brushing hers.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

Her heart clenched, but her eyes stayed steady.

“I’m sure.”

Obito’s lips brushed hers—soft, fleeting, but full of meaning. Then, low enough for Rin’s mother to hear, he whispered, “I love you.”

When he drew back, his gaze snapped to her mother.

And though he didn’t speak another word to her, the Sharingan flickered faint in his eyes, crimson spinning like a death-stare, a warning sharp enough to chill blood.

Then he straightened, pulled on his shirt, and strode for the door.

The latch clicked shut behind him, the echo of his presence lingering in the air like fire.

Rin sat clutching the sheet tighter, her pulse racing, her mother’s eyes heavy on her as the silence fell again.

The door clicked shut behind Obito, and the silence that followed felt like a blade held to the throat. Rin clutched the towel tighter to her chest, pulse still racing, cheeks hot.

Her mother stood rigid by the doorway, pale, lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low but laced with venom.
“So the rumors were true,” she said coldly. “About you being the Crown Prince’s consort.”

Rin’s heart lurched, but before she could speak, her mother’s eyes narrowed further.

“And I suppose the whispers are true about your cousin as well. Sakura—and the young prince, Sasuke.”

She shook her head, almost in disbelief. “Do you girls have no shame? They are Uchiha—royalty. Do you truly believe they would take commoners’ daughters seriously?”

Rin’s grip on the towel tightened until her knuckles turned white. Heat flared through her chest—anger, shame, heartbreak all tangled.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it.

Her mother’s brows rose, sharp.

“Don’t I?”

Rin’s throat burned. The words spilled before she could hold them back.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through. What I’ve seen these past six months. Do you think I asked for this? Do you think I didn’t know better? Gods, I tried to fight it—” Her voice cracked, and she bit down hard on the swell of tears.

She drew a shuddering breath, meeting her mother’s gaze head-on.

“I was nearly kidnapped. Again. If it wasn’t for Obito, I wouldn’t even be here right now. Not just him—his family. They kept me safe, they treated me like one of their own before I ever became his consort. That doesn’t happen overnight. That doesn’t happen if it’s just whispers and rumors.”

Her mother’s lips parted, but no words came.

Rin pressed on, her voice breaking with the weight of it.

“You think I didn’t know better? You think I didn’t try to protect myself from him? From this?” Her hand went to the towel pressed over her pounding heart. “I fought it every step of the way—and I still fell.”

Her tears spilled hot down her cheeks, but her words rang clear, sharp with conviction.

“I still love him.”

The silence that followed was heavier than stone.

Her mother’s expression faltered, the iron mask shifting for just a breath—hurt, fear, disbelief flashing across her face before it settled again, cold and unreadable.

Rin sat trembling, clutching the sheet, her chest heaving, the weight of her confession hanging thick in the air between them.

Her mother’s silence lingered, heavy as a stone wall, until finally she exhaled sharply through her nose.

“You think he truly loves you?” she said, her tone cool, unyielding. “Or are you simply another infatuation? A prince’s passing fancy, nothing more.”

Rin’s body trembled with rage, her tears drying hot on her cheeks. Her voice cracked, but the words cut with fire.

“I’ve seen him slaughter men for me,” she hissed. “I’ve seen him spill blood without hesitation because someone laid a hand on me. So don’t you dare stand there and tell me this is just infatuation. Not when I’ve seen the lengths he’ll go to protect me.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, the faintest flicker of something—unease, doubt—before her voice turned sharp again.

“I thought you had feelings for Kakashi,” she said, watching Rin closely.

“You always did, since you were a little girl. I assumed you two would marry, eventually. He’s your brother’s closest friend—he was the natural choice.”

The words hit harder than Rin expected, slicing straight into the wound of the marriage certificate Obito had shown her.

Her chest clenched, her lips parted—but she said nothing. She couldn’t.

Not yet.

Not when she didn’t know if her mother knew, or was simply grasping at straws.

Instead, she drew in a shaky breath, forcing her voice steady.

“Little girls grow up,” Rin said firmly. “And feelings change.”

Her mother blinked, her lips parting slightly.

Rin’s eyes burned, but she didn’t look away.

“Tell me, Mother… did you marry the boy you had a crush on when you were young? Or did you marry the man you fell in love with?”

The silence rang.

Her breath shook, but she pushed harder, her voice breaking.

“Or was your love for my father just lies too?”

Her mother’s face faltered—her jaw tightening, her eyes flashing—but she didn’t answer.

Couldn’t answer.

Rin sat there, clutching the sheet, her tears sliding silently now, her heart pounding with equal parts fury and despair.

The words hung in the air like shards of glass, sharp and cutting, waiting to see which of them would bleed first.

The silence after Rin’s words was suffocating.

Her mother’s eyes flickered, her mask slipping for just a moment, as though the question had struck something raw and buried.

Her lips tightened, her jaw working.

“Don’t twist this back on me,” she said at last, but the edge of her voice wasn’t as sharp as before. It wavered, threaded with something brittle.

Rin leaned forward, gripping the sheet like armor.

“Then don’t dismiss what I feel. Don’t call it childish when you know damn well it isn’t. I love him.”

Her mother’s hand clenched at her side, the knuckles white. She turned her gaze away, staring at the far wall as though it could steady her.

“You think love is enough? You think devotion will save you from what this world is? From the weight of his crown? From the wolves who will use you as a weapon against him?”

Her voice broke, just barely, but Rin caught it.

“I know what happens to women who tie themselves to men like him. I’ve seen it. I’ve buried too many of them in my time. And I will not watch it happen to my daughter.”

Rin’s breath stuttered, but she refused to look away.

“You think I don’t know the danger?” she said, her voice rising. “You think I haven’t lived it? Gods, Mother, I’m a jinchuriki. My life has never been safe. But with him, I feel—” Her throat tightened, and the tears slid hot down her cheeks. “With him, I feel like I belong. Like I matter.”

Her mother’s eyes flicked back to hers at that, wide, stricken.

“I’m not asking you to approve,” Rin said, softer now, but no less fierce. “I’m asking you to see me. To see that I’m not a little girl chasing after a fantasy. I chose him. And he chose me.”

Her mother’s lips parted, but for once, she had no sharp retort ready.

Only silence, trembling on the edge of words she couldn’t say.

Rin sat there, breathing hard, her confession and her defiance hanging heavy between them, both women caught in the storm of what had just been said—and what couldn’t be unsaid.

Her mother’s face hardened again, the flicker of vulnerability vanishing as swiftly as it came.

Her eyes swept over Rin—rumpled in the sheets, hair tangled, cheeks still flushed from Obito’s touch—as though she were looking at a stranger.

“I thought I raised you better,” she said flatly. No venom this time. Just disappointment, heavy and final.

Rin flinched as though struck, her lips parting, but no defense came.

Her mother turned without another word, her skirts whispering against the stone as she strode to the door.

The latch clicked sharply as it opened, spilling light into the chamber.

For one breath, Rin thought—hoped—she might turn back, say something more. But she didn’t.

The door shut with a decisive thud.

Rin sat frozen on the edge of the bed, clutching the towel tight around her, her tears blurring the last glimpse of her mother’s retreating form.

The silence pressed in, heavier than before.

 

 

                                                             

       THE SERPENT BENEATH THE STONE

 

 

The chamber was quiet.

Too quiet for a palace still heavy with the echoes of feasting.

Deep beneath the fortress, in a room without doors or windows, firelight burned low in a single brazier.

Shadows stretched long across the walls, swallowing the edges of the figures gathered there.

At the center stood their master.

His face remained half-hidden in the wavering glow, the lines of age and shadow blurring together until he looked less like a man and more like the memory of one.

The mercenaries knelt, heads bowed.

“Everything is in place master,” one said. “Our nets are drawn tight. The men wait only for your word.”

Another spoke: “The young vessel has already been taken. The others will follow, piece by piece. They will not see the strike until it’s too late.”

Their master inclined his head, the faintest gesture.

“You know what to do. Every step has been prepared. Every piece is where it must be. All that remains is to begin.”

The men bowed lower.

For a long breath he lingered, letting the silence press in, letting the firelight lick across the stones.

This palace had served its purpose.

These people, blind in their halls of gold, had never seen the serpent coiled beneath their feet.

And soon, he would not have to endure the charade any longer.

Without another word, he turned and pressed a pattern into the stone wall behind him.

Ancient masonry shifted, revealing a narrow passage, black and airless.

He stepped inside, vanishing into the dark as the wall sealed shut again.

Only silence remained.

 

 

                 BLADES AND LIES

 

 

The morning after the wedding dawned slow, hazy with smoke from spent torches and the faint perfume of wilted blossoms still clinging to the hall.

By the time the palace began to stir, Kakashi had found himself a quiet corner in one of the lesser courtyards, away from the clamor of servants cleaning up the revelry.

He sat alone at a stone table, breakfast half-forgotten before him — a crust of bread, a wedge of cheese, a cooled cup of tea.

A slim leather-bound book was open in his hands, though his gray eyes hadn’t moved from the same page in over an hour.

He had the look of a man pretending to be absorbed, hiding from thoughts that bit harder than he’d admit aloud.

The quiet broke with a sound too soft for most men to notice — the drag of a boot over stone, the whisper of a coat brushing the wall.

Kakashi didn’t lift his eyes until the shadow fell over his table.

Obito stood there, broad shoulders cloaked in black leathers, his sharingan eyes burning sharp and cold.

In his hand, a folded parchment, creased and wrinkled from too many times being clenched in a fist.

Kakashi set his book down carefully, his other hand brushing idly at his dagger on the bench beside him.

“Prince Obito,” he greeted lightly, though the tension edged through his voice.

Obito didn’t answer.

He moved like a predator — swift, brutal.

One hand fisted in Kakashi’s collar, the other snapping a blade free and pressing it hard to the commander’s throat.

The steel kissed skin.

“You think you’re clever,” Obito snarled, voice low and lethal. “You think you can make me a fool?”

Kakashi’s hand flew to his own dagger, drawing it in one smooth motion and pressing the point into Obito’s ribs.

For a heartbeat, both men stood locked, blades drawn, breath taut between them.

“I wouldn’t,” Kakashi said evenly, though his pulse thundered.

But Obito only leaned closer, crimson eyes gleaming with fire.

 A slow smirk curved his scarred mouth, sharp and merciless.

“I am death, Hatake. You can’t kill me.”

The words landed like a growl, hot against Kakashi’s ear. The commander’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t back down.

Obito shoved the parchment against his chest with his free hand, forcing him to see it.

“Explain this.”

Kakashi glanced down — and his blood ran cold.

The marriage certificate. His name. Rin’s. Signed, sealed, stamped as truth.

Shock flickered across his face before he could smother it. His grip on the dagger faltered.

“What the hell is this?”

“You tell me,” Obito snapped, pressing the edge harder to his throat, enough to draw a bead of blood.

“You’ve been at her side since childhood. Ruen’s best friend. Trusted. Was it you? Did you think you’d steal her with ink and while I lay half-dead?”

Kakashi’s breath steadied.

Inside, the truth clawed at him.

He saw the writing, the pattern — it reeked of him.

His eye widened, breath caught—but he mastered it quickly.

“I don’t know what this is. But it isn’t mine.”

Obito’s blade bit into his skin, a bead of blood rising.

“You expect me to believe that?

His eyes burned brighter, Sharingan spinning, fury made fury made flesh.

“This isn’t me. I’ll hold onto it. When I return to Konoha, I’ll find out who’s behind it and dissolve it. Whatever this is—it won’t stand. She’s your consort. We both know it.” His voice quiet but firm.

Obito’s glare sharpened, crimson still alive in his eyes, suspicion gnawing even as reason clawed through his fury.

He gave no answer—only a sharp breath, then a slow step back, blade lowering at last.

Kakashi slid his dagger away too, the tension still buzzing between them like static.

He slipped the parchment into his cloak, then spoke, voice quieter, but firm.

“One thing before you go.”

Obito’s eyes narrowed.

“Thank you,” Kakashi said, steady, looking him dead in the eye. “For saving my life.”

The words hit harder than any blade. Raw, unadorned truth.

Obito’s jaw flexed.

He said nothing, but the silence that followed was its own answer.

Then, with a sharp turn, he left the hall, his footsteps echoing like thunder in the stone.

Kakashi sat back down slowly, the forged certificate heavy in his pocket, his book forgotten.

Now he understood.

Why Obito had stared at him like he wanted to kill him.

Why Rin had looked so torn, so distant.

It all made sense.

And it was worse than any blade at his throat.

 

 

                    

               BLOSSOMS IN POISON

 

 

The palace had quieted after the storm of the wedding, its corridors hushed except for the distant hum of servants clearing away silks and goblets from the night before.

In the eastern courtyard, morning sunlight spilled across polished stone, catching the pale blossoms that drifted like snow into their tea.

Hinata sat cross-legged at the low table, the soft lavender of her gown pooling around her like petals. Across from her, Ino pushed a piece of fruit around her plate, golden hair gleaming in the light but her expression far away.

Hinata tilted her head, studying her friend.

“You’re quiet,” she murmured, her voice warm and careful. “Is it… about Daichi?”

Ino startled, looking up quickly. “Daichi?”

Hinata’s lips curved faintly, almost teasing.

“He barely left your side last night. I thought maybe…” She trailed delicately, not pressing, her eyes soft with the kind of patience only Hinata possessed. “You seemed close.”

A faint, humorless laugh escaped Ino.

She shook her head, tucking a strand of gold behind her ear.

“No. Not Daichi. Gods, I wish it were that simple.”

Hinata’s brows drew together.

“Then who?”

Ino hesitated, her fingers tightening around her teacup.

For a moment she looked like she might keep it to herself — then she exhaled, almost breaking.

“Sai.”

Hinata blinked, surprise flickering across her face.

“Sai?”

Ino’s voice dropped low, intimate, like confessing something too fragile for the open air.

“He kissed me. Out of nowhere. After all these months of silence — after I bled my heart onto parchment and got nothing back — he shows up last night and just…” Her throat worked, eyes shining. “He kissed me like he’d never let me go. And gods, Hinata, I hated him for it. I slapped him. I told him it was too late.”

Hinata reached across the table, fingers brushing gently over Ino’s hand.

“But you’re still thinking about it.”

Ino bit her lip, her voice trembling.

“Because part of me wanted to kiss him back. Part of me wanted to forget every letter unanswered, every night wondering if he was even alive, and just… fall into him.”

Hinata’s heart softened, though her eyes stayed steady.

“You’ve still in love with, aren’t you?”

Ino closed her eyes, whispered like it hurt. “Yes. And maybe I always will.”

The silence stretched, broken only by the faint rustle of blossoms falling into their cups.

 At last, Ino lifted hers, sipping as though the tea might wash the ache away.

Hinata mirrored her — but her hand faltered almost immediately.

The porcelain rattled softly against the table as her brow furrowed.

“Ino…” Her voice wavered. “I don’t… feel well.”

Her cup slipped, shattering against the stone as her body crumpled.

“Hinata!” Ino cried, scrambling to catch her before she hit the ground.

Her own cup toppled, its contents spilling dark across the marble.

She barely had time to realize before her vision blurred, her strength vanishing like water through her fingers.

“The tea—” she gasped, clutching Hinata tight as if she could hold them both upright.

But her body betrayed her. Her limbs went heavy, her knees buckling.

“Stay with me, princess…” she whispered, her voice breaking.

The two of them collapsed together on the cold stone, skirts pooling like fallen blossoms, breaths shallow, eyes fluttering closed.

The courtyard fell silent, save for the slow drip of tea soaking into cracks of marble.

And then—shadows fell across them.

Boots crunched softly against the stone.

Figures loomed, silent and hooded, closing in with the inevitability of day.

                                   

 

 

                  LITTLE JINCHURIKI

 

 

The palace gardens were alive with morning light, the flowers in full bloom and buzzing with bees that darted from petal to petal.

A gentle breeze stirred the silk banners strung between the columns, their colors flickering like fire.

Keiko Onoki knelt in the grass beside Konohamaru Sarutobi, her small hands busy stacking polished wooden blocks into a crooked tower.

She stuck her tongue out in concentration, determined to place one last piece on top.

Konohamaru waited—then tapped the base with one finger. The whole thing toppled.

“Konohamaru!” she cried, a laugh bursting out despite herself.

He grinned shamelessly. “I win!”

“You cheated,” Keiko pouted, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. She flicked a block at him, and he ducked with a snort.

Their laughter carried through the courtyard until a shadow cut across the grass.

“Keiko,” a voice rasped, warm and steady. “There you are, little jinchuriki.”

She froze.

Grandpa never called her that.

Not when he was smiling. Only strangers whispered it.

Only the priests, sometimes, with pity in their eyes.

She turned slowly.

There he was—King Ōnoki of Iwagakure. Her grandfather. His stooped figure was unmistakable, his pale robes dragging lightly against the stone path. His smile was thin, his eyes sharp in the light.

“It’s time to go,” he said. “You’ve played long enough.”

Keiko frowned. “But… Papa said I could stay until the evening feast.”

Ōnoki’s grip tightened around his staff.

“Plans change. Come along.”

Konohamaru blinked, confusion knitting his brow.

“Already? But we were just—”

“Enough.” The word cracked sharper than the air deserved. But then the old king chuckled, too quickly, smoothing the edges.

“Your grandfather grows tired. Come now, Keiko. Walk with me.”

Keiko’s stomach twisted.

She looked at Konohamaru, then back at the man who wore her grandfather’s face.

Something in the way he stared at her made her skin crawl.

Still, she obeyed.

She slipped her hand into his when he offered it, her little fingers swallowed by the cold press of his grip.

It was too cold. Too tight.

They walked together, leaving Konohamaru behind. His calls faded into the garden as the corridors of the palace swallowed them.

Keiko’s slippers whispered over the polished stone floors, the silence growing thicker with every turn they took. She glanced up at him. “Grandpa?”

“Yes, little jinchuriki,” he said again, almost to himself.

Her heart jumped. He never—never—called her that.

The halls were empty now.

The air smelled faintly of oil and dust, places where the palace was less used.

She pulled gently at his hand, her voice small.

“I don’t like this place. Can we go back?”

He smiled. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

Her pulse quickened, a cold shiver racing down her spine.

And then—before she could run—a hand closed over her mouth. Cloth pressed hard against her lips, bitter liquid burning her tongue and nose.

Her muffled scream died in her throat.

The world blurred.

Her legs buckled.

Her arms went limp as the strange, sickly smell wrapped around her senses, dragging her down into dark.

Her captor caught her easily, lifting her against his chest like a doll.

And as her vision dimmed, her last sight was not her grandfather’s face at all.

The figure shifted.

Flesh rippled, sagged, peeled back like bark stripping from a tree. Wrinkles smoothed, the beard dissolved, and the robes hung differently over a leaner frame.

Not her grandfather.

Not even a man.

An Oasian mimic, cursed white wood, its face settling into the bland, forgettable features of a palace guard.

Keiko’s eyes fluttered shut.

The creature carried her into the shadows.

And not a single soul in the palace knew she was gone.

 

 

                                                                    

                                                             

                    THE GARDEN HUNT

 

 

The palace gardens before dawn always unsettled Temari.

The air was too heavy, too perfumed with foreign flowers that bloomed even in darkness.

The silence pressed like a held breath, broken only by the ripple of water in the koi pond.

She walked barefoot over the stones, robe tugged close, eyes sharp. Her instincts had been restless all night, and she never ignored them.

It was then she saw him.

A servant crouched near the pond, scooping at the water with his bare hands.

She frowned.

She recognized him—didn’t she?

She’d passed him yesterday in the stables, the day before in the kitchens.

Always nearby. Always watching.

Her voice cut through the hush like steel.

“You there. What’s your name?”

The man froze.

Slowly—too slowly—he rose to his full height.

His face turned toward her, jerking as though pulled on a string.

His lips stretched in something like a smile, but his eyes were hollow, blank.

Every hair on Temari’s neck lifted.

Her hand drifted down to her thigh, brushing the leather strap where her hidden dagger rested.

“Desert daughter,” the servant rasped.

His voice was wrong, a sound like bark splitting under a blade.

“The Father will be pleased. Another piece for his game.”

Temari’s blood turned to ice.

She barely registered the shadows shifting in the hedges—two, three, more slipping from the dark. Behind her, feet whispered against stone.

She was surrounded.

“Fuck,” she hissed, already drawing steel.

The first lunged.

Temari met it with the speed of a hawk, her dagger flashing in a clean arc.

The blade sank deep into its throat.

But instead of blood, pale pulp spilled out, wood splintering beneath her strike.

The creature shrieked—high, grating, inhuman—before collapsing in a heap that smelled of rot and wet earth.

Her heart hammered.

Not human.

Not a man at all.

Another charged.

She pivoted, slashing across its chest.

The skin tore open like parchment, splinters jutting through the wound, but it only staggered back, hissing.

“Come on then,” she snarled, bracing herself.

Two more rushed her.

She kicked one square in the gut, the force cracking wood, sending it reeling.

She slashed upward at the other, dagger carving across its jaw until its face peeled, hollow beneath.

For every one she hurt, more pressed in. Silent, unyielding. Too many.

Hands closed around her arms, her shoulders, clawing at her legs.

She fought like wildfire, twisting, slashing, her dagger biting again and again.

Her arm was grabbed—she buried her blade in the thing’s eye. Her robe tore as claw-like fingers raked across her shoulder.

She rammed an elbow back, feeling bone—or wood—splinter under the blow.

But still they came.

Rough hands forced her back against the garden wall. She drove her knee up hard, heard the crunch of ribs—or something like it.

Another shriek, another body falling.

Her chest heaved, her hair wild, her dagger red with sap and spit.

But a cloth pressed over her mouth.

Temari thrashed, twisting her head, biting down. The bitter stench burned her nose, filled her throat.

She tried to scream, but the sound came muffled. She clawed at the arm holding her, nails digging deep.

Her dagger flashed one last time, sinking into a chest.

The mimic staggered, sap pouring out, but didn’t fall.

Her strength faltered.

Limbs grew heavy. Her body sagged, the dagger slipping from her fingers.

Her vision blurred.

Shadows swam.

The last thing she saw was one of them standing over her—her own face staring back.

Blonde hair, sharp eyes, but twisted, cruel. Her own smirk sneering down at her.

The mimic bent close, its voice her voice.

“We’ll take it from here.”

Darkness dragged her under.

 

 

 

                                                       

                 A BROTHER’S TREACHERY

 

 

The guest wing was quiet, morning sunlight spilling pale through the latticed windows. The smell of roasted barley and spiced tea lingered faint in the air.

Ruen lounged at his table in nothing but a loose shirt, one leg kicked up on a chair, sipping wine like it was water.

A plate sat before him, half-eaten fruit softening in its juices, bread torn to pieces without care.

He looked every inch the picture of indulgence—unbothered, unhurried, as though the world outside his door wasn’t about to burn.

The latch clicked. The door opened without warning.

Kakashi stepped inside, silent as a shadow, but the fury in his shoulders betrayed him.

In his hand, a parchment, wrinkled and stained with rage.

Ruen lifted his cup lazily. “Morning.”

Kakashi crossed the room in three strides and slammed the parchment onto the table so hard the cup toppled, wine spilling red across the wood.

The cracked seal bled under his palm.

“Explain this,” Kakashi said, his voice low, more dangerous than a shout.

Ruen’s eyes flicked down, scanned the names—and then he grinned.

Not startled.

Not even pretending.

Pleased.

“So, he showed you,” Ruen drawled. “Took him long enough.”

Kakashi’s jaw clenched. “So, it was you.”

Ruen leaned back, smugness dripping from every gesture.

“A man in the black market. Finest forger in the realm. His work could fool a king’s scribe. Expensive, yes—but worth every coin. Clean, untraceable. You won’t prove it’s false.”

Kakashi’s hand flexed at his side.

“Why?” His voice cracked sharp. “After everything? After Obito saved your life in the Oasis—threw himself into a hundred blades to drag you out—this is how you repay him?”

Ruen scoffed. “Don’t speak to me of debts. I didn’t ask for his help.”

Kakashi slammed his palm down on the table, rattling the plates. His voice was a knife’s edge.

“You’d be bones in the sand if not for him. Rin would’ve buried herself in grief. Remember that before you spit on his name.”

For a heartbeat, Ruen’s smirk faltered. Then his eyes hardened, flinty.

“This isn’t about him. This is about them. Rin. Sakura. My sister, my cousin—whoring themselves to Uchiha princes. Did you think I’d clap and smile? Obito’s consort. Sasuke’s. It’s filth. It’s dishonor.”

“They’re not dishonored,” Kakashi snapped. “They’re tied to royalty. Rin will be queen one day.”

“Fuck that,” Ruen spat, slamming the table. “I’d rather see her married to a pauper than crowned in that rotten land. At least then she wouldn’t be a slave to their cursed blood.”

Kakashi’s stare burned, but Ruen pressed harder, leaning forward now.

“You remember when they returned. I asked you myself, Kakashi. About Rin. About Sakura. And you said nothing. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t defend them. And in the Oasis, before the mercenaries cut me down, they confirmed what you couldn’t say—that Rin was Obito’s whore, and Sakura tied herself to Sasuke.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke.

“You failed them,” Ruen hissed. “As her friend, as my comrade—you failed. So I took it into my own hands.”

He jabbed a finger at the parchment.

“That is my shield. My weapon. My way of making sure she never truly belongs to him.”

Kakashi’s dagger flashed, pressed to his ribs before Ruen could blink.

His voice was a death sentence whispered in the still air.

“You think this protects her? You’ve painted her as a traitor. You’ve given Obito every reason to believe she betrayed him. He nearly slit my throat this morning because of you.”

Ruen’s lips curved into a thin smile, though his breath hitched faintly at the steel against his side.

“Yet you’re still alive. I’d say you’re welcome.”

“You arrogant bastard.” Kakashi pressed harder, enough to draw blood. “If he learns the truth, Rin won’t be able to save you. Not even the gods will find what’s left.”

Ruen’s eyes glittered.

“And what about you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed. The way you look at her. Don’t deny it—she had a crush on you once, didn’t she? Sweet little Rin, chasing after her brother’s best friend.”

Kakashi’s stare was iron, his voice flaying him bare.

“She isn’t a little girl anymore. She’s a woman. And she’s in love with the Crown Prince. That’s her truth. Not yours. Not mine.” He pushed the blade deeper, voice a snarl. “And you’ll fix this, Ruen—or Obito won’t need to kill you. I will.”

Ruen said nothing. His smirk lingered, but his eyes flickered—calculating, unsettled.

Kakashi pulled the blade back with disgust, seized the parchment instead, crumpling it tight in his fist. He turned for the door, but paused at the threshold, his voice low, final.

“And for the record—Obito saved your life. Remember that the next time you spit his name. Because when this comes to light, even Rin’s love won’t save you.”

The door slammed.

Ruen sat in the wreckage—wine bleeding across the table, parchment gone, his smirk twisting back into place.

But his fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against the wood.

 

                                                                 

Chapter 35: THE CROWNED JINCHURIKI/THE GRANDDAUGHTER’S SILENCE/THE PRICE OF A SLAP/THE STOLEN LAMB/ AND SO IT BEGINGS

            THE CROWNED JINCHURIKI

 

 

The knock came soft, almost timid.

“My lady,” a voice murmured from the other side of Rin’s door.

Rin froze, breath catching in her chest.

She already knew.

The quiet dread that had been circling since dawn finally landed.

“Come in,” she managed.

The door creaked open to reveal one of the household maids, a girl not much older than herself. Her head was bowed so low her chin nearly touched her chest.

“Forgive me, my lady,” she whispered. “Your father requests your presence in the solar. At once.”

At once.
Not when convenient. Not if you’re ready.
At once.

Rin’s hands trembled, but her voice was steady.

“Thank you. You may go.”

The girl dipped so low her skirts brushed the floor and fled, eager to escape the storm.

Rin lingered only a moment longer, heart pounding in her throat.

Her mother’s eyes from the night before flashed in her mind—disappointment, tight-jawed silence.

She hadn’t needed to say it. Rin had felt her marching straight to him.

He knows.

The walk to the solar was short, but each step rang louder than the last, like a drumbeat leading her to judgment.

The air in the corridor felt colder, heavy with the weight of what awaited behind the carved doors.

When she pushed them open, the world seemed to tilt.

Her father sat rigid in his chair, shoulders squared, the firelight carving hard lines into his face.

Her mother stood beside him, arms crossed, her expression a blade of ice.

And leaning against the mantel, one boot crossed over the other, a goblet of wine lazily in his hand—Ruen.

All three turned their eyes on her.

“Father,” Rin said softly, bowing. “Mother. Brother.”

“Do not waste breath on civility,” her father barked, the sound cutting through the chamber. “Your mother tells me the rumors are true. That you have lain yourself at the feet of the Uchihas like a—” His mouth curled, spitting the word as if it burned his tongue. “—whore.”

Rin’s chin lifted despite the trembling in her chest.

“I am not his whore. I am his consort. His betrothed.”

Ruen’s laugh was sharp, cruel.

“Consort? Betrothed? Gods, Rin—you don’t even hear yourself. Do you think anyone here believes that lie? A crown prince marrying a commander’s daughter? No. You’re a body he takes to bed. That’s all.”

Her mother’s eyes were colder still.

“And if that weren’t shame enough—you disgrace yourself further. While kingdoms whispered of a union between Akatsuki and Konoha, of Obito and Princess Himari binding peace with marriage—you, Rin, you ran headlong into his bed. Spread your legs and destroyed any chance of dignity.”

Rin’s breath caught, fury rising sharp.

“That’s not true. Yes—they asked it of him. But he refused. Do you hear me? He refused her. He chose me.”

Her father’s lip curled, scoffing.

“And you think that refusal was love? Fool. It was lust. You have chained yourself to shame and called it choice.”

Rin’s throat burned.

“Shame? You speak of shame, but where were you when I was dragged off in chains? When mercenaries hunted me again? Who stood between me and death? It wasn’t you. It wasn’t Konoha. It was Obito. Again. And not just him—his family, who sheltered me, treated me like blood before I was ever his consort. And you call that shame?”

Ruen pushed off the mantel, circling closer, his smile dripping venom.

“You forget yourself. Without him, you wouldn’t be anything but another jinchuriki chained like a beast. Don’t pretend he hasn’t bought you the silks you flaunt now.”

Rin’s eyes flashed, hot and sharp.

“Without him, you’d be dead.”

Ruen froze.

The words hung in the air like a blade.

“If Obito hadn’t pulled you from the dirt in Oasis,” Rin pressed, voice trembling with rage, “you’d have bled out with a sword in your chest. And this is how you repay him? With spite? With lies?”

Ruen’s face twisted, fury overtaking the flicker of shame.

“Shut your mouth—”

But Rin cut him off. She raised her hand, the firelight catching.

The ruby blazed like blood, diamonds burning around it, platinum etched with flames. The weight of it silenced the room.

Her mother was silent, her father’s brow furrowed, even Ruen faltered.

“He proposed to me,” Rin said, her voice breaking but clear. “This ring is proof. I am not a whore. I am his future queen.”

For a heartbeat, the chamber stilled. Then her father’s expression hardened, uglier still.

“A queen? No. That ring only proves what you’ve given him already. A whore in jewels is still a whore.”

Her mother’s voice cut, sharp as glass.

“And when the fire fades, he will cast you aside. You’ll see then. All you’ll ever be is their pet beast.”

Rin’s throat tightened, but she met their eyes.

“You’re wrong. He loves me.”

Ruen’s laughter was sharp, venomous.

He sneered, stepping closer, eyes glittering cruelly.

“Loves you? Tell me, Rin—did the Crown Prince propose before or after he fucked you and stole your virginity?”

The words sliced her open. Her hand flew before she thought—

The slap cracked through the chamber, sharp as thunder.

Ruen’s head snapped, his cheek blazing red. Slowly, he turned back, eyes black with fury.

“You little bitch.”

His strike came swift and brutal.

The strike hit harder than hers.

Her head whipped to the side, pain bursting across her jaw.

Pain exploded along her jaw, her lip splitting.

Her lip split, blood spilling warm over her chin as she staggered.

Her hand trembled against her mouth, staring at the smear of red on her skin.

Her mother said nothing. Her father did not move.

Only Ruen loomed over her, chest heaving, finger stabbing toward her as he hissed: “That’s all you’ll ever be. The Uchiha’s whore.”

The silence pressed in, thick and merciless, as Rin stood swaying, blood on her lips and fire in her eyes.

Rin’s head still rang, the copper tang of blood on her tongue.

Her lip throbbed, her jaw ached—but through the haze of pain, fire burned hotter in her chest.

She lifted her chin, wiping the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her eyes locked on Ruen’s, and though her voice shook, it was sharp as steel.

“You should pray to the gods, brother,” she whispered, each word deliberate. “Because when Obito learns of this—he will kill you.”

Ruen barked a laugh, cruel and mocking, though his hand still trembled at his side.

“Kill me? I’d like to see him try. He’s a prince. He won’t risk war with Konoha over some broken whore.”

Her lip curled, blood gleaming in the firelight.

“You don’t know him at all. He doesn’t need a kingdom’s permission. He doesn’t need an army. If he decides your life is forfeit, you won’t even see the blade coming.”

Her mother gasped softly, but her father’s jaw only tightened.

Ruen smirked wider, defiant.

“Let him come,” he sneered. “I’m not afraid of your demon prince.”

Rin’s gaze narrowed, unflinching despite the sting in her face.

“You should be.”

She turned on her heel before they could see the tears gathering in her eyes, her skirts whispering over the stone floor as she strode for the door.

The silence she left behind was heavy, broken only by her father’s low growl and Ruen’s cocky laugh echoing after her.

But as the door shut behind her, her hands shook, clenched tight around the bloodied sheet of her gown.

Her heart pounded, her lip throbbed—but in her chest, beneath the fear, was a single, burning thought.

If Obito knew…

 

The little mirror trembled in Rin’s hands.

Her lip was split, faintly swollen, the copper taste of blood still sharp when she breathed too hard.

She hated how obvious it was, hated how it told the truth of her brother’s hand before she ever spoke it.

“Hold still,” Sakura muttered, not unkindly. Her cousin leaned close, brush in hand, her touch gentle even as her jaw was tight with fury.

The powder caught the light, dusting carefully over bruised skin.

Rin flinched anyway.

“It won’t hide all of it.”

“It’ll hide enough,” Sakura snapped. Her voice shook—not from the delicate strokes of her hand, but from the effort of swallowing her anger. “Gods, Rin. He hit you? Your own brother?”

Rin’s throat tightened.

“Don’t… don’t say it so loud.”

Sakura dropped the brush to the table with a sharp click.

“Why? So, he doesn’t face the consequences he deserves? After everything Obito’s done for him? After Obito saved his life?” Her eyes burned, glass-bright with fury. “And he repays you with this?”

Rin closed her eyes, her voice soft, trembling.

“He’s still my brother.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Sakura bit out. But then she caught the way Rin’s hand hovered protectively near her mouth, the way her shoulders sagged like she was carrying not just the weight of her family’s fury, but her own shame.

Sakura sighed, softer this time, and reached for her hand.

“You don’t have to protect him, Rin. Not from me.”

Rin’s lashes lowered, but instead of answering, she slid her hand away and opened the small wooden box on the table.

Inside, the ruby blazed like a captured flame, diamonds glittering around it like stars.

Sakura froze, breath catching. “Gods above…” She leaned closer, fingers hovering as though afraid to touch. “Rin. That’s—”

“He proposed,” Rin whispered, a tremor of disbelief still clinging to her words. “Last night. After everything.”

Sakura’s anger cracked, replaced by a sudden rush of joy.

“Rin—!” She threw her arms around her cousin, careful of her lip, but holding her tight. “My gods, you’re going to be queen.”

Rin’s laugh broke, half a sob, but she clung back.

“I don’t know if I deserve it.”

“You do,” Sakura said fiercely, pulling back enough to meet her eyes. “You deserve every bit of it. And more.”

Rin’s gaze softened, her hand brushing the ring as though she still couldn’t believe it was real.

“And you? You seem… lighter.”

Sakura’s cheeks flushed, her eyes brightening.

“Sasuke and I… we made up.”

Rin blinked, surprised. “After…?”

“There was a letter,” Sakura said bitterly, her mouth tightening. “Someone forged it. A breakup. My hand, my words—even after I swore it wasn’t me. They tested the ink, the seal. Everything said it was mine. And still… he believed me. He believed us. We burned it together.”

Rin’s heart clenched, a fragile hope sparking between the two of them.

“So, whoever did this… they’re trying to break us. All of us.”

Sakura nodded grimly.

“And they’ll fail. Because the men we love would rather burn kingdoms than let us go.”

The two cousins sat in silence for a moment, the powder brush abandoned, the ruby blazing in the low morning light.

Two women, two vows, one truth: lies could wound, but they could not sever.

 

 

                                                                     

      THE GRANDDAUGHTER’S SILENCE

 

 

The sun had barely lifted above the palace spires, its pale gold spilling through carved windows, when King Ōnoki Iwahara realized his granddaughter was missing.

He found Prince Konohamaru Sarutobi crouched in the gardens, a boy-prince still more mischief than crown, flicking pebbles into the koi pond with a grin.

“Prince Konohamaru,” Onoki called, his voice rough with age but carrying its kingly weight.

The boy scrambled to his feet, brushing his hands on his tunic.

“Your Majesty,” he answered quickly, though his smile lingered.

“Where is my granddaughter?” Onoki asked, tone clipped.

Konohamaru blinked.

“She went with you, didn’t she?”

King Ōnoki’s eyes narrowed. “With me?”

“Yes,” Konohamaru said earnestly. “You came and called her ‘little jinchuriki.’ You said it twice. She thought it was strange—you never call her that—but then you took her hand and told her it was time to go. Down the east corridor.”

The words hit like stone dropped into his chest. Little jinchuriki.

He never called her that.

King Ōnoki’s face remained carved in stone, but the stillness in him was colder than winter. “I see,” he said quietly.

He laid a hand, heavy and steady, on the boy’s small shoulder.

“You’ve done well to tell me, Prince. Now go to your grandfather. Say nothing of this to anyone else. Do you understand?”

Konohamaru’s brow furrowed, the weight in King Ōnoki’s voice making his chest tighten.

But he nodded firmly. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Then he sprinted off toward the colonnade.

Onoki straightened, his back aching but his mind sharper than any blade.

He beckoned two guards forward, their armor catching the light.

“Search the east wing,” he ordered, voice calm enough to seem routine. “Quietly. Room by room. Find her and bring her to me.”

They bowed and left swiftly.

To the rest of the palace, it would look as though the old king indulged another one of his granddaughter’s games.

Keiko loved to dart into shadowed halls, hiding herself just to make him find her.

She was clever, mischievous, proud of outwitting even her royal guards.

But Ōnoki’s hands folded behind his back, tightening until his knuckles whitened.

His expression never shifted, but a single thought gnawed sharp and merciless at him as he walked back inside the palace with deliberate calm:

Something is wrong.

 

 

 

                THE PRICE OF A SLAP

 

 

The garden shimmered with heat, cicadas humming in the tall grass, and laughter spilling faint from the gathering just beyond the hedges.

Rin kept to the shade, her fan flicking idly before her face.

The pale concealer the maids had fussed over seemed to be holding—for now.

From afar no one would notice the faint swelling at her lip.

But up close?

Gods, she prayed he wouldn’t look too closely.

Her gown clung to her like it had been cut from dusk itself—deep green velvet heavy with bronze embroidery, softened by sheer panels of chiffon that whispered with every step.

Her hair had been swept into a crown of tousled braids, strands falling loose to frame her flushed cheeks, while her golden earrings winked whenever the sun struck them.

She looked every inch the Crown Prince’s consort, and yet her stomach knotted with dread.

Beside her, Sakura was the softer mirror—dressed in blush silk, her gown embroidered with silver so fine it caught the light like frost.

Her long hair fell in loose waves down her back, jeweled clips pinning it away from her face.

Where Rin’s beauty struck hard, sharp as a blade, Sakura’s was gentler—ethereal, almost untouchable.

The two women lingered near the roses, pretending to admire the blooms while their eyes darted, searching the crowd.

Rin’s fan fluttered faster.

She hadn’t seen him all day, not since that morning, and every heartbeat since had been an ache of waiting.

And then he was there.

Obito moved through the hedges with Sasuke at his side, shadows bending with them like loyal guards.

Even here, half-hidden from the gathering, the weight of his presence was suffocating.

His gaze found Rin instantly, locking on her with the precision of a blade.

Sakura glanced once between them, her lips parting, and then—wisely—she slipped away when Sasuke touched her arm, leaving Rin alone with him.

The silence was unbearable.

He stepped closer, his black eyes searching, and the moment his gaze dropped to her lips, Rin’s heart stopped.

The fan trembled in her hand.

His Sharingan ignited, crimson spinning alive in his gaze, fury made flesh.

“Name,” he said. His voice was low, lethal.

Rin blinked, heat flooding her body.

“What?”

“I. Need. Their. Name.”

The single word landed like a blade.

Rin blinked, her throat dry.

Her fan fluttered faster. “It was nothing—an accident, my love. I wasn’t paying attention. I was careless—”

He cut her off. His hand rose, brushing her lip with the rough pad of his thumb.

She hissed at the sting, recoiling slightly.

His touch lingered anyway, deceptively soft—but his voice was death itself.

“Is this when we start lying to each other, lamb?”

Her breath hitched.

“Obito, please—it was nothing. Truly.”

His eyes burned.

“Someone dared to raise their hand to you. They’ve already outlived their death time. And I will correct that.”

The coldness in his tone made her stomach knot.

She had seen him furious before—on battlefields, when enemies threatened her—but this was different.

He wasn’t furious. He was lethal.

“My love,” she whispered desperately, “it was an accident—”

“I’ll ask you one last time.” His voice dropped to a guttural rasp. “Name.”

She stammered, her fan trembling. “I told you, it was—”

“Ruen!”

The voice came sharp and jovial from beyond the hedge. “There you are!”

Two men passed nearby, laughing, clapping Ruen on the back as they caught up. Their voices faded, but the name lingered like smoke.

Obito’s Sharingan flicked to the sound, then back to Rin.

Her breath stuttered. She froze.

And in that silence, in her wide eyes, in the way her lips parted but no words came—Obito found his answer.

The fan slipped from her hand.

“Obito, please. It was an accident—”

But he was already moving.

He turned on his heel and pushed through the hedge, his stride long and purposeful.

Rin reached for him, her hand brushing his sleeve, but he swung her touch away, his body coiled with violence.

He emerged into the sunlight, and the crowd parted instinctively as though some instinct warned them of the storm coming.

“NOHORA.”

The name cracked like thunder across the garden.

Ruen turned, wine cup in hand, a smirk already tugging at his lips.

“Crown Prince,” he drawled, his voice mocking.

Obito’s fist crashed into his jaw before the words finished. The sound of bone meeting bone echoed, silencing the garden.

Ruen staggered back, clutching his face, then lunged. The two men collided, fists flying, the clash raw and brutal.

“Obito!” Rin’s scream carried across the garden as she stumbled through the hedge, Sakura at her side.

The crowd swarmed, nobles gasping, soldiers rushing.

“Stop them!” someone cried. “Gods, stop them!”

But Obito was seeing red.

His fist smashed into Ruen’s ribs, his boot into his shin, his voice a snarl.

“How fucking dare you raise your hand to her—my woman!”

Ruen spat blood, his laughter harsh.

He surged up, landing a punch across Obito’s temple.

The prince staggered, and Ruen seized the moment, shoving him down and straddling him, fists slamming into his face.

“Oh, did I forget to thank you prince,” Ruen jeered between blows, his voice venomous, “for saving my life?” His fist cracked against Obito’s jaw. “Consider this my thanks.”

Obito’s head snapped to the side, blood running down his cheek. His hands shot up, seizing Ruen’s face.

He slammed their skulls together, the crack of it sharp and brutal.

Ruen reeled, dazed, and in a blink Obito had rolled them, pinning him down.

His hand knotted in Ruen’s collar, dragging his face close.

“No need for thanks,” Obito rasped, his lips curling into something cold and vicious. “Rin already thanked me well enough.”

The words struck like a blade.

Fury flashed through Ruen’s bloodied face. He roared, thrashing, even as Obito’s fist drove into his ribs again and again.

“Stop it!” Rin’s voice cracked as she shoved against the wall of bodies, trying to reach them. “Stop this, both of you!” Her fan was gone, her gown tangled in the grass, her face pale with horror.

But Obito was lost.

Every blow was an oath, every strike a vow of vengeance.

It wasn’t until three shadows fell over him—Shisui’s arms locking around his shoulders, Itachi seizing his other arm, Sasuke gripping his waist—that the momentum slowed.

“OBITO—enough!” Shisui’s voice strained as he wrestled against his strength. “Obito—stop!”

Even together, the three Uchiha could barely hold him.

His chest heaved, his eyes blazing crimson, his fists still straining toward Ruen.

Across the way, Kakashi and two other men restrained Ruen, blood dripping down his split lip, his smug smile cracked but still stubborn.

“Obito!” Rin threw herself in front of him, her palms pressing against his chest, her eyes wide, wet.

“Please—stop. For me.”

Her voice broke through the haze.

His breathing slowed, his fists trembling.

The brothers held him tighter until at last he sagged, his forehead dropping briefly against Rin’s.

They released him cautiously, though their hands hovered close.

Obito’s gaze slid past her, his eyes locking on Ruen.

Blood streaked his face, his knuckles raw, but his stare was steady—sharp enough to carve a warning into bone.

He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Rin looked back at her brother, disappointment etched into her features, her lip trembling.

And then Obito turned, his hand closing firmly around Rin’s wrist.

He pulled her away, guiding her toward the palace, the Uchiha brothers and Sakura falling into step.

The garden remained frozen, the crowd murmuring, stunned into silence.

Every whisper that spread through the nobles now carried weight, no longer rumor but undeniable truth: Rin Nohora was the Crown Prince’s consort.

Himari stood among them, her jeweled fan still in her hand, her face pale with fury.

 

 

                  THE  STOLEN LAMB

 

 

The council chamber still hummed with the aftershock of the fight. The smell of salves lingered sharp in the air, the physicians only just gone.

Obito sat rigid in his black leathers, his cheek bruised and lip split, the lines of his body still tight as if he hadn’t yet unclenched from the battle.

Rin kept close, fanning him gently though she doubted he noticed, her heart still hammering from the sight of him throwing fists at her brother.

Shisui whistled low, leaning back in his chair with arms crossed.

“I’m surprised you didn’t kill him outright.” His grin was sharp, but his eyes stayed serious. “You don’t usually miss your shot, Obito.”

Itachi, quieter, adjusted Yuri on his knee.

“He should be thanking the gods it was Rin’s brother. Anyone else…” He let the words trail off, the implication clear.

Even Sasuke smirked faintly, his voice dry.

“Ruen should be on his knees every day, praying Rin’s in his bloodline. Because if she wasn’t, he’d be a corpse.”

Rin shifted uneasily, her fan rising to half-hide her face.

“Please,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm. “Enough. He’s still my brother.”

Shisui’s expression softened at once.

“And that’s the only reason he’s breathing,” he said gently, tipping his head toward her. “You know it’s true.”

Across the chamber, Tsubaki reached for Izumi’s hand, the two women trading a knowing glance before turning to Rin and Sakura.

“It’s good you’re both here again,” Tsubaki said warmly, her usual steel giving way to something gentler. “We’ve missed having our circle whole. Too many empty chairs these past months.”

Izumi nodded, rocking her baby against her chest. “Yes — our little group back together. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me. It feels right again.”

Sakura blushed, her hand tightening in Rin’s, and Rin gave her a small smile in return.

For the first time since the brawl, her heart eased just a little.

Then Shisui’s sharp gaze flicked to Naruto, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, sprawled on a bench with arms folded.

“And where were you, Uzumaki? Didn’t see you throw a single punch while Obito was trading blows.”

Naruto straightened, sheepish.

“Tch, I was looking for Hinata. She was supposed to meet me for lunch, but…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I couldn’t find her.”

The brothers exchanged glances, Shisui’s brows rising, Itachi’s lips pressing thin, Sasuke’s gaze narrowing.

Sasuke gave him a sharp look, dark brows furrowed.

“You couldn’t find her? Did you even look everywhere?”

Naruto’s grin faltered, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“She wasn’t with me all day,” he admitted, voice dropping, “and that’s not like her.”

That earned a ripple of chuckles — even from Obito, whose mouth twitched despite himself. Rin caught it, that tiny break in his mask, and her chest warmed at the sight.

The door creaked then, cutting through the hum of voices.

The air shifted.

King Fugaku stepped inside, Minato at his side. The laughter died at once.

Everyone rose to their feet.

Rin dipped into a low bow, her fan lowered, her heart pounding as the King’s sharp gaze swept the room.

His eyes landed on her split lip, lingering there, and though his face was stone, she felt no anger in it. Only acknowledgment.

Fugaku said nothing at first.

His gaze swept the room, lingering on Obito, on Rin, on each of his sons in turn. Then he spoke, his voice heavy with iron.

“I have spoken with King Hiruzen.”

The weight of it fell across the chamber.

“I told him what happened,” Fugaku continued, every word clipped and controlled. “That my heir was insulted publicly, that his consort was struck. That it was no stranger, no enemy—but kin to her own blood who dared such dishonor.” His eyes narrowed, voice hardening like steel dragged across stone. “Kin or not, the man had no right. He shamed his family name, and he shamed Konoha.”

Rin’s hands tightened in her lap, the fan trembling faintly.

“I apologized for the scene,” Fugaku went on, “for it taking place in his halls. But I told him this truth as well: he should be glad my son did not slit the man’s throat before the court.” His gaze shifted, heavy as a brand, and for a heartbeat it lingered on Rin—then Obito. “Obito showed restraint, though none would have blamed him if he had not.”

Obito’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

From the corner, Shisui gave a low whistle. “Restraint,” he murmured under his breath, earning a quick glare from Itachi.

Fugaku’s eyes cut to him, and the smirk vanished.

“The matter is closed,” Fugaku declared. “We leave at dawn. Akatsuki does not linger where its honor is spat upon. Our hosts have been informed. They will not contest it.”

Minato stepped forward then, his voice calm but edged.

“Arrangements are being made. The carriages will be ready. Ensure your things are in order tonight.”

The chamber stayed silent for a long moment, the words settling like stones dropped in water.

Then Mikoto, her voice softer, looked toward Rin.

“Do not bow your head, child. You are not at fault. You carry our name now, and you carry it with dignity. No whisper can change that.”

Rin swallowed hard, lowering her fan. The ache in her lip stung, but the words settled in her chest like an anchor.

Izumi smiled faintly, rocking her younger son against her shoulder. “Queen Mother’s right. You should’ve seen the way the crowd scattered once Obito struck him. If anyone doubted before, they don’t anymore. They know exactly who you are now.”

Tsubaki leaned forward, her dark eyes alight. “And who you’ll be. No one will dare question it again. Not after today.”

Rin’s throat tightened. Even she knew it was true.

But Naruto’s voice broke the gentle warmth. He shifted, uneasy, his blond head ducking low as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Still no sign of Hinata,” he muttered. “She was meant to meet me for the meal. I’ll check the gardens again.” His tone was light but worry tugged at the edges.

Itachi’s dark gaze flicked to him.

“You’ve looked once already?”

Naruto nodded.

“Twice. Nothing. Maybe she went with Ino.”

The air stilled.

Rin froze where she sat, her fan trembling faintly in her hands. She had known this would come.

 She had felt it since morning—that her mother would not stay silent. Still, the words landed like stones.

The servant’s words still hung in the air when Obito rose, his chair scraping back.

“I’ll go with you,” he said, voice like iron.

Rin caught his arm fast, her fan trembling in her hand.

“No, my love. Please—let me handle this.”

His jaw flexed, his eyes narrowing to slits.

“Handle it? Why—so he can strike you twice?” His voice was low, dangerous, the edge of a blade unsheathed. “So, he can learn what happens when a man raises his hand to what’s mine?”

Rin’s breath hitched, but she forced her tone steady.

“Obito… if I go alone, maybe they’ll listen. Maybe we can still end this without more blood. I would hate to leave with things so broken.”

His gaze burned through her, the Sharingan flickering faint red beneath his lashes.

“Broken things aren’t mended with lies and bruises, Rin. They’re ended. Permanently.”

Her throat bobbed, but she shook her head, pressing closer, her fan brushing against his chest.

“If you walk in that room, you won’t stop. I know you. You’ll destroy them. And I—” her voice cracked, “—I don’t want my family destroyed, not by your hand.”

The silence was jagged, heavy enough to choke.

His breath seared hot against her temple, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for his blade instead of her.

At last, he leaned down, voice rough and lethal in her ear.

“Then you’d better pray, lamb. Pray they remember who you belong to before they open their mouths again.”

He kissed her once, hard and final, before letting her go.

 

 

The servant’s words lingered as Rin made her way down the hushed corridor. Your family requests your presence, my lady.

Her pulse was quick, her palms damp against the silk of her gown.

She told herself this was her chance — maybe her mother had softened, maybe her father was ready to speak calmly. Maybe her brother would swallow his pride for once.

She clung to that fragile hope as she reached her chamber doors.

She eased them open, the hinges whispering.

The room was dim, lit only by a single lantern left burning low on the vanity.

Shadows stretched long across the walls, familiar and yet somehow… wrong.

Still, she forced her voice out, tentative but steady.

“Mother?” She stepped further inside, closing the door softly behind her. “Father?”

The silence pressed heavy against her ears.

She tried again, softer this time, almost pleading.

“Ruen? Please—if you’re here, let’s just talk. Please.”

Nothing. Just the quiet hiss of the lantern flame.

Her shoulders sagged.

She exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her chest. Maybe they hadn’t come yet.

Maybe—

The shadow moved.

A hand snapped around her waist, iron-strong, dragging her back.

Another clamped a cloth over her mouth and nose.

Rin’s muffled cry ripped against the fabric as the sharp, sweet scent flooded her lungs.

Panic surged. She kicked, clawed, fought — but the arms that held her were relentless.

Her mind screamed.

No. Not now. Not like this.

Her body was already weakening, her limbs heavy as stone, but instinct clawed up through the haze.

She reached for the one thing she still had, the symbol that bound her to him. Her ring.

Her fingers tugged it free, the weight slipping loose.

With what strength she had left, she let it fall.

The platinum band struck the stone floor with a sharp, clear clink that echoed louder than it should have, a desperate signal.

Her vision blurred.

Lantern light smeared into shadow.

Her knees buckled, the intruder’s grip the only thing holding her upright as the world spun away.

Her last breath broke ragged against the cloth, her lashes fluttering shut as one thought burned in her fading mind:

Obito. Find me.

And then, darkness.

 

 

 

                   AND SO IT BEGINGS

 

 

The palace air was wrong.

Sai felt it before Naruto did.

The silence was too sharp, too heavy for a midday gathering.

The clatter of dishes, the chatter of servants—it had thinned, replaced by the clipped shuffle of boots and the hiss of orders barked low under breath.

From behind one set of great cedar doors came muffled shouting, strained and urgent.

King Hiruzen’s voice carried sharp above the rest, met with the harsher bite of another.

Sai’s eyes narrowed.

His hand twitched at his sword by hip, his instincts whispering danger.

Naruto’s voice cut through the tension, raw with frustration.

“Hinata! Where is she?”

He stormed down the marble corridor, golden hair catching the light, eyes searching every face, every corner.

They turned a corner into a sunlit courtyard where two familiar figures stood.

Prince Neji Hyūga was poised like a blade, his expression cool but taut with strain.

Beside him, young Princess Hanabi clutched at his sleeve, her pale eyes wide with worry.

“Prince Neji!” Naruto called, running up, breathless. “Have you seen Hinata? I’ve been looking everywhere—she was supposed to meet me at lunch.”

Neji’s pale gaze flicked toward him, unreadable, but his jaw tightened.

“That is what I meant to ask you, Naruto. She is not with you?”

Naruto froze, then shook his head quickly, panic sparking in his voice.

“No—no, I thought she’d be with you. I thought—” His voice cracked. “Don’t tell me you don’t know where she is either.”

Hanabi’s voice wavered, though she tried to hold steady.

“We can’t find her. Not her… and not Lady Ino.”

Sai’s composure didn’t shift, but his words cut clean.

“Since when?”

“This morning,” Hanabi said softly. “They took breakfast together. After that… no one saw them.”

Naruto’s fists clenched, his chest rising too fast.

“No. No, she promised me—she promised!” He spun, shouting into the courtyard as if she might answer. “Hinata!”

The shouting from the council chamber rose higher, snapping

Sai’s attention back.

King Hiruzen’s gravelled timbre cut across, firm, but other voices thundered back.

Neji’s face hardened.

He lowered his voice, but the weight of it carried like iron.

“King Ōnoki of Iwagakure. King A of Kumogakure. My father, Lord Inoichi Yamanaka. King Gaara of Sunagakure and his brother. Prince Bee. All demanding answers.” His gaze sharpened. “They say King A’s heir has not been seen since morning. Princess Temari is missing as well. And King Ōnoki’s granddaughter is missing too.”

Hanabi added quietly, eyes dropping.

“Princess Keiko. She is… a jinchuriki.”

The word hit like thunder.

Naruto’s heart lurched.

“What—?!” His voice cracked, fury and dread tangling. “They’ve been taking them—one by one—and no one noticed until now?!”

Sai’s chest burned cold, though his face betrayed nothing.

Ino’s name echoed in his head, relentless, but outwardly he was stone. His voice came low, decisive. “We cannot waste time.”

Naruto looked at him, eyes blazing.

“Yeah. If someone’s hunting jinchuriki—and Hinata’s gone—Obito needs to know.”

Neji gave a sharp nod. “Go. Tell him. I will continue here.”

Without another word, he and Sai turned and ran, their boots pounding the stones, carrying the weight of fear and fury down the corridor toward the Uchiha wing.

 

 

The council chamber buzzed with low, uneasy murmurs—nobles and generals exchanging looks, tension heavy in the air.

Rin’s absence lingered at the edges of everyone’s thoughts, but no one dared say it aloud.

They told themselves she’d only gone to her family’s quarters, that she’d return before the next bell.

The doors slammed open.

Sai and Naruto stumbled inside, breathless, urgency breaking like a wave over the room.

“They’re gone,” Naruto panted, eyes wild. “Hinata. Ino. Prince A’s son. Princess Temari. All missing—since this morning.”

Gasps erupted. Chairs scraped.

Shisui shot to his feet, Sharingan flashing. Itachi’s face hardened, every line carved sharp with dread.

Even King Fugaku, stone-faced as ever, straightened at once.

But Obito—Obito was already moving.

The instant the words left Naruto’s mouth, the Crown Prince shoved back from the table, his chair crashing to the floor.

His cloak snapped behind him as he strode for the doors, every step lethal, the air sparking like flint.

“Obito!” Shisui called, half-rising, but his stride didn’t falter.

Panic surged through Rin’s name in everyone’s throat—but no one dared say it.

They didn’t have to.

Because Obito already knew.

His pulse thundered, his chest caging something savage as he tore through the halls.

He’d felt it from the moment he woke that morning—that shadow of dread, the weight of something coiling too close.

And now, with Naruto’s words, with the empty place at Rin’s side—

No.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

All he could do was run.

Toward her.

Toward her chambers.

And as the brothers, Naruto, Sai, and the others rushed to follow, one truth echoed silent in every step:

if Rin was gone, if she had been taken too—
then the palace would not survive the storm Obito was about to unleash.

 

 

Obito didn’t slow when he reached Rin’s chambers—he threw the doors wide with a slam that cracked against the stone.

“Rin!” His voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

The room was still.

Too still.

The faint scent of rosewater clung to the air, her shawl folded neatly across the chair, the bed untouched.

Not a cushion out of place.

Not a sheet disturbed. It was the picture of calm—and yet her absence screamed louder than any chaos.

Obito’s breath hitched sharp in his chest.

His eyes swept every corner, every shadow, Sharingan spinning, but there was nothing.

No sign of struggle.

No torn fabric.

No trace of her at all.

“She’s not here,” Shisui muttered, his voice low, tense.

Itachi’s jaw was tight as iron. “Too clean.”

Obito’s hands clenched, leather creaking over bone.

The silence was suffocating.

It pressed in on him, screaming one truth louder than the quiet room dared admit.

He turned without a word.

The others followed—Naruto and Sai quick at his heels.

 The Uchiha brothers moved in a hard line at Obito’s back, black leather snapping with each stride.

The march to the guest wing was a storm.

Servants flattened themselves against the walls, guards stood frozen at their posts, and still Obito did not slow.

When he reached the door to Ruen’s suite, he didn’t knock.

He didn’t call out.

He kicked it open.

The crash of wood against the wall made the chamber’s occupants jolt.

Ruen leapt to his feet, startled from his chair, their parents looking up from the low table in shock.

Before a word could be spoken, Obito was across the room.

He seized Ruen by the collar and slammed him back against the wall, the dagger at his belt flashing free and pressing hard to the man’s throat.

“Where is she?” Obito snarled, his voice a guttural growl, low enough to chill the blood. His crimson gaze bore into Ruen’s eyes, unblinking, merciless.

Ruen coughed against the pressure, struggling to keep his smirk.

“W-what the hell are you talking about?”

“Rin,” Obito hissed, pressing the blade deeper until it kissed flesh, a bead of blood sliding down.

“She came here. She hasn’t returned. If you touched her—if you hid her—if you so much as breathed wrong in her presence—” His voice dropped lower, death itself in every syllable. “I will cut the truth out of you.”

Ruen’s eyes burned with fear and defiance both.

“I don’t have her!” he spat. “I swear on the gods, I haven’t seen her since this morning!”

“Liar.” Obito’s jaw flexed, the blade shaking with the force of his rage. He lifted Ruen higher, choking him against the wall.

“You struck her once. You think I wouldn’t know? That lip—her lip—” His voice broke into something raw, feral. “Give her back or die for it.”

The room descended into chaos— And still Obito pressed closer, his eyes burning scarlet, his blade sliding tighter against Ruen’s skin.

One breath, one slip, and he would open his throat.

His fury was past hearing.

He was seconds from tearing the man apart—

“PRINCE OBITO!”

The cry shattered the room like glass.

Sakura burst through the doorway, breathless, her face pale with urgency.

In her trembling hands—gleaming faintly in the light—was a ring.

Rin’s ring.

Obito froze.

His dagger stilled against Ruen’s throat as his eyes locked on the ruby band glinting in Sakura’s palm.

The engagement ring he had slid onto Rin’s finger with his vow.

It shouldn’t have left her hand.

Not for anything.

“She left it,” Sakura gasped, holding it out, voice breaking. “She left it as a sign, Obito. She didn’t just vanish—someone took her.”

The world tilted.

Obito’s hand trembled, his Sharingan wide, burning hotter than fire.

He released Ruen with a violent shove, the man collapsing against the wall. The dagger dropped low, but his focus was no longer on him.

His chest heaved, every breath a war between fury and despair as he reached out with shaking fingers and took the ring from Sakura’s palm.

The weight of it hit him harder than any blade.

Rin had left it for him. A clue. A plea.

Obito’s jaw clenched, his entire frame vibrating with fury. When he looked up, his eyes were no longer human—they were the eyes of a man ready to bring kingdoms to ash.

“Find her,” he growled, the command shaking the air itself. “Now.”

 

 

Chapter 36: The Lamb and the Shepherd/The Gathering StormThe Silence of Beasts/Before the World Burns/The Search/

                                                                    THE LAMB AND THE SHEPHERD

 

Rin woke to cold.

The dungeon air pressed damp against her skin, tasting of stone and mildew.

Water dripped somewhere in steady rhythm, echoing off the carved walls like the ticking of an unseen clock.

She pushed herself upright, her body heavy, her mouth dry. Instinctively, she reached inward—Isobu?

Nothing.

Her pulse jumped.

Isobu. Answer me.

No voice.

No low rumble.

No sardonic grumble.

Only silence, vast and empty.

Her hand flew to her stomach, as if she could touch him there.

Nothing.

The elixirs they’d been pouring down her throat had worked. They had cut her off from him.

He was still inside her—she could feel the faint pressure—but he was mute, locked away.

Her breath quickened, sharp, panicked.

“You’re awake.”

Rin’s head snapped toward the sound.

A girl leaned against the bars of the cell opposite, her wrists bruised where shackles had rubbed raw.

Dark hair fell in snarls over her shoulders, her eyes hollow but sharp.

“Akari Sato,” she said softly, voice hoarse. “From the Kingdom of Wing. Two-Tails.”

The words fell like stones in Rin’s chest.

A bitter voice spoke from another cell, older, rougher.

“Sabo. Seven-Tails. And you—” His eyes cut to her sharply, hollow but burning. “That makes you Three Tails.”

Rin’s throat closed.

A pair of pale eyes stared from the next two cells down the row—two young faces nearly identical, save for the slight tilt of a jaw.

Boy and girl, separated by iron.

“Taro,” the boy muttered.

“Kira,” the girl whispered.

Their gazes never left each other, straining across the bars.

Their cells were close, but not touching—deliberately apart.

“Five,” Taro said.

“Six,” Kira finished.

The words felt like a curse.

A whimper drew Rin’s eyes further down the row. In the farthest cell, a little girl no older than ten clutched the bars.

Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her voice shaking.

“I’m Keiko… from Iwagakure. Grandpa’s coming for me. He—he promised—”

Rin’s stomach dropped.

Every cell.

Every face.

One after another.

Jinchuriki.

Like her.

A door groaned open at the far end.

Steps echoed, slow, deliberate.

The scrape of a staff against stone.

The shadows parted.

And he walked in.

His robes were dyed deep crimson, heavier than those of the peach-clad cultists who trailed him, their hems edged with delicate golden thread, etched with the symbols of forgotten gods.

Every fold seemed to carry weight, dragging like the vestments of judgment itself.

Around his neck hung a chain, silver and old, set with nine tiny charms—each no bigger than a thumbnail.

They caught the torchlight as he moved, glinting faintly, as if whispering of the nine beasts bound to fate.

The torches burned hotter as though bending toward him, their flames stretching to paint every deep groove of his face.

His eyes gleamed with the kind of cold faith that was more dangerous than madness.

Rin’s breath froze in her throat.

“You,” she whispered.

His mouth curved into a humorless smile.

“So. The lamb knows the shepherd at last.”

The cultists bowed their heads, but his gaze was hers alone.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he said smoothly, tone heavy with false devotion. “Tell me, child. Can you still hear him? The beast within?”

Rin’s nails dug into her palms. “…How do you know about that?”

He chuckled low.

“I have eyes. Ears. Everywhere. Did you think your training with the red-haired priestess escaped me? Karin Uzumaki, yes? Loyal girl. She’d slit her own throat before betraying her temple or the crown. But you—” His smile widened, cold. “You were always going to betray yourself.”

Rin’s voice trembled but did not break.

“You serve no gods. You serve yourself.”

His eyes glittered.

“Tell yourself that,” he said softly.

A sharp voice cut through from another cell.

Temari, her back straight, chin raised despite her bruises.

“What do you intend to do with us?”

He turned his head as though amused by a child’s question.

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re bait. Your brother won’t let you rot. You’ll draw him here.” His tone sharpened. “That’s all you’re worth.”

Temari’s hands clenched white at her sides, but her voice stayed steady.

“He’ll kill you.”

“I hope he tries,” the priest murmured.

Rin gripped her bars, forcing her voice out.

“And us? What do you want with us?”

His smile widened, saccharine.

“Tea party, of course.” Then his eyes darkened, venom spilling into his voice. “Sacrifice, you stupid bitch. What else? Your bodies, your beasts, your blood. The gods demand nothing less.”

Keiko whimpered, sobbing into her hands.

From another cell, King A’s heir snarled, “They’ll find us. All of us. And when they do, they’ll tear YOU limb from limb.”

The priest’s laughter slithered through the dark.

“Ah, but that’s the plan. Let your kings and princes come. I’ll offer them deliverance too.”

The door opened again.

Two figures entered.

Not men. Their skin pale, grain-like, their eyes black voids.

Wooden and wrong, but still moving like puppets given breath.

The priest gestured lazily toward Temari.

“Daughter of the desert—your ancestors.”

The Oasians mimics tilted their heads in eerie unison.

Not quite human. Not quite alive.

The chains rattled.

The cells held.

And Rin knew—this wasn’t a prison.

It was an altar.

 

 

                          

                                                                    THE GATHERING STORM

 

 

Behind him, Ruen stood rigid, arms crossed, his jaw set tight. His eyes locked once—briefly, unwillingly—on Obito. In that glance was fury, disgust, and something else: shame.

He hated what Obito was, hated even more that his sister had bound herself to him.

But seeing the fire in Obito’s eyes, hearing the deadly weight in his vows, he could no longer pretend Rin had been exaggerating.

No longer pretend she had been reckless, or foolish.

She had been telling the truth.

She had been in danger all along.

And Obito had been the one holding her safe while Ruen doubted her.

It ate at him like acid, though his face betrayed nothing but a mask of silent anger.

King A from the Kingdom of Kumogakure loomed massive at the table, his fists clenched, the golden rings on his fingers flashing in the firelight. At his side, Prince Bee, speaking in low rhymes that carried tension under their beat.

From the Kingdom of Iwagakure, King Ōnoki Iwahara, small but severe, his voice sharp as flint when he spoke, his generals bristling behind him.

Beside them, King Renga of the Kingdom of Stone and his advisors, silent but alert.

From the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows came King Hiashi Hyuga, his pale eyes colder than the moonlight, with his children Prince Neji and Princess Hanabi standing behind him, faces tense.

At Hiashi’s side stood Lord Inoichi Yamanaka, his blonde hair tied back, his jaw tight.

Behind him, his daughter’s absence hung like a wound. And beside him — standing in polished armor, the very image of a loyal general — was Daichi Mizuhara.

His face was grim, his eyes hooded, but his hand rested respectfully against the pommel of his sword.

He looked every inch the grieving suitor, his silence a mask of dutiful composure. Once, his gaze flicked to Sai across the table — brief, unreadable, gone as quickly as it came.

And at the far end, King Gaara of the kingdom of Sunagakure his sand-colored hair catching the torchlight, his sharp face darker than ever.

His older brother, Prince Kankurō, shifted impatiently beside him, while their right hand, Choza Akimichi, sat solid and steady, though even he looked troubled.

The chamber was thick with power. Every voice, every movement was weighed.

Minato Uzumaki, Fugaku’s right hand, stood near the Uchiha princes, his golden hair catching the firelight, his expression grim. Near him, Commander Shien Sumiya, Sai’s older brother, his face tight with suspicion.

And at the center of it all, Naruto shifted uncomfortably.

His heart pounded in his chest, Kurama’s low growl humming in his head.

It was Shikaku who finally spoke first, his voice like steel dragged over stone.

“Let’s stop circling smoke. Too many heirs, too many jinchuriki, too many children are missing. This is not chance. This is a strike.”

King Ōnoki slammed his small hand against the table.

“My granddaughter is gone. My blood. She was taken under the roof of Fire’s palace. Tell me—what security does this crown offer, if children vanish from under your noses?”

Hiruzen’s eyes narrowed, but his voice stayed level.

“We are investigating. You will have answers.”

“I don’t want promises,” Ōnoki spat. “I want her back.”

“You’re not alone,” King A growled, his voice deep as thunder. “My heir is missing. My son. And if he dies, I swear by the gods I’ll burn the skies red with your banners.”

Bee muttered, “Kidnapped heirs, missing queens-to-be, jinchuriki vanishin’ like smoke on the breeze—yo, this ain’t no joke, we bleed if they choke.”

“Enough.” Fugaku’s voice cut through, cold as steel. His black eyes swept the table. “You think we don’t bleed too? Rin Nohora is my son’s consort. She is the future queen of Akatsuki. If she has been touched—if she has been taken—it is an act of war.”

The chamber rang with silence.

Obito sat rigid, his knuckles white against the wood.

His lips were pressed into a thin line, but the fury bleeding from his eyes spoke louder than any words.

Finally, it was Naruto who broke. His voice shook.

“I… I think I know who’s behind this.”

Every head turned.

Obito’s head snapped toward him, Sharingan flashing. “WHO?”

Naruto swallowed, his mouth dry, Kurama’s growl echoing.

“It’s… it’s the priest. Danzo.”

The word hung heavy, poisonous.

“Danzo?” Tsunade’s brows drew low. “That old vulture?”

Naruto nodded, his words tumbling out.

“He knew things he shouldn’t. About the ancient Oasians, about jinchuriki history. Kurama told me after—the things he said, no human should’ve known. And the necklace—he wore the Nine-Tail’s sigil, nine charms on a chain. I thought… I thought it was nothing, but—”

“You thought.” Obito’s voice was a snarl, low and lethal.

His chair scraped back as he shot to his feet, palms flat on the table, his Sharingan burning like blood.

“You knew. And you said nothing?”

“Obito—” Sasuke started, but Obito cut him off with a glare.

“You let him walk. You let him stand beside us. You let him near Rin!”

His voice cracked into a roar, rattling the air.

His brothers rose to hold him, Shisui’s hand clamping down on his shoulder, Itachi’s voice low, “Calm yourself—”

“Calm?” Obito’s fury whipped toward them. “She’s gone because he stayed silent!”

Naruto dropped to his knees, his fists clenched.

“I didn’t know it was him for sure! I thought—I thought I was imagining things—”

“Imagining?” Obito surged forward, his brothers barely holding him back. His eyes burned, his voice breaking into a ragged roar.

“We could have killed him there, ended it before it began. And you—” His teeth clenched, his throat tight with rage. “You did nothing.”

Kurama’s growl rumbled in Naruto’s mind.

Told you, brat. He’s right.

Naruto’s head bowed, shame burning in his chest.

“I’m sorry. Gods, I’m sorry. Please—I’ll fix it. I’ll fight until she’s back, I swear it.”

“Swear all you want Naruto.” Obito’s voice was venom. “If Rin dies because of this, her blood is on your hands.”

Silence fell again, heavy and suffocating.

At the far end of the table, General Daichi shifted slightly, his jaw tight, his face grim.

His eyes swept the table, then flicked—just once—to Sai. Nothing more than a glance.

A soldier acknowledging another.

Then he lowered his gaze, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.

Obito’s crimson eyes tore from Naruto and snapped to King Hiruzen. His voice was low, deadly.

“Where is he? Where is the priest?”

Hiruzen’s jaw tightened, the lines of age shadowed by firelight.

“Danzo told me he was returning to the Holy Red Temple in the capital. He left after the morning rites.”

A murmur broke across the chamber—too many voices, too many suspicions.

One of Hiruzen’s oldest generals stepped forward, his steel breastplate catching the torchlight.

His hair was streaked white, his face a map of campaigns, General Homura Mitokado.

“My king, allow me. I’ll dispatch a company immediately to the Holy City. If the priest is there, we will drag him out and put him in irons.”

Obito’s voice cut sharp across his words.

“Not your company alone.”

All eyes turned as Obito rose, his Sharingan burning faint.

“If Danzo is what Naruto claims, if he has the strength and knowledge to take half a dozen jinchuriki under our noses—then your men won’t be enough.” His gaze shifted to the Akatsuki side. “Shien.”

The commander of the Sumiya clan stepped forward, straight-backed, his dark armor gleaming. His expression didn’t flicker, though his eyes sharpened with understanding.

“Yes, my prince.”

“Send some of your best with them,” Obito ordered, his tone iron. “Not fodder. The men you’d trust at your back if the ground opened beneath you.”

Shien inclined his head once, a soldier’s vow.

“Consider it done.” He turned immediately, striding toward the doors to see it carried out.

The chamber was a storm—Gaara’s fist slamming once against the table, Ōnoki snapping at Hiruzen, King A growling that if his heir was harmed there would be no kingdom left standing.

Through it all, Obito stood rigid, his hands clenched so tightly the scars across his knuckles split anew.

And for the briefest moment, in the corner, Daichi’s gaze flicked again—toward Sai.

The chamber buzzed with voices, the long table rattling under fists, goblets spilling wine like blood on the maps laid out between them.

King A surged to his feet, his dark robes sweeping behind him, his gold crown glinting.

His booming voice cut across the din.

“If my son is in his hands, then my soldiers will march with yours. I’ll not sit idle while my heir rots in some dungeon. Half my guard are already stationed here in Fire—double them, and they’ll ride before dawn.”

Prince Bee leaned forward at his uncle’s side, his heavy bracelets clinking as he slapped the table. His voice rumbled low, edged with rhyme even in fury.

“Send us the word, we’ll cut through the herd—no priest, no cult, no chains will hold. We’ll bring them back, young and old.”

Ōnoki slammed his gnarled hand down, the veins in his neck stark with rage. His brother, Lord Iwahara, leaned close to steady him, but the old king’s eyes burned hotter than any torch.

“My granddaughter is a child. A child! And you tell me she is in the hands of a butcher masquerading as a priest?!” His voice cracked with the force of it.

“You’ll have not only my generals but every stonemason, every miner that can wield a pick. If Danzo has dug himself into the earth, then Stone will dig him out.”

The murmurs swelled, nobles muttering, some pale with fear, others flushed with anger.

King Hiashi of Stars and Shadows stood slow, his pale eyes narrowed, Hanabi hovering at his side. His hand rested heavy on Neji’s shoulder.

“My daughter is missing. And Lord Inoichi’s daughter is taken as well. Do not mistake our silence for patience.” His gaze flicked to Obito. “You’ll have the Hyūga at your back. Every Byakugan eye will scour the land until the priest is rooted out.”

Lord Inoichi himself stepped forward, face hard as iron.

“Name the hour, and the Yamanaka will ride. If this cult thinks they can hide in shadows, let them try. My clan will rip thoughts from their skulls until the truth spills.”

At the other end, King Renga of Stone growled, his voice deep as the mountains he ruled.

“Stone has given their word. The Stone will not falter. My men march with Gaara’s. Whoever touches one jinchuriki has made enemies of us all.”

A thunder of voices followed, generals calling oaths, vowing men, offering supplies, steel, and fire.

Obito’s jaw flexed as he stood in the storm, his crimson eyes sweeping the gathered kings.

For the first time in years, the kingdoms stood united—not in peace, but in rage.

And still, beneath the fury and pledges, one truth bled sharp in the silence:
Danzo had taken too much, from too many.

When he was found, no force in heaven or hell could shield him.

                                                            

 

 

                                                               THE SILENCE OF BEAST

                                                             

 

Rin woke to stone and iron.

Cold bit through her spine, through the chains at her wrists and ankles, through the thin shift someone had bound her into.

Torches hissed along the corridor, their smoke painting the ceiling in a wavering black ribbon.

Thick iron bars separated cell from cell, a honeycomb of dim-lit cages.

She drew a breath—shallow, bitter with damp—and reached inward by instinct.

Isobu?

Silence.

Not the old, patient ocean of him, but a deadened hush that made her stomach ice over.

Isobu, can you hear me?

Nothing. As if a door had been bricked up behind her ribs.

Her fingers tightened around the chain. “No,” she breathed, too soft to carry.

A rustle from the next cell. A young girl’s voice, steadying itself.

“Are you awake?”

Rin turned.

In the gloom, Keiko Iwahara pressed small hands to the bars, her face pale and brave.

Beyond her, two more cells—Taro and Kira, the Stone twins, separated but close enough to hear each other’s breathing.

Across the aisle: Akari Sato, eyes sunken with months of captivity; and further still, Sabo, sitting with his back to the wall, watching her like a man who had learned to be careful with hope.

Not all faces here were marked by beasts.

In one of the far cells, Temari gripped the bars, chin high, blood dried along a cut at her cheek.

Opposite her, Hinata sat very still, wrists bound in iron cuffs etched with faint sigils, gaze lifted and unblinking; beside her, another woman knelt—Ino—her hair disheveled, the calm in her face cracked but not gone.

In the shadows beyond them, the Crown Prince of Kumogakure—King A’s heir—stood tall despite a bruise flowering along his jaw, his eyes burning quiet lightning.

Footsteps. Measured. Certain.

The gate at the corridor’s end swung wide.

Men in peach robes filed in first—heads bowed, faces veiled. Behind them came the priest.

Crimson robes, not the humble blacks of common clergy—richly dyed, edged in gold thread that caught and held the torchlight.

Around his neck a chain, old and silver, nine tiny charms linked together like captured tails.

He wore the flame like a crown; it licked across the hard planes of his face and left nothing warm behind.

The charms chimed once when he stopped.

“Begin.”

The peach-robed cultists split into pairs, moving to the cells that held jinchuriki.

Stoppers popped.

Thick, dark liquid sloshed into clay cups. Iron hinges screamed.

Akari fought until a palm forced her jaw open. Kira spat and snarled; a cuff to the mouth snapped her teeth together and the draught went down in choking gulps.

Taro thrashed until the chain at his ankle dragged him short and he stumbled to his knees. Sabo tried to turn his head; a hand pinched his nose until he gasped and swallowed.

A gate clanged open at Rin’s feet.

“Hold her,” one cultist said. Hands seized her shoulders, hard enough to bruise. Another pried her jaw.

The cup pressed against her mouth.

The elixir tasted of old iron and bitter root, of ash and lake-mud.

It burned down; it settled like a weight.

“Only the marked,” the priest said without looking toward the captives who were not dosed. “The others—no draughts. They are leverage, not vessels.”

Hinata’s fingers flexed once against her cuffs.

Temari’s lip curled. Ino’s breath shivered but steadied as she reached for Hinata’s hand through the bars, squeezing once, hard.

The priest turned at last, and his gaze found Rin.

“Do you feel it?” His voice flowed cool and sure, sliding along the stone. “That clean silence where a monster once breathed. We dose at dawn and dusk. Two cups a day. You may keep your life—it serves me—but not your god. Not its voice. Not its teeth.”

Rin swallowed the burn out of her throat.

“How do you know what we hear?” she asked, raw but level.

A faint curve touched his mouth. “I have eyes and ears where your loverbird prince never bothered to look.”

He took a slow step closer, the nine charms clinking, soft as coins falling into a well.

“I knew when you slipped from your palace with Minato’s kin. The Uzumaki girl. Karin.”

He lifted his hand, admiring the red-gold stitch at his sleeve. “Do not waste breath on fantasies of rescue from her. She would slit her own throat before she’d betray her crown or her gods. As would I.”

Steel scraped softly as Temari straightened to her full height behind her bars.

“What do you intend for me?” she asked, voice steady. “I’m no vessel.”

His eyes slid to her, indifferent.

“Bait. For your brother. He is the beast I want when the gods ring their bell.”

Temari’s laugh was a dry desert wind. “He’ll come,” she said. “And you’ll die.”

The priest’s gaze drifted past her to the two figures standing just inside the door—silent, pale, wrong in a way the torchlight could not explain.

Their skin had the tenor of bleached wood; their eyes were too calm.

“You, see?” he murmured, looking back to Temari with a smile that wasn’t one. “Your ancestors have already arrived.”

A ripple of unease ran the length of the corridor. Hinata’s breath hitched.

Ino’s grip tightened around her fingers until their knuckles blanched.

Even the Crown Prince of Kumogakure shifted, a curse shaping soundlessly on his tongue.

From the far cell, Hinata lifted her chin, voice steady despite the chains at her wrists.

“And us?” she demanded. “We’re not jinchuriki’s. What use are we to you?”

The priest’s gaze slid lazily to her, then to Ino beside her, and back again.

“Insurance,” he said simply.

“Naruto Uzumaki,” he said smoothly, savoring the name like it was already his. “The boy carries a beast greater than any of you.”

His smile thinned. “

Stubborn men sometimes require… additional pressure.”

His gaze slid to Ino.

“And the Yamanaka will keep the princess company.” He flicked two fingers, as if the matter were trivial. “Leverage tends to behave better in pairs.

Silence thickened.

Then Ino spoke, her voice low but clear, carrying a strange weight. “Or perhaps,” she murmured, “we’re here to keep the princess company.”

Her words hung sharp and uneasy in the air—cryptic, cutting deeper than they should have.

Even Danzo’s smile paused, as though he’d heard more in them than she had meant to say.

Keiko gave a small, involuntary sound. Akari closed her eyes and breathed once, slow, as if steadying herself against a blow.

Kira’s fingers dug into the straw until her nails were rimmed with blood.

He stepped closer to Rin’s bars until the charms at his throat tapped metal.

“Your prince thinks love makes you strong,” he murmured, almost intimate. “He thinks he can burn his way through every wall between you.” The corner of his mouth edged up. “But flames are fragile. I nearly cut him from this world once already.” His voice softened to a mocking croon. “The loverbird prince.”

Rin tasted iron, not from the elixir, but from her own fury.

“Be afraid of him,” she whispered. “Because I promise you—he will burn heaven and hell to find me. There won’t be a title, a temple, or a bone of yours left unbroken when he’s done.”

For the barest instant, something tightened around the priest’s eyes. His hand rose to the chain, fingers settling on the tiny tails as if for benediction—or luck.

“Two cups at dawn,” he said to the peach-robes without looking away from her, “two at dusk. If any vessel retches it up, make them swallow it again. If they resist, break fingers. I do not require them unmarked—only alive.”

He turned then, his robes whispering against the stone.

Temari’s voice followed, sharp as a thrown blade. “They’ll find us,” she said. “All of them. And they’ll know your name.”

He didn’t pause.

“They will find an empty room and cool ashes,” he said conversationally. “And a trail of prayers I have already burned.”

At the door, he lifted a hand.

The two pale figures peeled from the wall and flowed after him, silent.

The gate boomed shut.

For a moment, the only sounds were the torches and the ragged breathing of the dosed.

Then Ino spoke, low and fierce.

“We hold,” she said, as much to herself as to the others. She leaned her forehead to the bars, voice steadying with each word. “We breathe. We wait.”

Hinata squeezed back.

Rin let out a breath that trembled at its edges and didn’t break.

The elixir hummed like a weight in her blood, muting the ocean behind her heart.

But the memory of Obito’s hands, of his vow pressed against her mouth, of the ring she’d dropped like a beacon—those were louder than the quiet.

“He’s already burning,” she said.

And in the hush that followed, even the stones seemed to listen.

 

 

                                                                                  BEFORE THE WORLD BURNS

 

The air in the war chamber was tense, suffocating, when the soldiers returned. Dust clung to their armor, sweat streaked their brows.

They bowed low before King Fugaku, but their eyes flicked once to the Crown Prince, as if they feared to deliver their news.

Obito already knew.

He could feel it in his blood.

The lead guard knelt, holding out a folded parchment sealed in black wax. “My lord… the Holy Temple was empty. The priest was gone. But this was left in his chambers—with your name upon it.”

A muscle jumped in Obito’s jaw. He reached out, fingers steady as he broke the seal.

The parchment opened with a hiss.

Inside, two things fell into his hand.

A letter.
And a bracelet.

The jade bangle gleamed green even in the torchlight, delicate and smooth, its weight familiar against his palm.

Obito stopped breathing.

Because he remembered.

He remembered the night he had slipped it over Rin’s wrist in the palace garden, when her laughter was soft, and the stars bent low to hear it.

He had told her it was carved from the veins of the earth itself, unbreakable, enduring.

“As long as you wear it, you’ll never be alone.”

Now it sat cold and mocking in his hand.

He unfolded the letter with fingers that trembled despite his iron will. The words were few, written in a sharp hand:

“To the loverbird prince. You thought she belonged to you. But now she is mine.”

The silence that followed was louder than thunder.

Obito’s brothers stiffened—Shisui shifting forward, Sasuke’s hand twitching toward his blade, Itachi’s eyes narrowing like steel. The generals murmured uneasily.

But Obito… Obito only stood there, staring at the jade in his palm as though it had cut him open.

Then he moved.

The parchment crumpled in his fist. He turned without a word and strode from the chamber, his cloak snapping like flame.

“Obito—” Sasuke started, but Shisui caught his arm. “Let him go.”

The doors slammed shut behind him.

—

In his private chambers, the world shattered.

Obito hurled the letter across the room, splintering a vase in its path.

His fist drove into the table, wood cracking, splinters flying. He tore down the shelves, glass and books crashing, the sound deafening.

The bangle clattered to the floor, but he snatched it up again, clutching it in his bloodied hand.

His chest heaved, his breath ragged, the Sharingan blazing so fiercely it burned the walls red.

“As long as you wear it, you’ll never be alone.”

The memory twisted, cruel now, and he roared, the sound guttural, tearing from his throat until it rattled the windows.

Shisui and Itachi burst in first, dragging him back before he could drive his fists bloody against the walls.

Sasuke shoved the overturned chair away, pressing down hard on his brother’s shoulders. Still Obito thrashed, eyes wild, crimson, feral.

“Obito!” Shisui barked. “Stop—stop before you break yourself!”

But his words barely reached him.

“She’s mine!” Obito roared, spit and blood on his lips. “He touched her—he thinks he can take her! Rin—my Rin!” He struggled harder, muscles straining against their hold. “I’ll burn him! I’ll burn his gods, his temple, his fucking soul until there’s nothing left to bury!”

The jade bangle dug into his palm so hard the edges cut skin, blood streaking over the green. He looked down at it—this piece of her, this mocking token—and his voice cracked.

“I promised her she’d never be alone. And now he has her.” His words broke into a growl, guttural, animal. “Danzo will choke on his own blood before I’m finished.”

 

 

                                                                        THE SEARCH

 

 

The sun was merciless, bleeding heat over the cracked earth of the Underground Oasis.

The ruined city sprawled silent, its broken walls and sand-swallowed streets whispering of ghosts.

Obito’s company moved like shadows through the rubble—Uchiha black leathers cutting through the pale dust, soldiers from allied kingdoms bristling at their flanks, and at their head, Obito himself.

Behind him, Kakashi and Ruen walked in taut silence, both remembering too well the night they nearly bled out here.

And Kankurō, face grim, had brought his own fighters, Gaara’s finest sand-brothers—every man armed, wary, waiting.

Obito’s boots struck the courtyard with the weight of memory. He didn’t have to look to know what lay beyond—the temple doors, gaping open like a maw waiting to swallow them whole.

Inside, the air was as it had always been: cooler, heavy with dust, still with the suffocating weight of old sacrifice.

The pillars loomed like petrified giants, prayers etched into their stone skin. And in the center, the altar.

The circle.

Obito’s steps echoed across the chamber until he stood over it.

The beasts carved into the stone stared up, eternal, their eyes glassy with centuries of blood that had seeped into their grooves.

The stench wasn’t there, not really—but Obito smelled it anyway.

Metallic. Old. Like memory.

Kakashi stopped at the threshold, jaw tight. Ruen lingered behind him, hand flexing unconsciously over his ribs.

Kankurō spat into the dust.

Obito crouched, tracing the grooves of the carving with his eyes. The ancient symbols.

The faded stains.

The stillness pressing on his lungs. He wanted to smash the stones apart, to dig beneath them, to tear the Oasis itself open until it bled answers.

Instead, he rose, slow, deliberate, his jaw like iron.

“Not a stone unturned,” he said, voice low, the kind that carried more command than a shout.

“Search everything. Every wall, every corner. Burn the sand if you must. If there’s a shadow here, drag it into the light.”

They scattered at once, boots striking against cracked tile and soft sand.

Soldiers poured through alleys, overturned rubble, pried into corners where desert creatures had made homes.

The Uchiha swept wide arcs, Sharingan bright in the gloom, seeking illusions, trickery, any hint of chakra left behind.

But the temple gave nothing.

No footprints, no drag marks. No blood fresh enough to scent.

When the sun began its slow descent, the men returned in groups, empty-handed, their silence louder than their words.

Obito stood at the altar still, unmoving, his hands curled tight at his sides. His brothers waited for him to speak.

Kakashi waited. Ruen, brooding and furious, waited.

Finally, Obito turned. His eyes burned scarlet in the dimming light.

“Nothing?” he asked.

The silence was answer enough.

“Then we search again,” he said, voice flint. “And again. You don’t leave until you’ve bled the Oasis dry.”

The order rippled out. Soldiers moved, weary but obedient.

Obito did not know—could not know—that beneath the temple floor, sealed away in tunnels carved with the same chains etched into the altar, Rin lay bound with the other jinchuriki.

Forced each day to swallow the bitter elixir that smothered her bond with Isobu, her body weakening, her stomach twisting every morning until she thought she would break.

And though the Oasis seemed barren, silent, devoid of life, the truth pulsed just below their feet.

So close.

And yet impossibly far.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 37: The Ghost of her/The Breaking Point/The First Sacrifice/Oaths Carved in Blood/Until She's Found

             THE GHOST OF HER

 

 

The chamber was warm, drenched in soft candlelight that gilded the walls and painted Rin’s skin in gold.

For once, there was no shouting, no clash of steel, no war. Just silence.

Just Obito’s room—and Rin, tangled in his sheets as if she had never left.

She lay beneath him, her hair fanned across his pillow like a crown of silk, her cheeks flushed pink with desire.

Her hands clung to his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into his skin, as though she never meant to let go.

Her lips parted, her voice breaking into a soft moan.

“Obito…”

The sound undid him.

He kissed her slowly, reverently, his mouth trailing across her cheek, her jaw, down to the delicate hollow of her throat.

His tongue lingered there, tasting her pulse, savoring the proof that she was alive, that she was his.

Rin shivered beneath him, sighing when his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing across her nipples until her back arched into his palms.

“Please… my love…” she whispered, her legs parting, her body opening for him with aching need.

Obito’s breath came sharp, ragged.

He pressed into her in one long, slow thrust, filling her completely.

Rin gasped, her head tipping back into the pillow, her lips trembling as his name spilled from her mouth again and again.

“Obito—”

“Gods…” He groaned against her lips, kissing her hard as his hips began to move.

At first, it was slow—deep, measured, as though he could merge their bodies together if he only took his time.

His lips brushed hers between every thrust, whispering hoarse promises.

“I missed you, lamb… I missed you so much…”

She clung to him desperately, her body clenching tight around him with every stroke.

Her gasps broke into moans, sweet and unguarded, each one tearing at what little restraint he had left.

But the tenderness couldn’t last.

Her moans grew louder, her hips rising to meet his, her nails scraping down his back.

Obito’s control frayed, then snapped.

He seized her wrists, pinned them above her head, his thrusts suddenly harder, faster, desperate.

The wet slap of their bodies filled the chamber, the bed shuddering beneath them.

Rin cried out, breathless, helpless beneath his strength.

“Obito—ahh—”

“Say it again,” he growled, rutting into her like a man possessed. “Say my name.”

“Obito!” she screamed, her legs locking around his waist, dragging him even deeper.

He was gone—lost in her, lost in the wet heat of her body gripping him like she was made for him.

His teeth scraped her throat, his hand wrapped bruisingly around her hip as he fucked her harder, punishing himself for every day she wasn’t there, every hour she wasn’t his.

Her cries broke into sobs of pleasure, her body convulsing around him as her climax ripped through her.

Her voice cracked on his name, her nails clawing at his back as she shattered beneath him.

Obito followed her, groaning low and savage as he drove into her one last time, burying himself deep and spilling inside her.

His forehead pressed to hers, his breath shattering against her lips, the world narrowing to the sound of her moans and the feeling of her clenching around him.

For a heartbeat, it was everything.

Then—nothing.

Obito jerked awake.

The bed was cold.

The room was dark.

The sheets clung to his skin, damp with sweat.

His cock throbbed, hard and aching, slick with his own precum. His chest rose and fell too fast, the echo of her voice still ringing in his head.

“Rin…” His voice cracked into the stillness, hollow and broken. His hand fisted the empty sheets where her body should have been.

The ache was unbearable.

He couldn’t stop himself.

His fist wrapped around his cock, stroking rough and fast, chasing the memory of her warmth, the sound of her crying his name.

His hips jerked into his grip, his breath ragged, his teeth clenched as he pictured her beneath him again—her legs tight around his waist, her voice begging, pleading— the way she had moaned, the way she had cried his name, the way she had looked at him that first night as he claimed her.

“Fuck…” He groaned, spilling across his stomach, his body shaking as her name tore from his throat like a prayer. “Rin…”

He collapsed back against the pillows, trembling, sweat cooling on his skin.

The release left him empty, hollow, his chest aching as tears stung his eyes.

The room was silent.

Rin wasn’t there.

She hadn’t been there at all.

And the only thing Obito had left… was her ghost.

 

 

                                                                        THE BREAKING POINT

 

 

The march into the Kingdom of Ash shook the land itself. Banners black as storm clouds rippled in the desert wind, the red cloud of Akatsuki bleeding like a wound against the horizon.

Dust rose thick from the hooves of thousands.

The armies of multiple kingdoms moved as one, their alliance an unnatural sight, their unity born of one thing only—Rin’s disappearance.

The Ash King met them with steel drawn, his walls bristling with archers.

From the towers it looked like an invasion.

But when the Crown Prince of Akatsuki Land rode to the fore, his Sharingan gleaming in his skull like burning coals, the truth was written in his face.

This was no war of conquest.

This was a hunt.

The Ash King was older than most of the men gathered. His hair was iron gray, his back crooked from years of carrying mail and scars. His crown was carved from obsidian, heavy and jagged, like the kingdom itself.

He sat on his throne and listened.

When the name Danzo was spoken, his mouth twisted into something close to a sneer.

“That vulture hasn’t been welcome here in decades. He came once, cloaked in sanctity, demanding access to our archives. He lied. He stole. He tried to strip my kingdom of its relics. I banished him under pain of death. If your trail led here, you were chasing smoke.”

A low growl came from Obito’s chest. His jaw clenched so hard it looked like his teeth might crack. “Then he planted it,” he said flatly.

Itachi’s eyes narrowed.

“Another game. Another misdirection.”

Shisui’s voice was sharper, trying to keep calm from fraying:

“Fed us a trail, only to keep us chasing shadows.”

Obito turned his head, the movement sharp, deliberate, like a predator sighting prey.

“Where is the man who gave us this lead?”

They dragged him into camp by his hair — a mercenary, mid-thirties, skin leathered by sun, eyes yellow with a fox’s cunning. His wrists were bound behind his back, his lip split, but still he smirked at them through bloodied teeth.

Hours of questioning had yielded nothing. Shien’s generals had worked him with fists, with iron, with fire.

Each scream ended in laughter.

“You’ll get nothing,” he rasped finally, spitting blood at their boots. “Not from me. Not from anyone loyal.”

Obito had been silent the whole time, standing just inside the tent, arms folded, Sharingan burning holes in the man’s skull.

The silence was heavier than screams, heavier than flame.

At last Itachi said, carefully, “We’ll need Tsubaki. Death’s Lullaby will draw the truth from him. But even if Sai flew tonight, it will take days.”

Shisui’s hand touched Obito’s shoulder.

His voice was low, urgent.

“Brother, wait. We promised each other, remember? Don’t lose yourself. Give us time. Give her time.”

But Obito’s face was carved stone, his eyes endless red.

“I don’t have days.”

That night, while campfires hissed low and the armies muttered uneasily among themselves, Obito entered the tent alone.

The guards outside heard only silence at first. Then a voice—cold, cutting.

“Last chance.”

A rough laugh followed.

“Kill me then. I’ll never give her up.”

Then came the sound. Not war. Not interrogation. Something else.

A body striking canvas.

Chains rattling.

 A scream, hoarse and high.

Wet sounds, sharp cracks.

Pleas swallowed by gurgling chokes.

The noise went on too long.

Too long for questioning.

Too long for life.

When the flap of the tent tore open, the torchlight caught him.

Obito stepped out slow, deliberate, crimson eyes glowing like a god of death.

Blood dripped from his black leathers, soaking his gloves, streaked across his face.

It was in his hair, flecked against his jaw. He hadn’t wiped it away. He hadn’t even noticed.

Behind him, the mercenary was no longer a man. A ruin of flesh, bone, and silence.

The entire camp froze. Even the torches seemed to falter.

Naruto’s throat bobbed.

He’d seen men killed. He’d seen armies fall.

But this—this was different.

Kurama shifted uneasily inside him. He’s slipping, the beast murmured. This one is not just angry. He is becoming something else.

Sai stood still, pale eyes wide.

His sketchbook hung forgotten at his side. An artist’s mind captured every detail unwillingly—the gore, the madness in

Obito’s eyes, the emptiness in his movements. His fingers trembled, though his face was stone.

Itachi’s face was unreadable, but his hands curled into fists. Shisui looked stricken, torn between pride and horror.

They had seen their brother furious.

They had seen him ruthless.

But this—this was beyond fury. This was feral.

Shisui whispered, “He’s breaking.”

Obito’s voice came low, flat, hollow:

“Next time, don’t waste my time with liars. If they won’t talk, they don’t live.”

He turned.

Walked into the dark without looking back, every step leaving bloody prints in the sand.

The camp remained silent, every soldier staring after him.

Naruto finally spoke, hoarse.

“If he finds Danzo like this—gods help him. Gods help us all.”

Shisui’s eyes followed his brother’s retreating form, his voice heavy. “

We promised we’d keep each other back from the abyss.”

Itachi said nothing. His gaze was fixed on Obito’s shadow vanishing into the desert. His lips parted finally, a whisper meant only for himself.

“And who will hold him when he no longer wants to be saved?”

 

 

                                                                   THE FIRST SACRIFICE 

 

 

The iron door shrieked open, the sound slicing through the stale air.

Torchlight bled into the cell, catching on the jagged stone, the filthy straw, the wide, terrified eyes of the captives.

But it wasn’t the usual rationing hour.

Three cultists in peach robes stepped inside, their faces shadowed beneath hoods, hands carrying the thin clay vial every prisoner had learned to dread.

“Not again,” Rin whispered, shrinking back against the wall. Her chains rattled as she pulled, wrists raw from weeks of the same ritual.

“Leave her!” Temari roared, fighting her own shackles so hard the iron links screamed. “If you want to play priests, take me instead!”

They didn’t answer. They never did.

The tallest of them seized Rin’s jaw in one rough hand.

The other tilted the vial, pouring bitter liquid past her clenched teeth. She gagged, tried to spit, but another hand pinched her nose, forcing her to swallow.

The elixir burned all the way down, thick and cloying.

The world began to blur almost instantly, her arms heavy, her head lolling forward.

“Are you going to sacrifice her now?” Hinata’s voice broke, desperation cracking the calm mask she always tried to wear.

A laugh, harsh and cruel.

“Not yet. Father waits for the nine.”

Ino struggled so violently her wrists bled.

“Then why her? Why only her? Are you letting her go?”

Another cultist leaned in, close enough the torchlight revealed the sharp smile beneath his hood.

“Let her go? No. There is another sacrifice Father did not foresee.”

Temari spat at his feet.

“What sacrifice?”

The words came soft, almost sweet.

“The child.”

Rin’s stomach lurched even as the darkness claimed her.

The last thing she saw was Temari’s face, pale with shock, mouth opening on a scream as the mercenary hefted Rin’s limp body over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

And then—nothing.

 

Rin’s eyes fluttered open to firelight. The air was thick, hot, suffocating. She shifted instinctively—and froze.

Her wrists and ankles were shackled tight, stretched wide along the grooves of the altar.

The stone beneath her was cold and unforgiving, its carved spirals pressing into her back, outlining the nine beasts in their endless dance.

And she wasn’t wearing her prison rags anymore.

Her breath hitched when she glanced down.

A gown clung to her body—if it could even be called that.

Thin fabric, nearly sheer, stretched across her skin in black threads that crisscrossed like a spider’s web.

Each line framed her curves rather than hiding them, leaving the swell of her breasts, the lines of her hips, even the softness of her stomach visible in the flickering light.

The strands pooled around her legs, see-through and fragile, offering no modesty at all.

It was a dress designed not to cover—but to display. A sacrificial shroud meant to strip her of dignity.

The cultists knelt around her in rows, their peach robes glowing in the torchlight, their chants low and resonant.

Their voices weren’t words so much as vibrations that made her ribs ache.

Then silence.

The torches blazed higher, feeding on some unseen wind.

He entered.

Danzo’s red robes swept across the floor, heavy with gilded thread that shimmered like blood in the firelight.

The chain around his neck caught the glow, nine tiny charms glinting with a cruel light. His steps echoed until he stood over her.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

His gaze traced her body, shameless and slow, taking in every cruelly revealed curve.

Rin tugged at her bonds, her cheeks flaming with shame and fury.

“Don’t look at me.”

He tilted his head, the smile at his mouth like a knife sliding free of its sheath.

“How could I not?” His voice was low, mocking. “The loverbird prince chose well. No wonder he was greedy for you. No wonder he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

Her stomach churned.

She jerked against the shackles so hard they bit her skin, but his gaze didn’t waver.

“You dare speak his name—” she began, but he cut her off with a laugh that scraped her ears raw.

“I’ve watched you, girl. Every curve, every breath. And him—hovering, brooding, hungering. He dressed his obsession in fine words, but in the end, he was as base as any man. The proof is written in your flesh now. His lust quickened you.”

Her chest heaved, tears burning hot at the corners of her eyes, not from fear but rage.

“Obito loves me. You’ll never understand that. You twist everything pure into filth.”

He leaned closer, his shadow falling across her body, his chain of charms clinking softly as he bent.

“Love?” His smile sharpened. “Do not dress it in pretty lies. You are womb, lamb. Vessel. And what you carry is not love’s gift, but the gods’ claim.”

The chanting surged again, filling the chamber, drowning her words in its rising tide.

Rin shut her eyes, forcing herself to cling to the image of Obito’s face, the warmth of his touch, the way his voice softened only for her.

He would come.

He would burn heaven and hell to reach her.

And Danzo—Father—would learn terror the way only Obito Uchiha could teach it.

The chanting dulled again, dropping into silence as Danzo raised one hand.

The peach-robed cultists stilled immediately, their heads bowed in reverence.

“Bring the priestess,” he said.

From the shadows, a woman emerged.

Unlike the rest, her robes were crimson like his, long and heavy, stitched with the same curling sigils.

Her veil was thin, red silk, hiding all but the glimmer of her eyes.

She carried a shallow bowl of dark liquid that shimmered strangely in the light, as though the surface rippled of its own accord.

Rin’s stomach turned.

Her instincts screamed.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice shaking but loud enough to cut through the silence.

Danzo smiled, cruel and patient.

“A truth must be spoken before a sacrifice can be made. We cannot present a gift to the gods without knowing what lies inside the vessel.”

Her throat closed, her mind stuttering over the meaning.

Then it struck her—and her blood went cold.

“No…”

The priestess knelt beside her, setting the bowl on the altar.

She withdrew a sliver of pale stone from her sleeve—smooth, polished, and carved with symbols Rin didn’t recognize.

With a practiced motion, she dipped it into the liquid and pressed it flat against Rin’s bare abdomen.

The stone warmed instantly.

The symbols flared with faint light.

Gasps rose from the cultists.

The glow spread across the grooves of the stone circle beneath Rin, veins of light pulsing outward like blood through arteries.

Danzo’s lips parted in triumph.

“There it is.”

Rin’s chest heaved.

Her heart hammered so loud it drowned the chanting that began again.

She shook her head desperately, tears spilling hot across her temples.

“No…no, gods, no.”

The priestess drew back, her voice quiet, reverent.

“It is true. She carries life.”

For a heartbeat, Rin felt joy bloom despite everything—sharp and overwhelming.

A child.

Obito’s child.

Her body shook with sobs, but they were not all grief.

She clung to that thought with desperate hands: she was carrying his life, his love. Proof that what they shared was real.

Then Danzo’s voice shattered it.

“Congratulations, little lamb,” he said mockingly. “Your womb has proven fertile. You will bless the gods doubly tonight—once with yourself, and once with what you carry.”

The joy curdled instantly, replaced by horror so deep it hollowed her out.

“No!” she screamed, fighting the bonds until her wrists bled. “Don’t touch my baby! Please, please—” Her voice broke. “Please, not him.”

Danzo’s eyes glinted. “Him?”

The priestess leaned closer to the altar, her gaze fixed on the faint shimmer of the stone.

She studied it, then spoke without hesitation. “Female.”

Rin’s sob tore from her throat, raw and broken.

She saw it instantly, as if her mind gifted her the vision to punish her further: a little girl with Obito’s dark eyes and her own smile, running through sunlit fields, her laughter spilling like bells.

The future that could have been.

And now Danzo meant to slaughter it before it drew its first breath.

“Do not worry,” he said smoothly, as though speaking of mercy. “Soon, you will be with her in the heavens. The gods are greedy—they demand the child first.”

Two cultists stepped forward, each holding a vial.

One seized her jaw, prying her mouth open, the other tilting the glass. Bitter liquid poured down her throat, burning as it went.

She choked, coughed, tried to spit, but they pinched her nose, forcing her to swallow.

Pain lanced through her belly almost instantly. It spread like fire, clawing into her womb.

Rin arched off the altar, screaming, her voice tearing until it was hoarse.

Her vision blurred, the ceiling above swimming with shadows of beasts carved into the stone.

“Obito!” she cried. “Obito, help me!”

But no voice answered back. No warmth stirred inside her.

Isobu was silent.

Her screams filled the temple as the cult chanted louder, drowning her grief in their hymn.

Danzo’s smile never wavered.

And when the priestess finally withdrew the bloodied cloth and whispered, “It would have been a girl,” Rin collapsed back against the altar, sobbing so hard she thought she would shatter.

The circle glowed faintly beneath her, as if the stone itself had drunk her loss.

Rin’s sobs had gone hoarse by the time her body gave out.

Her vision blurred, her chest heaving, but she was still dimly aware of Danzo’s presence above her.

“Keep her alive,” he commanded, voice cold and flat as a blade. “She is not finished.”

One of the crimson-robed priestesses hesitated.

“The elixir—sometimes it weakens the body beyond—”

“Then dose her with something else,” Danzo snapped. “Bleed her. Stitch her. Force food down her throat if you must. But she lives.”

The priestess bowed, trembling.

“Yes, Father.”

Another cultist, hesitant, gestured toward Rin’s blood-soaked legs, her gown clinging damp and red.

“Do you wish her cleansed? We can—”

Danzo’s lip curled in disdain.

“No. Leave her as she is. Let her wear the stench of her offering. The gods do not care for cleanliness. Only blood.”

He stepped back, folding his hands behind his back as if she were nothing more than a ritual finished, a vessel now emptied.

His voice was almost amused.

“Leave her in those robes. Let her remember.”

Darkness closed in as her body convulsed with pain.

Her head lolled to the side, and at last unconsciousness took her.

The iron hinges groaned as the cultists dragged her back.

Rin’s body dangled between them, head lolling, her bare feet smearing streaks of blood across the stone. They tossed her into the straw like refuse, her chains clattering as her body struck the ground.

The sacrificial gown still clung to her, crimson soaked deep into the black threads. Dried blood stiffened between her thighs, cracking painfully as she curled onto her side.

The door slammed shut. The torchlight vanished.

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Then—soft voices.

“Rin…” Hinata’s whisper trembled like glass. She shuffled closer on her knees despite her shackles, the sound of iron scraping stone filling the cell. “I’m so sorry.”

Temari’s face was a mask of fury, her eyes red, her breathing ragged. She rattled her chains until her wrists split.

Temari’s breath came hard, broken with rage. She shook the chains until they rattled like a storm against the walls.

“Those fucking bastards,” she spat, her voice raw. “They will pay. Do you hear me, Rin? They’ll bleed for this. Every last one of them.”

Rin curled tighter, knees to chest, arms bound awkwardly but still enough to shield herself. Her breath came in shallow gasps, broken by sobs she couldn’t hold back. The sound filled the cell, jagged and raw, scraping against the stone walls.

“I felt her…” she whispered finally, her words muffled against her arm. "She's gone...." Her fingers tightened against her belly. “I felt her. She was real. She was ours.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she buried her face against her knees, muffling the scream that tore its way out of her chest.

Images she hadn’t known lived in her came rushing now—visions she would never see. A little girl with Obito’s dark eyes, running barefoot through sunlit fields, her laughter spilling like bells. A child’s hand in hers, small and warm. Obito’s arms around them both, his smile softened by the weight of love.

The ache in her body was nothing compared to the ache in her heart.

Her shackled arms trembled as she tried to cradle the emptiness of her womb. “She would’ve had his eyes,” she sobbed. “She would’ve laughed like him. She—” Her words fell apart into another scream.

Ino bit her lip until it bled, her own tears spilling fast. “Rin…”

Hinata’s eyes shone, her voice breaking despite her attempt at calm. “She mattered. She mattered, Rin. They can’t take that away from you.”

Temari’s fury cracked into grief, her chest heaving. “Obito’s going to kill them all,” she said, her voice thick with rage and sorrow. “And I’ll help him. I swear it. For her. For you. They’ll wish they’d never been born.”

But Rin didn’t answer.

She rocked herself weakly, chains rattling with every motion, as if trying to hold onto the dream of the daughter she would never meet. The life that had been ripped from her before it could even draw breath.

Her sobs filled the cell until they were hoarse, until her body shook with the violence of them, until even the other captives wept quietly, unable to bear her grief without breaking themselves.

And through it all, Rin pressed her shackled hands against her empty belly, clinging to the memory of what she had carried, what she had loved already, even in such a short time.

Her child.
Obito’s child.
Their future, stolen.

In the silence that followed, the air stank of blood and straw and loss.

But in Rin’s chest, somewhere beneath the ruin of her heart, a fragile ember smoldered.

Obito.

If he saw her now, if he knew what they had taken—he would tear down heaven itself to avenge her.

And when he came, the gods themselves would tremble.

 

                                                              

                                                              OATHS CARVED IN BLOOD

 

 

Obito woke in his tent, breath caught sharp in his throat.

His body was slick with sweat though the night was cold, his heart pounding so violently it hurt.

For a moment, he thought it was a dream. A nightmare.

But the feeling didn’t leave.

It coiled in his chest like a chain yanked taut, a violent tug he couldn’t name.

Something missing.

Something torn away.

He sat up, hand dragging over his face.

His brothers stirred nearby, but he ignored them. His crimson eyes flared open into the dark, searching for something that wasn’t there.

“Obito?” Itachi’s low voice came from the shadows, quiet and measured.

Obito didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

The feeling in his gut was too raw, too wild—like a scream trying to claw its way out of him.

He doubled over, gripping the edge of the cot until the wood groaned under his fingers.

Shisui was on his feet in an instant, crouching beside him.

“What is it?”

Obito’s jaw clenched.

He couldn’t say it aloud—not yet, not when he didn’t understand it himself. But the words ground through his teeth anyway.

“Something’s wrong with her.”

The brothers exchanged a look over his bowed head.

“How can you know that?” Shisui pressed gently.

Obito’s breath shuddered. His nails bit into the wood.

“Because I do. I feel it.” His voice was low, guttural. “She’s in pain. I can’t hear her—I can’t reach her. But gods help me, I know it.”

His chest heaved. His eyes burned, Sharingan spinning out of control, red light casting violent shadows across the tent walls.

Itachi’s hand landed firm on his shoulder.

“Then we’ll find her.”

Shisui gripped his other arm.

“But not if you break yourself first. Obito—look at me.”

Obito raised his head slowly, his gaze feral, bloodshot, consumed.

“Leash it,” Shisui said, voice sharp now, commanding. “Leash it before it eats you alive. You’re no use to her dead or mad. Do you understand?”

Obito trembled with the effort, forcing the fire in his chest to heel, to cage itself just enough. But even as his breathing slowed, his eyes never dulled.

His voice came low, gravel and threat: “I swear to you, if she dies before I reach her… every stone in this cursed earth will burn.”

 

 

                                                                     UNTIL SHE'S FOUND

                                                                                                                                                       

 

 

The desert wind had grown colder with the turning season. Even the stars above looked sharper, crueler, as though mocking the endless hunt.

Three months.

Three months since Rin’s ring was found on the palace floor.

Three months since the loverbird prince had sworn fire and blood until she was returned.

Three months of kingdoms sending letters across borders, generals riding night and day to trade scraps of rumor.

Three months of Obito and his brothers tearing across holy cities and ruined temples, chasing whispers of Father—of Danzo—that vanished like smoke.

Every week, new reports arrived. A sighting in the west. A caravan in the north.

A priest’s name scribbled on an old ledger.

Every lead ended the same: empty rooms, long-faded tracks, silence.

The Uchiha camp was quiet tonight.

Their tents ringed the embers of a low fire, soldiers from five kingdoms sharing the burden of sleepless nights.

Even laughter had died here; there was nothing left but steel and ash.

Inside the largest tent, Obito sat alone.

His black leathers were stiff with blood not his own—mercenaries, informants, men who had thought silence would save them.

His jaw was bruised, his knuckles split raw.

He had stopped feeling the sting weeks ago.

He stared at the map spread across the table, the parchment torn and stained, a graveyard of pins and crossed-out names.

His eyes were hollow, and yet they burned—the Sharingan never quite fading now, as though rage had rooted itself into his blood.

The flap shifted.

Ruen entered, cane striking the ground with each step.

He looked older than he had three months ago, his face lined with guilt and exhaustion.

Behind him, the shadows of the Uchiha brothers stirred—Shisui’s sharp eyes, Itachi’s stillness, Sasuke’s quiet fury.

They watched, but they didn’t follow. This was between the two men.

Obito didn’t raise his head.

Ruen stood there for a long moment, watching the man his sister loved.

Watching the one he had once sworn to hate.

Then, voice rough, he spoke.

“It’s been three months.”

Obito’s fingers twitched on the map but he didn’t answer.

Ruen’s cane bit deeper into the ground as he stepped forward.

“Three months of chasing ghosts. Three months of letters from kings, of generals promising reinforcements, of armies riding out and returning empty-handed. And through it all—you haven’t stopped.”

Obito’s gaze finally lifted.

The red spin of his Sharingan caught the lamplight like fresh blood.

Ruen swallowed.

“I hated you. Gods know I still want to hate you. But watching you these past months…” His jaw worked, the words like gravel in his throat. “I see it now. Rin wasn’t lying. She wasn’t naïve. She wasn’t foolish. You—” his voice faltered, then steadied, “—you love her. More fiercely than I can stomach. Fiercely enough to tear the world apart if it means bringing her back.”

Obito’s silence was a blade, sharp and unrelenting.

Ruen pressed on, his voice breaking.

“And me? I failed her. I called her names. I raised my hand to her. I was too blind, too proud, too damned stubborn to see the danger she was in. And now…” His cane trembled slightly in his grip. “Now she’s gone, and it’s my fault.”

Finally, Obito stood.

He moved slow, deliberate, every inch of him lethal calm.

He came to stand before Ruen, taller, darker, his presence swallowing the tent whole.

Ruen forced himself not to step back.

“So, I’ll say it plain. I was wrong. About you. About her. About everything. And if the gods grant me the chance, I swear—I will fight at your side until she’s found. I’ll bleed out in the dirt before I let her be taken from you again.”

Obito studied him in silence, the Sharingan still spinning, unreadable.

Then, at last, he spoke. His voice was low, rough, threaded with something more dangerous than rage.

“You should pray the gods never test that vow. Because if they do—and you fail her again—I won’t stop at your lip this time, Nohora. I’ll put you in the ground myself.”

The words landed like a death sentence.

Ruen didn’t flinch.

He bowed his head instead, accepting it.

“Fair.”

When he left the tent, Shisui’s gaze followed him. Itachi leaned back in his chair, silent, and Sasuke’s jaw tightened.

But Obito?

He stood over the ruined map, his hand pressing against the parchment until his knuckles turned white. Three months gone, and still nothing.

And in the silence that followed, the only truth was this: the Crown Prince of Akatsuki Land was unraveling—and no kingdom, no general, no god would stop him when the thread finally snapped.

 

 

Chapter 38: The Mark of the Traitor/THE Forgotten Whispers/Death’s Lullaby /The Trap in the Hyūga Tent

                                                                    The Mark of the Traitor

 

 

The night pressed heavy over the camp.

Beyond the ring of torches, the desert stretched black and endless, the camp set on the barren borderland between the Kingdom of Ash and the Kingdom of Snow.

The wind dragged its dry whisper over stone, but inside the camp, the air was suffocating with failure.

Three months.

Three months of bloodied maps, empty leads, holy cities scoured to dust, temples overturned.

Three months of Obito tearing through every rumor like a storm, of soldiers following him into shadows only to return with nothing.

And through it all, Sai had watched.

Now he sat apart, sketchbook in his lap, charcoal moving in silence.

On the page, Ino’s face was forming again—her eyes sharp with fire, her lips curved mid-word as though she were about to scold him.

He’d drawn her a hundred times since she’d been taken, each line a prayer he didn’t know how to speak.

Laughter rose nearby.

Not the warm kind, but the kind wine pulled from men trying too hard to forget.

Sai’s eyes flicked sideways, calm, his hand never stopping.

A small group of soldiers sat huddled around Daichi Mizuhara, the young general from the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows.

Daichi’s face was grim, his hand tight around his cup, but he played the part of the grieving lover well.

“I should have been stronger,” he muttered, loud enough for the circle to hear. His voice cracked like a man rehearsed in mourning. “I’m a general, and I couldn’t protect her. There were too many… they struck too fast. I fought until they dragged me down, and still they took her.”

The men muttered their sympathy, passing him more wine. One clapped him on the back.

“You survived, General. That’s no shame. They came for her. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

Sai’s hand stilled on the page. His eyes narrowed, not on Daichi, but on the words.

Too many.

Dragged down.

Taken before his eyes.

Lies.

Sai remembered too clearly the morning Hinata and Ino had vanished.

They had been seen at breakfast together—together.

No attack in the courtyard. No soldiers dragged off in chains.

Just silence, and then gone.

And Daichi had not been with her.

Sai closed the sketchbook softly, charcoal slipping back into its case.

His face remained unreadable, calm as always, but inside his chest a cold certainty coiled.

He stood, moving like a shadow through the camp until he reached Obito’s tent.

The Crown Prince was inside, pacing like a caged beast, his brothers watching him with wary eyes.

Maps and reports littered the floor.

Sai’s voice cut through the silence. “I know.”

Obito froze, crimson gaze snapping to him.

“Know what?”

Sai held his stare, steady and unflinching.

“Who betrayed us.”

Shisui leaned forward in his chair, Itachi’s eyes narrowed, Sasuke’s hand dropped to his sword.

The tension was instant, sharp.

Obito stalked closer, his presence oppressive. “Who?”

Sai’s tone didn’t change.

Calm.

Precise.

“Daichi Mizuhara. General of Stars and Shadows… Ino’s so-called mate.”

The canvas walls of the tent seemed to tremble beneath the force of Obito’s rage.

“What makes you so certain he’s the traitor, Sai?” Shisui asked, voice low but edged.

“Or is this nothing more than jealousy—that he took the woman you wanted?”

Itachi pressed, his tone like steel drawn slow from a sheath.

Sai went on, detail by detail, voice like a blade cutting through fog.

“He claimed he was with her when she was taken. That he fought, that there were too many. But that is impossible. The last time Ino was seen, she was with Princess Hinata. At breakfast. Not with him. He lied. And he lies too easily.”

Silence.

Then Obito’s laugh—a low, dangerous sound that made even Shisui glance at him sideways.

 

The tent was thick with lamplight and the smell of ink and parchment.

Prince Neji sat with his father, King Hiashi, the weight of command in the set of his shoulders.

Hanabi lingered near the back, quiet but watchful, while Lord Inoichi leaned close over a map, his jaw tight with strain.

The flap stirred, and in stepped Obito, Sai, Shisui, Itachi, Sasuke, Naruto, and Commander Shien.
Shadows seemed to trail them, their presence heavy enough to bend the air.

Hiashi straightened

“Crown Prince,” he said carefully. “You come with half your kin. What matter presses so heavily you would intrude upon my camp unannounced?”

“Truth. Nothing less.” Obito’s voice was even, but sharp as cut glass. “There’s a traitor amongst your men, King Hiashi. And we believe we uncovered who it might be.”

The air tightened.

King Hiashi, Neji, and Hanabi’s Byakugan flared at once, pale eyes piercing through the crimson glow of Uchiha brothers Sharingan.

“And who is this traitor you speak of?” Hiashi asked, voice low, gaze unflinching.

“One of your generals. Daichi Mizuhara,” Obito replied, crimson eyes burning.

“Lies,” Lord Inoichi snapped before anyone else could answer.

“It’s not a lie.” Naruto’s fists clenched, his voice raw.

He surged forward, Sasuke catching his arm before he could go too far.

“My Hinata and Lady Ino are missing because of betrayal!”

Before Inoichi could respond, Sai stepped forward, pale and steady, his sketchbook tucked against his side.

His tone carried no heat, but every word landed like the tip of a blade.

“General Daichi claims he was with Lady Ino when she was taken. That he fought. That there were too many. He wears his grief like armor. But grief can be faked. The last time Ino was seen alive and free, she was not with him.”

Hanabi’s breath caught.
Her gaze darted to Neji.

Neji’s jaw clenched, his voice hard.

“She was with Hinata. They took breakfast together that morning. That was the last time either was seen. Daichi was nowhere near them.”

The words hit like thunder.

Even Inoichi went still, his mouth half-open, the protest withering before it could take shape.

Sai’s gaze slid to him, unflinching.

“He lied. And he lies too easily.”

A dangerous silence settled over the tent.

Sasuke leaned against a post, his smirk thin, predatory.

“So he bleeds falsehoods.”

Itachi’s tone was quieter, heavier.

“And if he lies about this, what else has he sold? Secrets? Maps? Names?”

Obito had been silent, his gaze fixed on the ground like a predator coiling before the strike. Then his voice came, quiet and lethal:
“Bring him to me. Alive.”

Inoichi exploded, rage cracking through.

“You accuse my daughter’s betrothed on shadows and suspicion? On the word of an artist who sketches in corners? You dare—”

Commander Shien’s hand twitched toward his blade, but Shisui caught his wrist, his voice cool and edged.

“Careful, Lord Yamanaka. Sai does not gamble with truth.”

Hiashi raised a hand.

“Enough.” His voice silenced the room. His gaze flicked from Obito to his children. He saw the certainty in Neji’s set jaw, the steel in Hanabi’s eyes. His own voice dropped, grave.
“A general of my kingdom cannot be condemned without proof.”

“There is a way to prove it,” Sai said, quiet but sharp. “No blade. No torture. A cup.”

Obito’s head lifted. Crimson glimmered faint in his gaze.

“Tsubaki’s elixir.”

The words fell like a stone into water. Even Inoichi’s breath caught.

Neji’s brow furrowed.

“What is Tsubaki’s elixir?”

Shisui’s pride carried into his voice.

“My wife’s creation. A truth-draught. No matter how strong the will, no matter how deeply a man buries his lies—the elixir drags them into the open. The gods themselves would hear him confess.”

“And it has been tested?” Neji pressed, suspicion in his pale gaze.

“Countless times,” Shisui said firmly. “It’s how we rooted out traitors in our own palace before Obito’s fall. My wife never revealed it until then. She calls it Death’s Lullaby.”

The tent fell into silence again. Until—

A voice cut softly from the entrance, calm but sure, carrying into the tent like smoke.
“Death’s Lullaby. Troublesome name… but useful.”

Heads turned.

Shikamaru Nara stood framed in the lamplight, one hand still on the flap, the other tucked neatly into his sash.

His eyes, dark and sharp despite the weariness in them, swept the room before bowing low.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he said, voice even. “I wasn’t planning to intrude on your council, King Hiashi, Your Highnesses… but when the words of generals and poisons carry beyond the canvas, a soldier passing by can’t help but hear.”

Neji’s gaze narrowed.

“Nara.” His tone held a warning edge, protective of the sanctity of their tent.

But Hiashi raised a hand, his Byakugan still gleaming.

“Let him speak. If nothing else, his father’s name carries weight in Konoha.”

Shikamaru inclined his head with proper respect.

“My father serves as right hand to King Jiraiya and Queen Tsunade. I serve their crown as soldier. That is all.”

His gaze flicked briefly to Neji, then Hanabi, then steadied on the maps sprawled across the table.

“But if I may… you’re circling fire with oil in your hands. Accusations this bold—if not handled carefully—ignite more than the traitor you seek.”

Obito’s crimson gaze burned into him.

Hiashi’s gaze sharpened.

“Then what do you propose, strategist?”

Shikamaru met it, unflinching but careful.

“You want to accuse General Daichi Mizuhara. Fine. The elixir may break him, but a man of his station does not stand alone. He has allies. Friends. Soldiers loyal to him. You corner him without weaving the snare wide enough, and you’ll spook the nest. The guilty scatter when warned.”

Lord Inoichi bristled.

“You’d have us sit idle while suspicion festers?”

Shikamaru shook his head slightly, respectful.

“Not idle, my lord. Precise. Interrogate him, yes—but not in shadows. Do it in front of his peers. Put the elixir to his lips where his fellow officers can see. If he cracks, their faces will betray them. The guilty ripple when the stone is thrown.”

The tent stilled.

Sai’s voice, cold as ink on parchment, broke it first.

“And if he resists?”

Shikamaru’s tone lost its softness.

“Then bleed him dry. But either way, you’ll gain more than one man’s confession—you’ll see the strands of the web he’s tied into. That’s how you pull a network down. Not with rage. With patience.”

Hiashi’s gaze lingered on him, weighing the words.

“You speak bold for a soldier far from his king’s tent.”

Shikamaru bowed his head again, quiet but firm.

“I mean no disrespect, my lord. My words are only counsel, given freely. If they are unworthy, you may dismiss them as smoke on the wind.”

Naruto shifted, stepping forward a half-pace.

“He’s not just any soldier,” he muttered. “His father and mine —they’re cut from the same cloth. Always thinking ten steps ahead.” His voice softened, rare for him. “Shikamaru’s not wrong. Hinata… Ino… they need us to be smart. Not just angry.”

Sasuke’s dark eyes flicked to him, then back to Shikamaru.

“Smart doesn’t always win wars.”

“No,” Shikamaru agreed, straightening. “But it wins battles before they spill into wars. And right now, you don’t need another battlefield—you need truth.”

Neji’s jaw tightened. His voice was flat, careful.

“And what does Konoha gain from meddling in Stars and Shadows’ command?”

For a heartbeat, Shikamaru hesitated.

His gaze flickered—not to Neji, not to Hiashi—but to the empty space at the edge of the map where Princess Temari should have stood beside her kin.

The absence burned sharper than he let show.

He masked it quickly, burying the ache beneath composure, and turned back.

“What I always gain,” he said evenly. “Less trouble later.  If Daichi had a hand in this, I’ll help tear his web apart strand by strand. But we do it with strategy—not only rage.”

Naruto’s voice broke in, tight but grateful.

“He’s right. Shikamaru’s sharp. If anyone can untangle this, it’s him.”

Neji studied Shikamaru for a long moment, then inclined his head ever so slightly.

“Then we plan together.”

Obito’s voice was iron.

“Fine. But mark me, Nara. If he speaks Rin’s name—if he admits one word of her—I will not be stopped.”

Shikamaru met his gaze, steady and unflinching.

“Then let’s make sure he speaks it.”

 

         

                                                                 THE FORGOTTEN WHISPERS

 

 

The stone breathed with the captives—small sounds, the scrape of chains, a muffled sob swallowed into cloth.

Rin sat curled against the cold wall, her knees pulled tight to her chest, but there was no comfort in it.

The ceremonial shroud clung to her skin still, thin black threads stretched in crisscrossing patterns like a spider’s web.

The fabric was sheer, leaving nothing hidden—her curves, her stomach, the pale lines of her thighs all laid bare in the flickering torchlight.

Dried blood darkened the strands where they clung between her legs and across her hips, sharp and stiff against her skin, the memory of what had been forced from her body etched in every stain.

It was not clothing. It was spectacle.

A shroud woven for humiliation, not protection—made to display, to remind her with every breath that she was not a woman, not a consort, not a daughter of Konoha.

Only a vessel.

Only a sacrifice.

She forced her eyes away from the torchlight that caught on the fabric’s thin sheen, tracing instead the rhythm of shadows guttering along the corridor walls.

But even there, she couldn’t escape the weight of it—the way the stone seemed to press closer with every sound, every drip of water, every ragged inhale from the cells around her.

The silence inside her was worse.

No low tide of Isobu’s presence, no ocean grumble.

Only a void behind her ribs, bricked shut.

She pressed her palm to her stomach, smearing the dried stiffness of blood across her skin, and mouthed his name like a prayer he could not answer.

Across the row, Temari had not slept. The desert princess leaned against her bars, her pale hair tangled, her chin high even here. When she spoke, her voice was a rasp, too loud in the stillness.

“You,” she said, her sharp gaze cutting toward the pale figures slumped in the shadows near the corridor’s end. “Oasians. What are you? What happened to you?”

The two mimic-soldiers did not move at first. Their heads tilted slowly, unnaturally, like branches bending with no wind. Their wooden skin caught the torchlight, and when they finally spoke, their voices came as one—low, cracked, and hollow.

“Centuries ago… we worshipped you.”

A chill ran through Rin’s spine. Even Keiko, the youngest, stifled a sob against her hands.

“Worshipped us?” Temari pressed, her voice steady though her knuckles had whitened on the iron.

“The vessels,” the Oasians whispered. “The chosen. Jinchūriki. We built temples to your kind. Offered prayers. Sang hymns. Believed the beasts within you were the gods’ fire. But we were wrong.”

Their hollow eyes gleamed faint.

“The gods do not bless,” one continued, voice breaking like dry wood. “They punish.”

The other finished, tone eerily smooth. “We offered blood. We sacrificed hosts, one by one. We thought power would descend from the heavens… but the heavens gave us only this.”

They spread their hands, skin pale as driftwood, veins blackened like roots.

“A curse. Flesh like timber. Eyes like hollow wells. We are the echo of our sin.”

The dungeon had gone silent but for the dripping of water.

Temari’s jaw tightened. “If you knew the price, if you were damned by it—why serve him?” Her voice sharpened like a blade. “Why serve Danzo?”

For the first time, one of them laughed. A broken, splintering sound.

“Because he found us.”

The other leaned forward into the torchlight, voice cold.

“Decades ago, he came alone. Into the earth. Into our ruins. He found what remained of our people. He promised… to restore us.”

“To give us back our flesh,” the first hissed. “To make us human again.”

“And what else did we have to lose?” the second whispered.

Temari’s grip trembled on the bars. “And you believe him? After everything? After what the gods cursed you with, you’d let him trick you into damning us too?”

The Oasians’ mouths curved, not quite smiles.

“He does not trick. He plans.”

Their voices braided together in eerie unison.

“Father Danzo is always seven steps ahead.”

Temari’s lip curled, but her voice stayed iron.

“He will fail. He cannot take the last three. My brother. Naruto Uzumaki. Prince Bee.They are too strong. Too guarded. He cannot touch them.”

The Oasians laughed. The sound rattled against the stones, hollow and sharp.

“All in good time,” they whispered. “The net is already drawn. The last three will walk into it like flies.”

Rin’s blood iced.

She didn’t breathe, didn’t blink.

The Oasians turned their hollow gazes toward her, and for the first time, their voices spoke not in unison, but separately.

“One day soon,” the first crooned, “you will be with your beast again.”

The other finished, soft and certain:

“On the altar. Beside the others. Your blood in the stone. And the nine will be one.”

The torch nearest them sputtered, almost going out, and in that thin stutter of shadow Rin thought she saw their faces crack like rotted bark, splintering into something not meant for light.

Temari’s chin lifted higher, defiant even in horror, but Rin’s heart hammered until she thought it might split.

And in the suffocating dark, the silence inside her where Isobu should have been felt more damning than ever.

 

 

                                                                  Death’s Lullaby

 

The camp kept its own midnight—braziers low, standards barely stirring, steel whispering against scabbards when the wind shifted. No trumpets. No fuss.

A black hawk dropped out of the stars, silent as a shadow. It skimmed the ropes and settled behind the Uchiha lines.

Sai slid from the saddle in one breath, wind-stripped and grim.

Another figure dropped lightly after him, small and straight-backed, her hair bound in a dark knot, a satchel of glass vials hugging her ribs.

Tsubaki did not greet anyone.

She looked Obito in the eye once, then passed him as if he were furniture and stepped into the dim of Shisui’s waiting tent.

“Table,” she said.

Shisui flipped a field table clear.

She unlatched her satchel. Vial after vial—clear, clouded, milk-pale, ink-dark. A knife. A reed whisk. A twined bundle of bitter roots. She moved like a blade being drawn.

“Death’s Lullaby?” asked Hiashi, who had come, silent, with Neji and Hanabi.

“Alive if I will it, dead if you force it,” Tsubaki said, not looking up. “Half-cup to strip the tongue. A cup to scour the soul. Two to drown it.”

Obito’s jaw worked. “We’ll start with half.”

“We’ll start,” she corrected, “with sleep.”

Shikamaru stood back near the poles, quiet, eyes hooded. He watched her hands, and then the circle of men—Uchiha, Hyūga, Yamanaka, Sumiya—learning how each breathed when something ugly was mentioned.

Commander Shien entered last, helm tucked under his arm.

“The Stars & Shadows detail you asked for are gathered, Your Majesty,” he told Hiashi, not Obito. “A dozen officers… and the general. Told there’s a night briefing about patrol rotations.”

Hiashi’s nod was a stone falling.

“Bring them.”

 

         

                                                                     The Trap in the Hyūga Tent

 

 

The Hyūga war-tent had been stripped of command.

No maps.

No quills.

No trays of ink or scrolls.

Only a long bench facing a low firebowl, a single pale-eyed banner at the head, and silence heavy enough to crush.

King Hiashi stood like carved stone, Neji at his right, Hanabi quiet behind, her gaze cold and sharp.

Across from them, the Uchiha brothers formed a crescent of shadow—Shisui loose but watchful, Itachi unreadable, Sasuke taut as a drawn bow.

Obito sat apart, still as coiled flame. Sai stood near him, pale as paper, and Commander Shien waited in the wings, his hand never far from steel.

Lord Inoichi held himself stiff, chin raised, though the lines of grief etched hollows deep into his face.

Naruto refused stillness.

He paced the length of the tent, leather tube of “dispatches” clutched in one hand.

His jaw was set tight, his eyes bright with anger that never cooled.

When he finally stopped at Obito’s side, he pressed the tube into the prince’s palm like a blade passed from soldier to commander, and then stationed himself at the flap.

If anyone bolted, they would run through him first.

Tsubaki crouched by the firebowl.

Her sleeves were tied back, her expression carved from ice.

At her side, wrapped in cloth, a dark clay jar waited.

Another jar sat across the tent in Shien’s keeping.

To the eye, they were twins. To the hand, one was not.

The officers entered on the bell.

Boots thudded, voices low, the smell of dust and steel filling the tent.

Twelve men, their collars stitched with the crest of Stars and Shadows, marched in as though summoned for counsel.

They found the kings and princes already seated, cups at hand, as if the meeting had begun without them.

General Daichi Mizuhara entered last.

His armor gleamed. His expression was grief sculpted, precise and practiced, just deep enough to cut sympathy without ever spilling. He bowed to Hiashi, then turned a careful glance on Lord Inoichi. “My lord.”

Hiashi’s tone was stripped of courtesy. “Sit.”

Wood scraped canvas floor as the men obeyed. Shien’s aides moved immediately, silent and efficient, pouring from the dark clay jar into waiting cups.

At the high table, the royals already had their cups filled by the twin jar minutes earlier. No soldier could tell the difference.

Obito broke the silence first, unfurling Naruto’s “dispatches” with a steady hand.

His voice was calm, even.

“Our scouts returned from the east. Beyond the ash belts, near the salt wells. A trail. At dawn, we ride—if counsel agrees.”

The words hung in the air like baited thread.

Shikamaru, leaning in shadow between poles, did not watch Obito or Hiashi.

He watched hands.

The way one lieutenant rubbed his thumb against his cup rim, twice. The way another’s heel bounced under the bench until it stopped too suddenly.

He saw the glance that flickered between two captains—quick, guilty, almost swallowed.

And he saw Daichi.

How easily he lifted the cup.

How quickly he followed the rhythm, as if refusing to hesitate was his proof of loyalty.

Naruto’s voice broke the stillness.

“If we can’t sit at the same table,” he said, steady, low, “how do we pretend to fight the same war?”

It was the nudge.

No officer dared refuse when kings and princes already drank.

Hiashi lifted his cup, drank without question. Inoichi followed.

Shisui tipped his back, and even Obito brushed the rim to his mouth before setting it down untouched.

The motion rippled outward, forcing the officers’ hands.

Clear liquid slid past lips.

No taste.

No scent.

Cool as water.

The silence stretched, bow-taut.

Then it began.

The first officer blinked too slowly, his hand slipping from his cup before his head struck the table.

Another groaned, sliding off the bench to the floor.

One by one, bodies folded—the breath knocked from them as if a great hand pressed down on their chests.

Shien’s men stepped forward at once, catching limbs, binding wrists.

Daichi held longer.

His pride fought the creeping fog, but even he swayed. His cup clattered to the floor.

He half-turned to Inoichi, as though to speak some last defense, some final calculated word—but his knees buckled before he found it.

When his head struck the mat, Obito finally moved.

His voice carved through the tent, cold and sharp as steel.

“Bind them all.”

Chains rattled. Boots pressed down. Rope bit into wrists.

Naruto’s fists trembled at his sides, his voice breaking raw as he stepped forward.

“They took my Hinata! They took Lady Ino! They took Princess Temari, and King A’s son, and Princess Keiko, and gods know who else—and they dared sit here, drinking with us like loyal men?” His voice rose, fury cracking. “They’re feeding Father every move we make while our people rot in chains! While jinchuriki are cut from us one by one!”

Kurama’s growl thundered behind his words, shaking the canvas.

“If they think we’ll sit quiet, if they think we’ll let them bleed our sisters, our wives, our kin—” Naruto slammed his fist against the table hard enough to rattle the firebowl. “—then we’ll show them what it means to betray us.”

Obito’s crimson gaze burned at Daichi’s bound form, every line of him coiled with barely leashed violence. Sai’s voice was soft, precise, but lethal as ink.

“The draught kills in forty-eight hours. He can still speak until then. But if you allow me, my prince…” His hand brushed the hilt of his tanto. “…I’ll end him tonight.”

The tent was full of silence, save for the sound of twelve bound men groaning on the mats.

And Daichi, his lips curving faintly despite the fog.

“Jealousy,” he rasped, his words a blade cutting at Sai. “That’s all this is. You wanted her. You never had her. She chose me. She kissed me. She—” His teeth showed in a grin, even as the elixir worked at his veins. “And now you’ll paint me a traitor to hide that truth.”

Sai’s mask cracked, if only for a moment. His fingers clenched.

The poison would drag more from Daichi’s tongue soon. Lies and truths tangled, but both spilling.

And Obito—already a storm at the edge of breaking—took one step closer, murder carved in the line of his body.

When the captives woke, they found themselves lashed upright against the poles of the stripped tent.

Ropes dug into wrists, ankles, chests.

The firebowl hissed low, throwing their shadows high and skeletal across the canvas.

Daichi came to first, groaning, his eyes narrowing at the half-circle of faces staring him down.

Hiashi at the center. Neji and Hanabi poised at his side.

The Uchiha brothers a wall of black flame.

Naruto’s fists clenched white. Sai pale and still, sketchbook tucked away, but his eyes sharp as drawn steel.

Tsubaki stood in the shadows, her hands folded calmly, the scent of herbs and venom lingering faint around her.

“You drugged us,” Daichi spat, his voice hoarse but defiant.

“No,” Hiashi corrected, his tone smooth as glass. “We shared our table. You chose to drink.”

Shien stepped forward and struck Daichi across the face with the back of his hand. Blood welled at the corner of his lip.

“You’ll answer,” Obito said, stepping into the light. His voice was iron, his eyes burning faint crimson. “Or you’ll choke on the lies you bleed.”

Daichi smirked, even as the ropes strained against him.

“Don’t listen to this farce. This is jealousy talking.” His gaze slid sideways, sharp as a knife, toward Sai. “This coward’s word is all you have? A boy who couldn’t even stomach Ino’s hand when she offered it? She told me herself—how you watched her with those empty eyes. How you let her slip past you. You wanted her, but you were too much a coward to take her.”

Sai’s expression didn’t flicker, though something in his jaw tightened.

Daichi pressed on, crueler now, desperate in his venom.

“She kissed me, you know. Sweet as spring. She leaned into me, whispered that you’d never dare. You think this is about betrayal? No. It’s about envy. You envy me.”

The words twisted through the tent like smoke, catching on every ear.

Then Tsubaki moved.

Her voice was as cool as the steel vial she drew from her sleeve.

“Jealousy does not lie. But betrayal does.” She tilted the vial. The liquid shimmered in the torchlight, clear as water. “Death’s Lullaby. To the gods, every tongue loosens.”

Daichi stiffened as Shien forced his jaw open.

The draught slid down his throat before he could choke it back.

He coughed, cursed, then laughed hoarsely.

“You think—” His breath hitched. His eyes widened. “It’s… just water.”

Obito’s voice was flat.

“Wait.”

The silence thickened.

Every heartbeat seemed to pulse with the firebowl’s hiss.

Daichi’s breath grew faster.

His chest heaved, sweat glistening at his temple.

His smirk twitched, faltered.

“I—I fought them. Too many—” His voice cracked. “Not with her—no, not then—”

Neji’s voice was steel.

“The last she was seen was with my sister. At breakfast. Not with you.”

Daichi’s mouth opened—closed.

His throat convulsed.

The words broke from him raw, unwilling.

“I wasn’t there! I lied. I wasn’t there. Gods, I wasn’t—”

Gasps rippled through the tent.

Obito’s eyes burned like embers.

“Who else?”

Daichi fought it, his head shaking, but the elixir carved deeper.

His voice spilled ragged: “Three. Three of mine. They—took the coin. Whispered to me. Said it was Father’s hand. Said if I stayed quiet, if I fed them scraps—they’d spare me. I—” His body shook against the ropes. “I told them! I told them where they walked, where they dined—”

Hanabi’s hand flew to her mouth.

Inoichi’s face drained of color.

Shikamaru leaned forward from his corner, his gaze not on Daichi but on the circle of officers behind him.

He was watching the ripple.

The men’s faces.

Who flinched.

Who stiffened.

Who didn’t breathe.

“Names,” Obito growled.

Daichi gasped, his eyes rolling, foam flecking his mouth.

“Jun—” His head snapped back, muscles seizing, the ropes creaking under his weight.

“Mira—”

Tsubaki’s voice cut calm.

“The body resists. The truth never does.”

Obito stepped closer, his fury held on a leash by sheer will.

“Say her name. If you even whispered Rin’s name, I’ll carve you open where you hang.”

Daichi’s lips trembled, blood on his teeth. His eyes darted wildly, desperate, breaking under the poison.

“Not Rin,” he gasped. “Not her. Not yet. They want—the nine. All nine. She’s—” His voice cracked into a scream.

The tent erupted.

Naruto’s roar shook the poles. Inoichi staggered, his face a mask of devastation.

Hiashi’s hand slammed the table.

Shisui swore under his breath, Itachi’s eyes narrowing to blades.

And Shikamaru?

He stayed in the corner, gaze sharp as a hawk, tracing every ripple.

Watching who paled.

Who clenched a jaw.

Who avoided another’s eyes.

Because lies had a way of echoing.

Naruto’s roar ripped the air like thunder.

“YOU BASTARD!” He surged forward, fists clenched so tight his nails cut into his palms.

Shien and Sasuke both caught his arms, but the fury in him didn’t dim—it only burned hotter, brighter, spilling from his chest like wildfire.

“You sit there spitting lies about  Ino—about Hinata—like they’re coins you can spend!” Naruto’s voice cracked, raw, but it carried across the tent like a blade drawn free. “Hinata is not your bargaining chip! Ino is not your story to twist! They’re not pawns in your games—they’re people. They’re ours. And you let them be dragged into the dark!”

His chest heaved, his face flushed, his blue eyes fierce as flame. Kurama’s growl rumbled faint in his blood, but this was Naruto’s voice—his fury, his grief.

“You betrayed every soldier who ever trusted you,” he spat, stepping forward until even Sasuke’s grip strained to hold him back. “Every kingdom that ever marched beside you. You betrayed me. You knew Hinata was mine, and you let them take her—you let them take her! And you think I’ll let you rot quietly on a rope?!”

Daichi tried to smirk, to hold the mask, but the poison shredded his defenses. His lips quivered.

His jaw clenched. And still the words spilled out, unwilling, dragged raw from his chest.

“She screamed,” he rasped. “Hinata screamed when they—”

Naruto’s howl split the tent.

In one violent jerk, he broke free of Sasuke’s grip and lunged.

Itachi caught him around the shoulders at the last instant, dragging him back with the force of a steel chain.

Naruto fought like a beast, his arms flailing, his voice broken with rage.

“I’LL KILL HIM! LET ME—LET ME END HIM—!”

“Enough!” Hiashi’s voice cracked like a whip. His Byakugan flared, his hand raised like judgment itself. “You disgrace yourself, Mizuhara! And you disgrace the men who wear my crest beside you!” His words struck Daichi harder than any fist.

Obito stood motionless, his crimson gaze burning, his rage a colder fire.

He let Naruto thrash, let Itachi hold him back, while his own voice dropped, steady and lethal.

“Let him speak every word. Every name. Every filth he’s ever sold. Then he dies.”

Tsubaki stepped forward, her voice calm as ever.

“Death’s Lullaby works its way slow. Forty-eight hours, no more. They’ll suffer the whole way down. But the gods’ truth will bleed from their mouths before it does.”

Three of Daichi’s men whimpered against their bindings, eyes wide, faces pale as chalk.

One had already confessed between sobs, naming himself and two others as coin-takers, men who’d passed whispers to the cult in exchange for gold.

“They’re yours to question,” Tsubaki added, her hands folded, her eyes steady. “But not to spare. The poison will finish what I began.”

Shikamaru’s gaze flicked across the room, quiet as smoke, taking stock of every ripple—the paling of Lord Inoichi’s face, Hanabi’s trembling hands clenched behind her back, Neji’s jaw hard as stone.

His eyes lingered on Naruto last, reading the fury that still shook his shoulders, then dropped back to Daichi.

“Forty-eight hours of truth,” he murmured. “We’d better use everyone.”

But Sai stepped forward then.

His face was as unreadable as always, but his voice carried an edge, sharp as his blade.

“Forty-eight hours is too long.”

He drew a short knife, the edge gleaming in the firelight.

His gaze locked on Daichi, calm but deadly.

“Why should he be allowed to breathe one more hour, when every breath is a mockery of her?” His hand tightened on the hilt. “He lied about Ino. He laughed about her. He fed her name to the dark. Why should I let this man rot slowly when I could end it clean?”

Daichi gave a hoarse laugh, the sound half-broken, half-glee.

“See? Even now, he wants me dead not for betrayal… but because he never had her. She chose me.” His eyes flicked to Inoichi, bloodied grin curling. “Ask her father. She kissed me. She gave herself to me. And he—” he jerked his chin toward Sai—“could only watch.”

Sai’s blade twitched upward, the first real crack of emotion flashing in his eyes.

Shien moved instantly, hand on Sai’s wrist.

“Stand down.”

But Sai didn’t move.

His voice was flat, low, terrifyingly calm.

“He doesn’t deserve the gods’ slow hand. He deserves mine.”

Obito’s voice sliced through the tension, lethal.

“No. Not yet.”

The brothers shifted around him, Shisui and Sasuke ready to seize Sai if he lunged.

Itachi still held Naruto fast, though his blue eyes blazed with desperate fury.

Obito stepped closer, into Daichi’s shadow, into his stench of sweat and lies.

He lowered his voice until it was a blade against Daichi’s throat.

“You want death?” His Sharingan burned scarlet. “You’ll choke on your truths first. Then I’ll give you to Sai.”

Daichi’s smile faltered.

His lips trembled.

His body shivered against the ropes as the poison crawled deeper into his veins.

Forty-eight hours. That was all he had left.

And everyone in that tent knew: his death would not be mercy.

It would be the reckoning they had all been waiting for.

Daichi’s laugh was wet with blood.

He tilted his chin, eyes sharp despite the poison threading his veins.

“She kissed me. Sweet. Soft. Said my name like it meant something.” His gaze flicked sideways, straight at Sai. “You wouldn’t know, would you? You watched her. Sketched her. But you never touched her. She never touched you. She chose me.”

The words landed like knives.

Inoichi lurched forward before anyone else could react, his face a storm.

His fists slammed the table, rattling the cups.

“Silence your tongue, cur! Do not use my daughter’s name as a weapon while your mouth is stained with poison!” His pale eyes burned, every inch the wrath of a father and a lord. “You dare sully her with your lies, in this hall, before kings?”

Daichi sneered.

“Lies? Ask yourself why she agreed to walk with me in the gardens at night. Why she smiled when I took her hand. Why she didn’t run.” His lips split into a grin, blood streaking his teeth. “She was lonely. And I was there. Not your ghost-faced little pet with his sketches.”

Sai’s blade shifted higher, the steel trembling just above Daichi’s throat.

His voice was still calm—too calm—but the tremor beneath was sharper than rage.

“You’re already dead, Mizuhara. But for this, for her name on your lips—you will die screaming.”

“Enough.” Obito’s voice cut through, colder than the steel.

He did not raise it, but the whole tent stilled. His crimson gaze burned like coals banked too long.

“He speaks only to wound. Do not hand him what he wants.”

Naruto tore free from Itachi’s grip then, surging forward with a roar that shook the canvas.

His fists were white, his whole-body trembling with fury.

“He wants to wound? He already has!” His blue eyes blazed, raw as fire. “Hinata screamed, he said. He let them take her. He laughed about it—like it was nothing! Like she was nothing! And Ino—” his voice broke, thick with anguish—“you sit there boasting about her smile, her kiss, like it makes you less of a traitor?!”

His voice cracked like thunder. “Hinata is my heart! Ino is Sai’s! And you sold them. You sold all of us!”

Kurama’s growl rumbled low in his chest, his chakra flickering faint, red at the edges of his fury.

“You sat at our tables. Rode at our side. You looked us in the eye and called us brothers while you whispered our deaths into the dark. I swear to the gods—if you so much as breathe Hinata’s name again—I’ll tear your throat out with my bare hands!”

The air trembled with the force of it.

Even Hanabi’s composure cracked, her hands pressed tight against her sleeves, pale eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Neji’s jaw was a blade, his hand gripping the hilt at his hip so tight the leather groaned.

Daichi coughed blood, but his grin lingered.

“Loyal little Uzumaki,” he rasped, mocking even through the elixir’s grip. “Always so loud. Always so stupid. You think love will save her? You think fire will burn chains?” His head lolled against the ropes, but his words struck like venom. “You’ll lose her. Like you lose everything.”

Naruto lunged again, but this time Shien himself caught him, one massive hand slamming against his chest.

“Control yourself, boy!” the commander barked. His eyes, hard as obsidian, flicked to Daichi. “Do not give a traitor the dignity of rattling you. He is already undone.”

Tsubaki’s voice slid in, smooth as silk but colder than the draught she had brewed.

“The poison has him. He cannot choose his words. They spill like blood from a wound. That is why we call it Death’s Lullaby.” Her dark eyes gleamed, unblinking.

“Every truth he kept is bleeding free, whether he wants it to or not.”

Obito’s gaze never left Daichi.

His words came slow, deliberate, lethal.

“You said Rin’s name. You said Hinata’s. You said Ino’s. Before this night ends, you will say every name. Every ally. Every hand that held yours in treachery. And then—” his voice sank, lower, darker—“I will feed you to the man you mocked.”

Sai’s grip on the knife tightened, his pale knuckles stark against the hilt. His face remained calm, but his eyes gleamed with something sharp, dangerous.

“Forty-eight hours is mercy,” he murmured. “I’d rather carve his confessions from him now.”

Shisui stepped closer, his Sharingan glowing faint.

“Sai. Patience. We’ll wring more than one rat from this nest. He’s the stone. Watch the ripples.”

Shikamaru, silent until now, finally spoke from his corner, his voice cutting like smoke.

“Prince Shisui’s right. Let the poison do its work. Let him talk himself raw. His allies are watching—waiting. The more he spills, the more they’ll tremble. When a spider shakes, the whole web quivers. And I’ll be here to see which threads pull tight.”

Hiashi’s voice snapped like iron. “Then so be it. He will live his last forty-eight hours bound, bleeding, speaking truth until his tongue is ash. And when his words are spent, he will die in disgrace.” His pale eyes cut like blades as they turned to Daichi’s pale, sweat-slick face.

“You have betrayed the House of Hyūga, the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows, and the oaths you swore as general. For that, no death will wash you clean.”

Inoichi pressed forward again, his voice breaking this time, caught between fury and grief.

“And you betrayed my daughter’s heart. You speak of her smile—of her kiss—as though it was yours to boast of. But you will never know her. Never touch her again. And if the gods are merciful, her last memory of you is not this pitiful, poisoned wreck you’ve become.”

The silence that followed was jagged, suffocating.

Obito leaned down until his shadow smothered Daichi’s face. His voice was the last sound that mattered.

“Forty-eight hours, Mizuhara. Speak every name. Every whisper. Every chain. When the poison takes the last of your breath, Sai will be waiting. And I promise you—his hand will be far less merciful than mine.”

Daichi shuddered, his bravado faltering at last.

His eyes rolled to Sai’s knife, to Naruto’s burning fury, to Inoichi’s grief, and finally back to Obito’s crimson gaze.

For the first time, fear cracked through.

And the tent knew: the spider had been caught.

But the web was still trembling, and every man inside felt the weight of threads yet unseen.

Daichi’s head lolled against the bindings, sweat streaking his temple.

His lips curled into something between a grin and a grimace.

The poison was working—every word dragged out of him like blood from a wound.

“You want truth?” he rasped, eyes burning through the haze. “Then here it is… Father Danzo told me something. Told me your lamb wasn’t just another vessel waiting to bleed. No.” His laugh cracked, ugly and sharp. “He said she gave the gods more than herself. Another sacrifice. Offered it willingly.”

The tent went still.

Obito’s crimson gaze sharpened into a predator’s glare. His jaw locked, every muscle coiled. His voice dropped low, jagged with restraint. “What sacrifice?”

Daichi wheezed, tugging against the ropes as though that might save him.

His grin widened, bloodied teeth flashing.

“Didn’t say. Only that she offered it. That the gods would take it… and that it was enough.”

The words struck like a blade twisting.

Obito surged forward, Shisui and Sasuke catching his arms as the crimson glow of his Sharingan flared bright and wild.

His voice roared against the canvas, shaking the poles. “What did he mean?! What did she give?!”

Daichi only laughed harder, the sound wet and broken. “Don’t know, prince. Guess you’ll find out when the gods do.”

Obito tore against his brothers’ grip, the sound of leather creaking, his teeth bared like an animal. “I’ll gut you where you sit if you lie—”

“Obito!” Itachi’s voice cut across, iron in its calm. “He doesn’t know. The draught makes lies impossible. He truly doesn’t know.”

Tsubaki’s gaze was flat, unreadable, her voice like the edge of a blade.

“The elixir drags out truth, not knowledge he does not have. Whatever Danzo meant—it was whispered to taunt, not to explain.”

Obito’s chest heaved, his hands trembling with the need to crush the man before him.

For one heartbeat, the Sharingan spun like blood set aflame—then his head dropped, shadow carving his face into something half-human, half-wraith.

Naruto’s voice broke the silence, raw with anguish.

“What the hell does that mean?! Another sacrifice? Hinata’s gone, Ino’s gone, the others too—was it one of them? Or something worse?” His fists trembled, his voice hoarse as he shouted. “You bastards talk like people are nothing but coins to pay the gods with! What did you do to her?!”

Daichi only coughed, choking on his own laughter.

“Ask your prince. Ask your lamb.”

Obito’s glare snapped up, lethal enough to freeze the air.

His voice was a rasp, all restraint shredded.

“You’ll choke on your own tongue before you spit her name like that again.”

Daichi’s laughter still echoed in Obito’s skull as he surged forward, his blade already half drawn.

“I’ll carve it out of you—”

Shisui and Sasuke seized him, Itachi stepping in front with his arm like iron across Obito’s chest.

The whole tent shook with the Crown Prince’s fury, his voice raw enough to rip through canvas.

“LET ME KILL HIM!”

“He knows nothing,” Itachi snapped back, forcing him a step toward the flap.

Shisui’s grip tightened, teeth bared. “Obito—outside. Now.”

They dragged him from the tent, his boots gouging the sand, his fury a storm that bled into the night.

–––

Inside his own quarters, Obito tore free of their hands at last, pacing like a caged animal.

His black leathers groaned under the strain of every violent movement, his fists trembling with the need to break, to bleed, to destroy.

“He said she offered another sacrifice,” Obito rasped, his voice shaking.

His hands pressed against his skull as if he could claw the words out.

“What if—what if he meant her life? What if he meant she’s already gone?”

“She isn’t.” Itachi’s tone cut through, steady as stone. “Danzo needs all nine jinchuriki. He hasn’t killed her.”

“You don’t know that!” Obito’s voice cracked into a roar.

He slammed his fist against the wooden frame of the tent, splitting the beam with a sharp crack. His breath came ragged, his Sharingan blazing.

“He said sacrifice—what else could she give them but herself?!”

Sasuke stepped forward, jaw tight, eyes sharp.

“Think, Obito. He hasn’t finished his plan. He hasn’t killed the others. He needs them all. Rin is alive.”

Obito froze, chest heaving.

Alive.

The word landed like both salvation and torment.

Alive—but suffering.

Alive—but chained in some pit.

His breath stuttered.

His head dropped.

“Then what?” His voice rasped raw, almost broken. “What else could she give?”

The flap stirred.

Tsubaki entered, silent and sharp as a blade unsheathed.

Her dark eyes swept the room, reading the fury, the fractures, the madness clinging to Obito’s frame.

“You’re asking the wrong question,” she said coldly.

Obito’s head snapped up. “Then answer it.”

Tsubaki’s gaze lingered on him, then flicked to Shisui, to Itachi, to Sasuke, before returning to the prince.

Her voice was low, merciless.

“Think about the old ways. What have cults always offered to their gods? Virgins. Infants. Blood that is pure, untouched, or new.”

The silence after was suffocating.

Obito went still, his body a taut wire of disbelief and dread.

“No,” he whispered.

Tsubaki’s eyes didn’t waver.

“I doubted it was her virginity—Father Danzo would know that. Which leaves only one other offering.”

The world tilted.

The torchlight flickered like it too wanted to flee.

“A child,” Tsubaki said flatly. “They sacrificed a child.”

Obito’s breath ripped ragged from his chest, his eyes wide, the Sharingan blazing scarlet.

His hand shot to the ring at his finger, trembling, as if it alone tethered him to sanity.

Shisui swore under his breath, Itachi’s lips thinned, Sasuke’s eyes dropped to the ground.

None of them spoke—not because they agreed, but because none could deny it.

Obito’s voice broke into a raw snarl.

“If they took her child from her… if they forced her—” He couldn’t finish. His whole frame shook, fury and anguish tangled until they were the same thing.

Tsubaki’s voice was calm, too calm.

“Then it explains what Daichi meant. Rin gave something no other jinchuriki could. Something that breaks gods as much as it feeds them.”

Obito staggered back, his hand braced against the splintered beam, his throat tight enough to choke.

“I’ll burn him alive,” he rasped. “Danzo. Every one of his puppets. I’ll make the gods choke on their own altar.”

The brothers lingered only long enough to make sure he didn’t tear the tent apart.

Itachi’s hand pressed once to Obito’s shoulder, Shisui muttered something sharp but worried under his breath, Sasuke’s eyes met his for a fleeting moment—dark, pained.

Then they left him.

Only the sound of the flap falling shut remained.

Silence pressed in.

Obito stood there, unmoving, his hand still on the split wooden beam.

The room smelled of smoke and iron, of sweat and blood.

His chest rose and fell too fast, shallow, his jaw clenched until his teeth ached.

The image came unbidden: Rin’s face pale in torchlight, her eyes wide with terror.

A black shroud clinging to her skin.

Chains rattling at her wrists.

And worse—worse than anything—her hands flat over her stomach, empty, trembling.

Obito choked on a breath, his body folding as though the thought itself had stabbed him.

He gripped the beam harder, forehead pressed against the splintered wood.

His knuckles bled anew where they scraped.

He saw her kneeling, forced onto the altar, priests whispering their foul rites.

He saw her cry out—whether in pain or prayer, he couldn’t tell—and he wasn’t there.

He hadn’t been there.

The gods had taken from her what should have been his duty to protect.

Their child. Their future.

A sound ripped from his throat—half snarl, half sob.

He slammed his fist into the wood again, and again, until shards fell around his boots.

“Rin…” His voice was raw, cracking. “I should have been there. I should have—”

His vision blurred.

He crushed his palms over his eyes, but the tears burned hot, refusing to be smothered.

The Sharingan spun wildly in the dark, turning his tears red as they fell.

“I’ll find you,” he rasped into the emptiness. His voice shook, but the vow cut iron through the air.

“I’ll kill them all. I’ll kill every fucking priest, every fucking traitor, every shadow that touched you. I’ll burn their fucking altars to ash.”

He sank to his knees, the weight of it finally breaking him.

His shoulders shook once—twice—and then he forced his hands flat to the ground as though swearing before the gods themselves.

“They took our child,” he whispered.

The words tasted like blood.

“And I swear—on your name, on mine, on everything left in me—they will choke on the cost.”

The vow settled in the tent like smoke, heavy, suffocating, absolute.

Obito rose slow, shaking but steady.

His eyes were hollow, his face cut in shadow, his Sharingan glowing faint like embers in the dark.

Whatever mercy might have lingered in him had been buried.

When he stepped from the tent, he looked like a man carved of iron and fire—a man the gods themselves might fear.

 

 

Chapter 39: The Seventh Vessel/The Eight Vessel/Shadows of the Stolen Jinchuriki’s/Infirmary Shadows/Seven Steps Ahead

                                                                    The Seventh Vessel

 

 

The desert camp was quiet beneath the stars, the kind of silence that felt sharp, too clean for soldiers who should have been restless.

A messenger had come an hour earlier—Uchiha seal pressed into wax, Obito’s words written in a hand Gaara had seen before.

We have Danzo’s location. Come to the command tent. Discretion is required.

Kankurō grumbled as he tightened the leather across his shoulders, still half-tired from the day’s march.

“Couldn’t this wait until morning? I swear the Uchiha think waking us in the dead of night makes them more dramatic.”

Gaara said nothing.

His pale eyes reflected the torchlight as he adjusted the gourd on his back.

His silence was heavier than usual, a desert storm waiting past the horizon.

They crossed the ring of torches, heading toward the large command pavilion. Its canvas flapped low in the wind, shadows moving inside.

Choza Akimichi—his father’s old ally, his own right hand—stood at the entrance, helm tucked under one thick arm. His round face was grave in the torchlight.

“Highness,” Choza rumbled. “Inside. The others await.”

Kankurō frowned.

“At this hour?”

“Prince Obito’s orders,” Choza said flatly. “The trail won’t wait for dawn.”

Gaara gave the smallest nod.

He trusted Choza like he trusted his own shadow.

Without him, their line would’ve broken years ago.

Inside, the tent was stripped bare, just a table, a firebowl, and half a dozen of Gaara’s generals waiting in a line.

Their faces flickered in the glow, calm but too still, like masks.

One of them stepped forward, a jug of clear liquid in his hand.

“My lords. Sit. We drink first—on new beginnings. By dawn we will have the priest’s head.”

Kankurō snorted.

“You’re pouring wine in the middle of a war council?”

“Not wine,” the general said, voice level. “Water. Purity for the oath.”

Gaara’s eyes flicked to the jug, to the way the liquid swirled. A ripple of unease coiled low in his chest.

Behind his ribs, Shukaku stirred.

Don’t drink that.

The voice cracked sharp through Gaara’s skull, jagged as sand tearing through glass.

It stinks. You feel it, don’t you? Poison. Trickery.

Gaara’s jaw tightened, but outwardly he was still.

He lowered into the chair set for him at the head of the table. T

he jug was poured, cups filled one by one.

Choza placed Gaara’s before him personally, the gesture heavy with trust.

“My lord,” Choza said. “Your strength to bind us.”

Kankurō muttered under his breath, “Since when do we toast like priests?” He didn’t touch his cup.

Shukaku was growling now, restless, his voice echoing in the marrow of Gaara’s bones.

Don’t touch it. I know that taste. They’re trying to bind me.

Gaara lifted the cup, eyes narrowing.

He didn’t drink. Instead, he let a thin strand of sand stir at the rim, dipping into the liquid. The grains hissed against it like acid.

And then his vision blurred.

A wave of nausea hit him—not from the cup, but from within. His connection to Shukaku shuddered, like a chain pulled taut.

Gaara— The beast’s voice cracked raw, louder than it had been in years. They’re severing me. Fight it!

Gaara’s hand trembled, the cup slipping, water spilling across the mat. His breath hitched.

“Something’s wrong,” he rasped.

Kankurō was on his feet at once.

“What the hell did you give him?!” His blades snapped free with a hiss of steel.

The generals didn’t flinch.

Their faces… shifted.

Eyes hollowed into black pits, skin paling into grain, wooden grooves cutting through their flesh.

Their mouths opened in eerie unison.

“You were warned, King of Sand,” they said together, voices layered like a thousand dry leaves. “The Father takes what he is owed.”

Kankurō cursed and struck first, his blade slicing through the closest one’s neck.

It didn’t bleed.

Wood cracked, splintered, black sap hissing where flesh should have been.

“Gaara!” he shouted, planting himself between his brother and the shifting horde.

Choza moved then—Choza, their steadfast general.

His massive frame surged forward, war axe rising.

For one heartbeat, Kankurō thought he’d come to shield them.
Then the axe came down.

Only Gaara’s sand saved him, lurching from the gourd in a thick wall.

The impact shook the tent poles, splinters raining down.

Gaara’s vision blurred harder, Shukaku’s voice screaming in panic, then cutting out—gone. T

he silence in his mind was worse than any blade.

Kankurō roared, slamming his blade into Choza’s arm.

It cracked, splintering like wood, not flesh.

Choza’s face peeled in places, revealing the pale, carved mask beneath.

Not Choza.

Never Choza.

The Oasians surged.

Gaara tried to rise, sand spilling from the gourd, but his limbs felt heavy, unresponsive.

His knees buckled.

The poison burned through him, eating his link to Shukaku, his strength unraveling.

“Kankurō—” His voice was thin, strangled. “Go. Run—”

“Not leaving you,” Kankurō spat, cutting another down.

His arms trembled with effort, his own blood running where a blade slipped through his guard.

He fought like a man cornered, desperate, teeth bared.

But they were too many.

One struck from behind.

Steel slid between his ribs.

Kankurō staggered, breath tearing from his throat, but still he swung, ripping another Oasian down even as blood soaked his side.

Two of them caught Gaara’s arms, pinning him.

His sand surged but faltered, collapsing like a dying tide.

His eyes rolled back, body sagging as the elixir crushed the last threads binding him to Shukaku.

“Gaara!” Kakuro’s voice was raw, breaking.

He tried to push forward, tried to reach him. Another blow struck him down.

He collapsed to his knees, gasping, blood in his mouth.

The Oasians closed ranks around Gaara’s limp body.

Their voices joined, an eerie chorus that made the torches gutter.

“The seventh vessel is claimed.”

Kakuro’s vision blurred, fury and grief burning in his chest.

He dragged himself forward, fingers clawing the ground.

“You… bastards…” His voice cracked. “You won’t… keep him…”

A boot struck his chest, throwing him onto his back.

He saw them lift Gaara, his brother’s pale face slack, head lolling.

Chains glimmered in the torchlight as they bound him.

And then darkness pressed in, blood pooling warm beneath him.

His last sight before he lost consciousness was Gaara’s body carried into the night, the Oasians’ chant echoing like a funeral drum:

“All in good time. All will be given. All will be ash.”

 

The dungeon door shrieked open, iron teeth grinding against stone.

Two cultists stumbled in, their peach robes streaked with sand and sweat, dragging a heavy weight between them.

Shackles clanged, boots scraping.

For a heartbeat the captives couldn’t tell who it was—only a limp body, blood on the collar, armor dented where blades had struck.

Then the torchlight caught red hair.

“Gaara!” Temari’s scream tore the silence.

The cultists hauled him forward, his head lolling, his eyes half-shut.

Blood matted his temple where they’d struck him, his lips cracked from desert wind and drugged thirst.

He tried to plant his feet once, twice, but the weight of the chains and the poison in his veins made his knees buckle.

“Move,” one cultist hissed, jerking him like cargo.

Gaara groaned low, forcing his head up. His green eyes burned faintly under heavy lids, but it was clear he was barely tethered to consciousness.

They dragged him the last few steps, iron clattering, and shoved him hard into an empty cell opposite Rin’s.

He collapsed to his knees, shackles rattling, breath heaving.

Temari was at her bars, fingers white around the iron. “No—no, gods, not you too—”

Her brother tried to lift his head, sand-colored hair falling into his eyes. His voice came rough, broken, but still carrying the weight of him.

“Temari…”

She reached for him through the bars, straining as if sheer will could close the distance.

“Gaara! Say something—are you—”

He swayed, dragging himself upright by the chains. His legs trembled under him, but he managed to stand, shackled arms spread as if defying gravity itself.

His voice was hoarse, but steady enough to cut.

“I’m here.”

Temari’s eyes filled with tears, relief and rage tangled.

“Where’s Kankurō?”

Gaara’s silence was heavier than stone.

He closed his eyes, breath shaking, before forcing the words out.

“They stabbed him.” His voice rasped with exhaustion. “I don’t know if he lives. But knowing our brother… he’s too stubborn to die before he finds you.”

Temari bit down hard on a sob, tears streaking her face as she pressed her forehead to the bars.

“Then he’ll come,” she whispered. “He has to.”

The cultists slammed the cell shut, satisfied with their prize.

And then came the echo of the staff against stone—Danzo.

Crimson robes swept into view, the nine charms at his neck gleaming. His eyes locked on Gaara, who swayed but did not kneel.

“So. The desert king in chains,” Danzo murmured. “The gods will be pleased.”

Gaara forced his eyes open, lashes heavy, the world still blurred from poison and pain.

His chains rattled as he dragged himself upright against the bars. His voice cracked, but the iron in it cut through the dungeon like steel.

“So… you’re the Father.” His lip curled, faint but sharp. “I should have known. The tale of the Oasians—that was you.”

Danzo’s mouth curved into a slow, humorless smile. He stepped closer, the charms at his neck glinting with each movement of his staff.

“They are not a tale. They are truth. They are mine. The Oasians are the ones who carried you here, boy. They are the hands of the gods, and through me, they will have what they were denied centuries ago.”

Temari’s eyes widened, horror cutting into her face as she gripped the bars tighter.

“You used them—”

Danzo ignored her. His gaze never left Gaara.

“You felt it, didn’t you? That silence where Shukaku once whispered. Your beast is caged, muted. You are nothing but flesh now.”

Gaara’s breath shook, but his glare did not falter. He straightened, bruised and bound, yet unbroken.

“You have me now. Then let them go—my sister, the others. Release them.”

Danzo’s laugh slithered through the stone, cold and certain.

“Oh no, boy. Your sister will not be released. She will have the honor of watching you prepared for death. But you misunderstand…” His gaze slid across Rin, Akari, Sabo, Keiko, the twins, each face pale in the torchlight. “This is not a butcher’s hall where blood drips one by one. No. The gods demand more.”

He leaned on his staff, eyes glittering with fanatic fire.

“Nine vessels. Nine beasts. Bound together on the same altar, the same hour. Only when all their cries rise at once will the heavens answer. Only then will the old power break its chains.”

He let the silence hang, the captives staring back, his words sinking like a nail into flesh.

“When that day comes,” he said softly, almost reverently, “your sister will watch as the sand itself drinks your blood. And then she will follow you, as will they all.”

Danzo’s staff scraped against the stone as he moved, slow, deliberate, his steps echoing like a priest pacing before an altar.

His gaze slid over the captives—past Akari’s sunken defiance, past Sabo’s steady glare, past the twins clinging to one another through the bars.

But when his eyes found Rin, he stopped.

She sat small against the wall, knees drawn up, the black ceremonial shroud clinging to her skin like cobwebs.

The dried stains along her thighs were stark in the guttering light, her wrists still ringed in red where the shackles bit.

She did not lift her head. She hadn’t spoken since she was dragged back bleeding days ago.

Danzo’s smile was thin, humorless.

“The lamb.” His voice was almost tender, mocking. “Dressed in shadow, veiled in silence. Look at you now. Not even your beast bothers to answer your prayers.”

He tilted his head, studying the curve of her bent shoulders, the way she shrank from his presence.
“Do you know what true sacrifice is, girl? It isn’t blood. It isn’t screams. It’s silence. When even your will to cry out is gone, when your mouth holds nothing but ashes. That is the moment the gods open their ears.”

Rin’s fingers twitched, clutching at the fabric pooled around her legs, but still she said nothing. Her lips pressed tight, trembling only once.

Danzo chuckled low.

“Obito Uchiha chose poorly. A consort made for display, not for strength. When your prince sees you on the altar, he will not burn the world for you. He will bury it for shame.”

He let the words hang in the thick air before turning, robes whispering as he paced back toward the guards.

“Keep her veiled in that shroud. Her silence is prettier than her voice ever could be.”

The cultists moved after him, torches swaying, until the scrape of the gate swallowed them whole.

The corridor seemed darker without him, though the torches still burned.

Only then did Gaara stir.

Dragged in chains, his body still sluggish from the drug, he forced his head up from where he slumped against the bars. His eyes, pale and burning, finally settled on Rin.

And the breath caught in his throat.

She wasn’t the woman he’d glimpsed at Obito’s side during the wedding feast, cloaked in dignity and firelight.

She looked broken.

Hollowed.

 A smear of dried blood clung stubborn to her thighs, the black sacrificial shroud turning her into something exposed, dehumanized.

Gaara’s chest tightened. He rasped, voice low but steady,

“Temari… what happened to her?”

Temari’s jaw clenched, her chin high even in her cell. Her eyes flicked to Rin, then back to her brother, fury and grief laced together in her voice.

“They forced her. They… they tore her open on an altar. They silenced the beast inside her. And she hasn’t spoken since.”

For a moment, Gaara could only stare, the truth settling in his stomach like stone. His hands curled into fists despite the weight of chains.

At last, his voice came, quieter but iron.
“Rin.”

Her head stirred the faintest fraction, though her eyes never rose.

“Listen to me,” Gaara said, strength sharpening as he spoke. “Obito will come for you. He will come for all of us. And when he does—” His gaze cut like a blade into the darkness where Danzo had stood, “—not even the gods will recognize the man they’ve made of him. He will burn them alive.”

Rin’s chest shook once, a shallow, broken sob slipping loose before she could stop it.

She pressed her hands to her face, the shroud slipping against her skin, and for the first time in days, tears slipped through her silence.

Gaara lowered his head, his own voice rough, almost a whisper.

“Hold on. If not for yourself… then for him. He’s coming.”

 

 

                                                                  The Eight Vessel

 

 

The palace gardens of Kumogakure had always been Bee’s favorite place at night. The torchlight along the stone paths glowed warm, the fountains hummed like gentle drums, and jasmine vines perfumed the air like a song.

Tonight, though, the stillness felt different.

Prince Bee strolled with his wife, one broad hand hovering protectively near her shoulder. She cradled their newborn daughter, bundled in white silk, the baby’s tiny hands flexing against the fabric.

The child fussed, soft whimpers that cut through the silence. Bee leaned down, humming a rough, uneven rhythm—half lullaby, half rhyme.

“Sleep lil’ queen, papa keep it clean,
world too mean, but you got the dream…”

His wife smiled, exhaustion tugging at her face, and adjusted the infant in her arms. For a moment Bee felt peace—rare, precious.

Then the air shifted.

The cicadas stopped. The fountains’ splash felt too sharp, too loud.

Bee’s head lifted, shoulders tightening. His hand twitched toward the twin swords strapped across his back.

The shadows moved.

Oasians slid from the hedges—dozens, pale-skinned, their wooden flesh gleaming with cracks, eyes black as pits. Their movements were wrong, fluid but stiff, like puppets strung by unseen hands.

Mercenaries followed, boots grating gravel, blades catching firelight. Their armor bore no single crest—outlaws, sellswords, killers for coin.

Within heartbeats, the family was surrounded.

Bee stepped in front of his wife, swords half-drawn. “Stay behind me.” His voice was low, gravel edged with steel.

A scarred mercenary emerged from the line, dragging a boy with a blade pressed to his throat. Bee’s nephew—barely twelve—eyes wide, body trembling. The knife pressed hard enough to draw a thin bead of blood.

“Not a step, princeling,” the mercenary growled, his grin sharp and cruel. “Or the child dies.”

Bee froze, fury rolling through him like thunderclouds.

His wife’s breath hitched, clutching the baby tighter.

The infant wailed, her cry piercing the night.

Inside Bee’s chest, Gyūki stirred. The Eight-Tails’ voice rumbled like a storm tide.
Bee. These dogs reek of rot. Let me loose—we’ll paint this garden in their blood.

“Not with her here,” Bee answered in thought, jaw tight. “Not with my blood in their hands.”

Gyūki’s growl deepened. Then fight smart. Don’t let them bind us. I feel their poison ready.

The mercenary sneered. “Come quiet, and the women walk free. Resist—and I’ll gut the brat before your eyes. Then the babe. Then her.” His knife kissed the boy’s skin. “Your choice, princeling.”

Bee’s wife whispered, voice shaking, “Bee, please… don’t fight. Not with her in my arms. Please.”

Bee’s nostrils flared. His swords gleamed half-drawn, but he shoved them back into their sheaths. His voice dropped low, lethal.
“You want me. Fine. Let them go. But if you break your word—” his eyes burned like fire under steel, “I’ll drag you screaming to the gods myself.”

The mercenary chuckled. “We’ll see.”

Two men stepped aside. “Run.”

Bee’s wife staggered past, clutching their child to her chest. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t look back. The baby’s cries echoed until the palace swallowed them whole.

Only then did Bee lower his hands, every muscle screaming with the urge to fight.

“Take me, then,” he spat. “But the boy lives.”

The scarred one smirked. “That depends on you.” He motioned. A clay cup was pressed into Bee’s hand, filled with clear liquid.

Bee stared at it. The scent was faint—bitter root, cold iron. His gut twisted.

Inside, Gyūki roared. No! Don’t drink it. That’s their weapon—the same filth they’ve used on the others. It’ll bind me. Kill me.

Bee’s lip curled. “Better me bound than them dead.”

You’re a fool, Gyūki thundered, fury and grief tangled. But you’re mine, and I won’t let you go down alone.

Bee raised the cup. His eyes locked on the mercenary’s. He drank.

The taste was wrong.

Bitter ash, old water, metal. It scraped his throat, slid to his gut like stone.

For a moment, nothing.

Then fire.

Bee staggered, knees bending. His swords clanged against the stone as his grip failed. His chest seized, lungs fighting for air.

Bee! Gyūki’s roar shook the walls of his mind. Fight it! Push it out!

Bee’s breath rasped, his voice torn from his throat. “I… got this… yo…” He tried to laugh, to rhyme, to stand—but his body convulsed.

The sigils in the shackles flared, binding him in a chokehold of silence.

And then—

The tether snapped.

Gyūki’s roar strangled mid-word, ripped from Bee’s veins. The ocean of the beast inside him—endless, roaring, eternal—collapsed into silence.

“Gyūki!” Bee choked in thought, reaching inward. Nothing. Only the cold void.

His body faltered. A mercenary’s boot slammed into his ribs, another cuffed his jaw. He hit the ground hard, chains clattering around him.

The scarred mercenary crouched low, patting Bee’s cheek mockingly.

“Even lions kneel when cubs are at stake.”

Bee’s glare still burned, but his limbs betrayed him.

His body sagged against the chains, heavy, helpless.

The mercenaries dragged him toward the shadows, boots scraping stone, torches guttering as if ashamed to watch.

Before they vanished, the scarred one shoved the boy forward—alive, trembling, eyes wet with terror.

“Run, princeling,” he sneered. “Tell your king the desert’s taken another beast. Tell him the gods are hungry.”

The boy bolted, stumbling through the garden, sobs tearing the silence.

And Prince Bee—husband, father, warrior, jinchuriki—was swallowed into the dark.

 

 

                                                                     Shadows of the Stolen Jinchuriki’s

 

 

The war-tent was heavy with smoke and silence. Maps lay across the long table, corners pinned with blades, the edges curling from the firebowl’s heat.

The air tasted of ash and nerves, every face drawn tight, waiting.

Obito stood at the head of the table, his black leathers creaking as his hands pressed hard against the wood.

His brothers flanked him—Itachi calm as carved stone, Shisui restless, Sasuke tense as a bowstring.

To the right, King Hiashi stood with Neji and Hanabi.

Lord Inoichi was opposite them, jaw locked, eyes dark. Commander Shien kept near the flap, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

Sai was still as shadow, lingering near Obito’s shoulder.

Naruto paced in a restless line, his fists clenching and unclenching, the growl of Kurama thrumming just beneath his skin.

The flap stirred.

Two riders entered, armor dented, cloaks torn by wind and sand.

One bore the crest of Sunagakure, the other Kumogakure.

Dust clung to their hair, blood crusted along their sleeves.

Between them, they carried two sealed letters, the wax still glistening where the heat had softened it on the road.

“My lords,” the Sunagakure rider rasped, dropping to one knee. “We bring word from Prince Kankurō of the Sunagakure.”

“And from King A from Kumogakure,” the other added, bowing low.

Obito’s jaw flexed as he reached for the letters.

His hands, calloused and scarred, tore the first seal with careful precision.

The wax cracked like brittle bone.

He read.

His shoulders stiffened.

He read again, slower, as if the words might shift into something else, something bearable. But they did not.

The first letter spoke plain: King Gaara—abducted. Kankurō gravely wounded, though alive. Sunagakure reels.

The second bled the same truth: Prince Bee—taken by mercenaries and Oasians in his own gardens. His wife and newborn escaped, but the Prince is gone.

Obito’s hands trembled.

The parchment tore where his grip tightened. His Sharingan flickered bright, red light bleeding into the dim tent.

He looked up slowly.

“Gaara,” he said, voice raw. “Bee.” The words were half curse, half confession. “Danzo has them both.”

The tent erupted.

“What?!”

Naruto’s roar rattled the walls. He slammed his fists into the table so hard the wood split down the center, maps and daggers scattering to the ground.

“No! No, no, no! First Hinata—now Gaara, Bee?! How the fuck are we letting him do this?!”

His breath heaved, eyes wild, Kurama’s fury riding his skin like fire.

“Calm yourself,” Hiashi snapped, though his pale eyes betrayed unease.

“Calm myself?”

Naruto’s chest heaved. His voice broke into a ragged snarl.

“Hinata is rotting in some pit. He has Rin! Gaara’s gone. Bee’s gone. And we’re supposed to sit here and breathe like it’s fine?! If Danzo kills them—if he kills the jinchuriki—we’re done!”

Sai moved subtly, stepping between him and the table, but Naruto wasn’t looking at anyone.

His fury burned the tent itself, his grief shaking the air.

Obito’s hand lashed down on the torn letters.

“This isn’t just luck. He didn’t just stumble on them.” His voice was low, lethal. “Danzo knew where they would be. He knew when. Someone fed him their steps.” His gaze swept the tent, sharp as a blade. “Someone is still feeding him ours.”

A ripple of silence followed.

Even the firebowl seemed to dim.

Shisui’s jaw ticked.

“Daichi was only one snake,” he muttered. “The nest is deeper.”

Lord Inoichi’s fists curled, his mouth a hard line.

He didn’t speak, but grief and fury carved his face raw.

Shikamaru’s voice broke the quiet from his shadowed corner.

“He’s not just collecting jinchuriki. He’s cutting the pillars first. Gaara. Bee. They’re not just vessels—they’re kings, leaders, warriors. Symbols. Take them, and the rest of us break before the altar ever burns.”

Obito’s teeth bared, his breath ragged.

He turned, his Sharingan burning into Naruto.

“From this moment, you do not breathe without eyes on you. Sai. Sasuke.”

His voice cut like steel. “He is yours. He eats with you. Sleeps with you. If he steps to piss, you are behind him. Do not leave him. Not for a heartbeat.”

Naruto whipped toward him, furious.

“I don’t need babysitters—”

“You’ll have them,” Obito snarled, slamming his hand on the fractured table. “Because if Danzo takes you, it ends here. Here. He has Gaara. He has Bee. I will not give him you.” His chest heaved, his voice shaking with the force of it. “Not while I breathe.”

The vow scorched the air.

Silence followed, thick and suffocating, broken only by Naruto’s ragged breaths and the low groan of the wind against the canvas walls.

The letters lay in tatters across the table.

Proof.

Irrefutable.

The kingdoms of Sunagakure and Kumogakure had lost their kings.

And somewhere in the dark, Danzo laughed.

 

 

                      

                                                                  Infirmary Shadows

 

 

The infirmary was finally quiet.

The wounded had been bound, the dead covered, the living asleep in uneasy slumber.

Sakura sat hunched over a basin, scrubbing blood from her hands until the skin flushed raw.

The copper water rippled red, each swirl another reminder of how much she had given tonight.

Her shoulders slumped.

Her breath caught.

She thought, just for a moment, that she might cry.

Then she felt him.

Sasuke.

Leaning in the shadows by the tent’s post, silent as stone.  

Watching her.

Her lips parted in surprise.

“You should be with Naruto.”

“I will,” he said, voice low, controlled—but his eyes betrayed him. The Sharingan gleamed faint beneath his lashes, banked heat threatening to burn.

“Not yet.”

Her chest tightened. She set the towel aside, knuckles white.

“Then why are you here?”

His jaw flexed. He stepped forward, the torchlight cutting his face sharp.

“Because if I leave now—without you—I’ll regret it.”

The air thickened. Sakura’s pulse raced as he crossed the space between them in two strides.

His hand caught her wrist—not to hold her, but to ground her. His breath was warm against her cheek when he whispered, “Stay with me. Tonight.”

Her throat bobbed. “Sasuke—”

“Please.” The word scraped out of him like something wrenched from a man who didn’t beg.

Her resolve crumbled.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered.

“You won’t.” His forehead pressed to hers, voice rough, his hands trembling where they gripped her arms. “Not tonight.”

The kiss broke her.

Fierce, desperate, full of everything he’d never said aloud.

His mouth devoured hers, and she clung back with equal hunger, pulling at his collar, dragging him closer.

He lifted her easily, setting her on the table she had just worked from.

Bandages and parchment spilled to the floor.

Her gasp was swallowed into his kiss as his hands spread her knees, stepping between them, his body all heat and steel.

Her fingers worked clumsily at his belts, fumbling with the leather straps, frustration turning into a muffled curse. Sasuke caught her hands, steadying them, his mouth brushing her jaw.

“Slow.”

But she shook her head, breathless.

“No. I need you. Now.”

Something snapped in him.

His hands shoved her skirt higher, fingers sliding up bare skin, calloused fingertips tracing the inside of her thighs until she trembled.

She moaned softly, clutching his shoulders, the sound muffled against his mouth.

He broke the kiss only long enough to drag her shift down, baring her breasts to the cool air.

His mouth closed around one, hot and demanding, his hand kneading the other until she arched back with a strangled cry.

“Sasuke…” Her nails dug into his back through his tunic.

“Please—”

“Tell me you’re mine,” he rasped, lifting his head, his eyes blazing scarlet-black. “Say it.”

Her lips trembled, her voice a ragged gasp. “I’m yours.”

With a low groan, he freed himself, and in one fluid motion, thrust into her. Her body stretched, clenched, taking him deep, and she cried out—half pleasure, half shock.

“Too much?” he asked, voice strained, forehead pressed to hers.

She shook her head violently, wrapping her legs around his waist, dragging him closer.

“No—don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

He obeyed.

His hips drove hard into hers, setting a rhythm that made the table groan beneath them.

Each thrust dragged a moan from her throat, each movement more desperate than the last.

Her cries grew higher, rawer, until he covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her sounds, as if claiming them for himself.

“Look at me,” he growled between breaths, gripping her chin, forcing her eyes open.

His Sharingan spun wildly, crimson burning with possession. “Only me.”

Her gaze locked with his.

Her body convulsed around him, pleasure tearing through her as she cried his name, shattering against him.

The sight of her unraveling broke him.

With a guttural groan, he thrust once more, hard and deep, spilling into her, his entire body trembling with release.

He buried his face in her neck, biting back the sound of her name like a prayer.

For a long time, they clung to each other, sweat-slick and trembling, their breaths ragged, hearts pounding.

Sasuke finally pulled back, brushing damp hair from her face, his expression softened in a way she rarely saw. He kissed her forehead, reverent, almost tender.

“Come back to me,” she whispered fiercely, her fingers curling into his tunic. “Every time. Don’t make me wait.”

“I’ll guard him,” he said quietly, adjusting his clothes, his composure settling back over him like armor.

But his eyes lingered on her, softer than his words. “And I’ll come back.”

Sakura touched his cheek once more, as if memorizing him.

“Then go.”

He did. And when he left the infirmary, Sasuke Uchiha carried not just his duty to guard Naruto—but the fire of the woman who had just claimed him, body and soul.

 

 

                                                   

                                                                     Seven Steps Ahead

 

 

The Uchiha tent was stripped of its usual noise—no soldiers, no couriers, no guards.

Only one low firebowl burned, its smoke curling lazy against the canvas.

The silence was thick, broken only by the scratch of quills, the shuffling of parchment, and the measured breaths of men who knew the fate of the last jinchuriki sat among them.

Obito leaned forward over the table, his black leathers creaking with the motion.

His Sharingan glowed faintly in the dim, scanning every mark on the map spread beneath his hands.

His jaw was tight, his face carved from stone.

Naruto sat across from him, restless, fists drumming against his knees, blue eyes sharp but heavy with fear and fire.

“We can’t just sit here. Gaara—Bee—they’re already gone. Rin’s been gone for months. He’s picking us off one by one, and I’m next, isn’t that it?”

“Not if we stop him first,” Obito said, his voice low, iron.

Shisui lounged against the pole nearest the firebowl, but his eyes were deadly serious, following Obito’s every move.

Itachi sat silent, hands steepled, the sharp glint of calculation in his gaze. Sasuke leaned forward, elbows on the table, already impatient.

Commander Shien stood near the flap, arms crossed, a wall of suspicion.

Shikamaru was the last to speak, seated in the shadows with his chin propped on his hand.

His gaze had been fixed not on the maps, but on the spaces between them.

Finally, he exhaled.

“Let him take Naruto.”

The tent went silent. Even the fire seemed to shrink back.

Naruto shot to his feet.

“Are you insane? You want me to walk into his hands?”

Shikamaru’s eyes flicked up, steady.

“I said let him take you. Not walk in.”

He gestured lazily at the map, but his voice was sharp.

“Every time Danzo’s moved, he’s been ahead of us. Always seven steps. That doesn’t happen without a pattern. You want to stop him? Then bait him. Force his hand. Make him think he’s still leading.”

Obito’s crimson eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

Shikamaru leaned forward now, one finger tracing the desert line.

“You said you scoured the Oasis. Every stone, every ruin. And you found nothing. But Daichi—before he collapsed under Tsubaki’s elixir—he said something that stuck with me.”

Sai’s voice was quiet, cutting in.

“He muttered about ‘the roots beneath the altar.’ I thought it was delirium.”

Shikamaru’s mouth curved faintly.

“Not delirium. A clue. Think about it—the Oasis temple. Centuries have passed. Cities crumble, kingdoms fall. But that temple still stands.”

His eyes shifted to Obito.

“Isn’t that strange?”

Obito’s silence was answer enough.

Shikamaru pressed.

“And what did you find inside? Carvings. An altar. Not just any altar. One carved to fit a human body, with grooves etched for nine beasts. Stained glass that somehow survived centuries, showing each jinchuriki’s form. That temple wasn’t just a monument—it was built for the sacrifices. And if Daichi’s words meant anything, then the real chamber isn’t the one above ground. It’s below.”

A beat of silence.

Itachi’s voice came soft, grave.

“A hidden passage. A dungeon beneath the temple.”

Sasuke’s lip curled.

“And we missed it.”

Obito’s hand slammed against the map, rattling the cups. His voice was low but lethal.

“If he’s there—if he’s beneath that temple this entire time—then I’ll burn it to the ground myself.”

“Not yet,” Shikamaru said firmly. “If you move too soon, he’ll scatter. You said it yourself—he’s always ahead. We need him still believing he’s winning. That means one thing: Naruto becomes the bait.”

Naruto’s fists tightened, but he didn’t argue. For once, his voice was steady.

“If it means getting Hinata back, Ino, Rin, Gaara, Bee—all of them—I’ll do it. I don’t care if I have to choke down his poison myself.”

“No,” Obito growled, spinning on him. “You’re too valuable. If he gets you—”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Naruto shot back, fire sparking in his voice. “I’m the last one left. He’s coming for me whether you like it or not. So, we either control how it happens—or we wait, and he takes me on his terms.”

The tent filled with heavy silence.

Shikamaru broke it again, his voice calm, sharp as a blade.

“We stage it. We send word to every kingdom left—Sunagakure will be the rally point. When Danzo makes his move on Naruto, we’ll be ready. And when he drags him toward that temple—” his eyes flicked to Obito, “we follow. Straight to his roots.”

Obito’s crimson eyes burned, torn between fury and grim calculation.

Finally, he gave a sharp nod.

“Send the letters.”

Sai rose without a word, already preparing ink and parchment.

Shisui whistled low.

“A dangerous game.”

Itachi’s voice was flat. “The only one left.”

Sasuke’s hand tightened on his sword.

“Let him try. He’ll regret it.”

Shien’s gaze flicked to Naruto, then to Obito.

“If this fails, the war is lost.”

Obito looked at Naruto, his voice cold as steel.

“Sai. Sasuke. From this moment—you don’t leave his side. Not for a breath. Not for a shadow. If he pisses, you piss with him. If he blinks, you count the seconds.”

Sasuke smirked faintly, though his eyes were dead serious.

“Babysitting duty. Fine.”

Sai simply nodded.

Naruto crossed his arms, chin lifting.

“Don’t worry. I’m not planning to die. Not until I see Hinata again.”

The fire cracked low, throwing their shadows long across the canvas.

For the first time, Obito didn’t feel Danzo’s hand ahead of his.

This time, the trap would be theirs.

 

 

 

Chapter 40: The Gathering Storm/The Last Hunt/The Council in Sunagakure/The Prince’s Tent/The Nineth Jinchuriki/The Ninth Altar/All Nine Jinchuriki’s

                                                                   The Gathering Storm

 

The desert wind howled low, carrying grit and heat across the stone gates of Sunagakure.

The walls of the city rose jagged and red against the horizon, banners of sand and sun snapping sharply in the air.

At their head stood Kankurō, his shoulders bandaged but his stance unbending, painted face grim as he waited for the tide of kings to arrive.

They came like storms from every direction.

The first to crest the dunes was the army of Akatsuki Land, their black banners marked with crimson clouds, their soldiers in sharp columns behind the Uchiha princes.

Obito rode at their center, armored in black leather that caught the light like obsidian, his brothers flanking him—Itachi with quiet steel, Shisui sharp-eyed, Sasuke coiled and silent.

Commander Shien rode at his side, Sai just behind, his sketchbook tucked even here, while Naruto’s bright hair burned like a flame in the sun.

Behind them marched the forces of the Kingdom of Stars and Shadows.

King Hiashi’s white banners shimmered like pale moons, the Byakugan crest gleaming silver in the desert light.

Prince Neji rode at his father’s right, his eyes forward and unyielding, while Hanabi sat astride a black mare, her posture proud though her jaw was set tight.

Lord Inoichi rode behind, face carved with grief but his troops steady in their discipline.

Next came the Stone.

King Renga’s men marched with the weight of the mountains themselves, their armor rough-hewn but immovable, the banners of gray and deep green flapping like stone come to life.

His voice carried over the sand as he ordered them forward, their shields gleaming like slabs of iron.

From the north, King Ōnoki’s banners rose, the symbol of Iwagakure blazing against the wind.

His host was small, but every soldier wore the grit of miners and mountainborn warriors.

The old king rode at their head, his back bent but his eyes still sharp as flint, his generals bristling close behind him.

Then the deep thunder of Kumogakure: King A rode like a storm, his frame massive, every movement crackling with fury barely contained.

Prince Bee was not with him, but his soldiers thundered forward regardless, bracelets and armor clattering, rhymes shouted like war-songs.

Fury rolled from them like a heatwave.

From the west came the banners of Konoha.

Queen Tsunade rode at the head, her golden hair glinting like sunlight, her frame unarmored but radiating command.

Beside her, King Jiraiya bore himself with the ease of a man used to carrying kingdoms on his shoulders, his laughter absent, his face hard with grief and resolve.

Their soldiers—lean, scarred, disciplined—marched in quiet rows, the great spiral crest of Konoha painted in crimson across their shields.

And at last—King Hiruzen of the Fire Kingdom.

His white horse trod carefully across the desert stones, his beard flowing silver in the wind.

At his right rode his son, Prince Asuma, jaw tight around the stem of his pipe, his men silent but carrying themselves with grim resolve. Their banners, the blazing flame of Fire, cut the air.

One by one, the armies drew up to the gates.

The desert rumbled beneath the weight of their presence—thousands of boots, banners, and blades converging at once.

Kankurō stepped forward, bowing slightly though his body swayed with the pain of his wound.

His painted face twisted into a smile that carried no mirth, only steel.

“Sunagakure welcomes you,” he said, his voice carrying over the assembled armies. “Though I’d rather it be under brighter stars. My brother—the King—is taken. My sister is gone. And now the desert calls for vengeance. You have come seeking war, and war you shall have.”

Obito’s horse shifted beneath him, his crimson gaze locking with Kakuro’s.

His jaw clenched.

“Then let’s not waste time. The Father thinks himself hidden. We will drag him into the sun.”

The kings and generals exchanged glances—heavy, dark, binding.

The world’s greatest armies had come together, not in peace, but in the shadow of one enemy.

And every banner that snapped in the wind promised fire.

 

                 

                                                                     The Last Hunt

 

The chamber beneath the Oasis Temple was black stone and firelight.

Shadows bent along the walls, broken by the shapes of hooded figures—peach robes fanned like petals around the altar.

The air was thick with incense, acrid and cloying, and beneath it something older, iron and rot, soaked into the stone.

Danzo sat upon a carved seat that might once have been a priest’s throne.

His crimson robes draped the dais, gold-thread sigils glowing in the wavering torchlight.

The chain at his throat gleamed with its nine charms, each catching firelight like a mocking eye.

One cultist knelt low before him, forehead pressed to the ground.

“My lord,” he whispered. “The last jinchuriki… the Nine-Tails… has entered Sunagakure. The Crown Prince of Akatsuki marches with him.”

A murmur rippled through the chamber, the cultists tightening their circle as if the very name of the beast carried weight.

Danzo’s head lifted slowly.

His one visible eye gleamed in the half-light, sharp as a blade.

A smile—thin, cruel—creased his mouth.

“So.” His voice was soft, but it filled the chamber. “Fate brings the fox to my door.”

He rose, robes dragging like spilled blood across the steps.

His footsteps rang cold against the stone.

“Obito Uchiha thinks himself clever. Thinks his brothers, his generals, his alliances of kings will shield the boy. Yet what does he do?”

Danzo’s lip curled, disdain curdled into delight.

“He carries the beast closer. He marches my final vessel into reach with his own hand. Foolish. Predictable.”

The kneeling cultist dared to lift his head.

“Shall we act, Father?”

Danzo circled the altar, fingers brushing the grooves carved centuries ago—the sinuous shapes of the nine beasts, their bodies knotted into one eternal snare.

“Yes,” he breathed. “The gods hunger. The stage is set. The altar waits.” He turned, his eye catching every bowed head in the chamber. “See to the preparations. The elixirs must be doubled. The chains reforged. The Oasians—”

From the far side of the chamber, two mimics stepped into the light, their wooden skin pale, their eyes wrong, calm as death.

Danzo’s smile deepened.

“The Oasians will know their roles. They’ve already taken the king of sand. They’ve already broken the warrior of lightning. Now they will bring me the fox.”

The cultists hissed in unison, a sound like prayer, like snakes in dry grass.

Danzo raised one hand.

The firelight burned along his rings, casting his face in shadow.

“When the Nine-Tails is ours, we begin. Nine vessels. Nine beasts. One altar. One fire. The gods themselves will descend, and the world will bow to their prophet.”

He leaned close to the kneeling man, his whisper more terrifying than a shout.

“Go. Tell them. The last hunt begins.”

The chamber shook with the pounding of fists against the stone floor, voices rising, chanting in a dozen tongues.

Danzo only smiled, sinking back into his throne.

“Let them believe they hunt me,” he murmured, low enough only the fire heard.

“In truth, they deliver themselves to my altar.”

 

 

                                                         

                                                                       The Council in Sunagakure

 

 

The war-tent groaned with heat and bodies.

Torchlight pressed against the canvas walls, shadows swaying like a second gathering, listening.

The sand carried on the wind whispered against the seams, but inside, the only sound was the scrape of chairs, the measured breaths of kings, and the restless hum of anger that no one dared to name.

Obito stood at the head of the table, black leathers creaking as his fists flexed against the carved wood.

His brothers flanked him in a dark crescent—Shisui’s eyes sharp with restless fire, Itachi a statue of calm, Sasuke coiled tight, ready to strike at words as much as blades.

Commander Shien lingered a step back, posture deceptively easy, but his hand was never far from steel.

Naruto stood among them, chest rising and falling too fast, eyes storm-bright.

Sai was silent at his side, sketchbook unopened for once, his presence sharp as a whetted blade.

Kakashi lingered near the canvas wall, unreadable, his one visible eye trained on Naruto as though he could shield him from words alone.

Ruen leaned in the shadows opposite, arms crossed, jaw tight with silent judgment.

Beyond them, the rulers of the great kingdoms filled the table like a storm front.

King A loomed massive at the far end, the firelight catching on the gold rings at his fists as he slammed them down hard enough to rattle cups.

His voice, when it came, was thunder.

His son was gone, and the silence of that absence struck harder than his fury.

Beside him, Ōnoki sat small but unyielding, the carved lines of his face etched deeper with every scowl.

His tongue was as sharp as his eyes—ready to slice the plan apart before it was spoken.

King Renga of Stone leaned forward with the gravity of mountains, every word he spoke slow and immovable, a weight against the chaos threatening to boil over.

Hiashi Hyūga sat rigid as iron, his pale gaze burning through Obito as though he could see every vein, every flaw.

Neji stood behind him like a drawn blade, Hanabi’s silence colder than ice.

Lord Inoichi’s jaw was a mask of iron, his hands folded tight, white at the knuckles. His daughter’s absence bled into every breath he drew, a fury that sat simmering, controlled only by years of discipline.

On the other side, Hiruzen’s cane tapped once against the sand-scattered floor as he listened, his eyes narrowed beneath a crown of age.

Prince Asuma stood beside him, broad-shouldered and restless, the smoke of unspoken words hanging between his lips.

Jiraiya and Tsunade sat together, desert light painting their faces opposite ways—his touched with slyness and shadow, hers hard with impatience.

Where Jiraiya leaned back, eyes narrowed in consideration, Tsunade leaned forward, ready to bite through the first argument that tested her temper.

The weight of them filled the space like a storm.

Obito’s voice cut across the silence, measured, but sharp as flint.

“Danzo needs nine. He has eight. The last is here. We give him what he wants—on our terms. Naruto will be bait.”

The uproar was instant.

King A thundered to his feet.

“You dare bring my son’s captor closer to his prize? My heir already rots in chains, and you would hand Danzo the last piece he lacks? You think I will let you gamble the blood of kingdoms for your pride?!”

Ōnoki spat his rebuke like venom.

“Madness. This boy—this vessel—is the hinge of the whole ritual. Hand him over, and you hand Danzo the world!”

Hiashi’s pale gaze burned.

“My daughter is already in that dungeon. And now you would throw another life into the pyre? What arrogance gives you this right?”

Even Inoichi, who had held himself in brittle silence, broke at last.

His voice cracked like a whip.

“Your plan reeks of Uchiha pride. Sacrificing others has always been your family’s answer.”

Shien’s hand went to his sword, Shisui’s arm blocked him, Itachi’s voice cut in low, calm. But it was Obito who roared the storm back into silence.

“Enough.”

The word rang like steel. The torchlight trembled.

“You think I haven’t counted the risk?” His crimson gaze seared across the table.

“Gaara. Bee. Ino. Rin. Every name stolen burns me more than it burns you. But Danzo has one flaw—his hunger blinds him. He will not resist this bait. And if he comes, he dies.”

Before fury could rise again, another voice slid into the quiet.

Calm.

Even.

Smoke between flames.

Shikamaru.

“He’s right.”

The rulers turned.

He inclined his head respectfully, his tone careful but steady.

“You’re all thinking of what we lose if Naruto falls. Fair. But think instead of what Danzo loses if we bait him wrong. His ritual demands nine. He cannot delay. And we know where he’ll go.”

His finger tapped the map.

“The temple. The one that never rotted while the rest of the Oasis crumbled. We all searched it. Nothing. But Daichi’s last words—‘roots deeper than stone’—they weren’t madness. They were a clue. The altar isn’t above. It’s beneath.”

The words struck like a stone dropped into still water.

Ripples. Realization. Dread.

Ruen pushed off the wall, arms crossed. “So, your plan is to throw Naruto into Danzo’s jaws on a hunch? That’s not strategy. That’s suicide in ink.”

Obito snapped back, crimson burning in his eyes.

“Better ink than your cowardice.”

Ruen’s fists clenched, his voice rough.

“You think Rin would want this? To risk another life on your obsession?”

Itachi’s calm slid like a blade between them.

“This isn’t about Rin. It’s about ending the war before the world burns.”

And then Naruto broke the silence, his voice raw, fierce.

“ENOUGH!”

All eyes turned.

He stood tall at the table’s edge, fire in his blue gaze, his hands clenched at his sides.

“I’m the last one. You all know it. You all fear it. But hiding me won’t save anyone. It won’t bring Hinata back. Or Ino. Or Gaara. Or Rin. Or Everyone.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t falter. “I’m not a child. I’m a jinchuriki. The jinchuriki. If being bait ends this, then that’s what I’ll do.”

His words struck harder than Obito’s steel.

Even King A, roaring moments ago, fell silent. Ōnoki scowled but bit his tongue.

Hiashi’s pale eyes narrowed but gave no denial.

Obito’s eyes softened for a flicker, then hardened again.

“Then it’s settled. We bait him. We end him. No more heirs stolen. No more gods fed.”

The vow bound them all, iron and unyielding.

The storm of kings and warriors had chosen.

The trap was set.

And whether it saved the world—or burned it—would depend on the weight of one sacrifice

 

 

           

                                                                   The Prince’s Tent

 

The desert night was merciless.

No sound but the wind prowling across the dunes, clawing at the camp, dragging the smell of smoke and iron through every seam of canvas.

Obito’s tent stood dark save for a single brazier, its coals burning low.

The red glow cast shadows like phantoms across the walls, flickering and stretching as though they wanted to devour him whole.

He sat on the floor mats, armor loosened, cloak discarded in a heap.

His black leathers creaked when he moved, every inch of him raw with exhaustion but unable to rest.

In his palm gleamed the ring.

Rin’s ring.

Her ruby band caught the firelight in a dull spark, like the last heartbeat of a dying star.

Obito turned it with his thumb, slow, deliberate, as though he were stroking her hand instead of cold gold.

His voice came low, hoarse.

“This ends soon, Rin. I’ll find you. Wherever he hides you. Whatever gods he thinks protect him. I’ll tear it all apart.”

The brazier hissed, sparks spitting into the dark.

“I’ll burn every altar,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the ruby as though it were her eyes staring back. “I’ll gut every priest. I’ll carve his name out of history until nothing remains. And when there’s nothing left but ash, I’ll carry you home.”

His breath shuddered.

He pressed the ring to his lips, then to his chest, over the frantic beat of his heart.

The tent seemed to shift.

For an instant, he swore he smelled rosewater.

A faint whisper of it, cutting through smoke and sand.

His eyes lifted sharply, but the tent was empty.

Only shadows swayed with the fire.

Still… he felt her.

Obito closed his eyes, clutching the ring tighter.

He almost heard her voice—soft, breaking—whispering his name.

His body bowed forward, trembling.

His tears burned, turning red where the Sharingan spun faint in the dark.

“I know you’re suffering,” he rasped. “I know what they’ve done. But I swear to you, love, this doesn’t end with your blood. It doesn’t end with chains. It ends with you in my arms again. And when it’s done—” his voice broke, ragged, “—we’ll make another child. One that the gods will never touch. One who will grow in sunlight, in safety, in a home that no altar will ever poison.”

The fire guttered low, as though the world itself bowed under the weight of his vow.

Obito pressed the ring against the floor, as though sealing the oath into the earth itself.

His head bowed, voice a snarl and a prayer all at once.

“They took our child. They broke you. And I will make them choke on it.”

Silence hung heavy, suffocating.

Obito raised his head, his face carved in shadow, eyes glowing faint like embers in the black.

“Wait for me, Rin,” he whispered. “I’m coming.”

The vow settled in the tent like smoke—thick, unyielding, eternal.

And Obito sat alone in the dark, yet not alone at all.

 

 

 

                                                                     The Nineth Jinchuriki

 

 

The desert night pressed silent against the camp, the moon a pale coin hung over Sunagakure’s walls.

The wind was dry, carrying only the faint hiss of sand skimming over stone.

Inside the Uchiha command tent, no fire burned—only braziers of incense smoldered low, their smoke curling like thin fingers into the air.

Obito stood at the center, his black leathers shadowed and sharp, Rin’s ring heavy against his hand where it rested on the table.

The map between them was scarred with pins, circles, and lines drawn so many times the parchment had begun to fray.

Shikamaru’s voice was quiet but absolute.

“They’ll come for him tonight. Not tomorrow. Not when the sun’s high. Tonight. Danzo is too careful to risk armies converging. He’ll want speed, silence, and the cover of dark. That temple has waited centuries—he won’t wait any longer now that Naruto’s in reach.”

Naruto leaned against the post by the flap, his arms crossed, his face set in rare stillness. Kurama’s low rumble filled his chest, restless but steady.

“So, I’m the bait,” he said. No question, no protest. Just fact.

Sasuke’s jaw flexed, his eyes narrowing as if the words were knives.

“You’re too willing to put your head on the block.”

Naruto shot him a look, fire sparking beneath the calm.

“Hinata’s down there. Ino too. Gaara. Bee. Rin. Every jinchuriki they’ve stolen. If my being bait drags Danzo out of his hole, then fine. I’ll walk right into it.”

Obito’s eyes cut to him—sharp, crimson glinting faint in the low light.

“You’ll walk nowhere alone.”

Shien stepped forward, arms crossed, his voice a soldier’s growl.

“The boy leaves camp only under shadow. A squad rings him, unseen. The Oasians won’t tell shadow from sand—but our eyes will.”

Itachi, seated in the corner like carved stone, lifted his gaze.

“And if they send mercenaries again—steel that doesn’t bleed like wood?”

“Then they die,” Shisui said flatly, leaning against the post with his usual casual tilt. But his eyes burned, serious.

Shikamaru tapped the edge of the map with one long finger, drawing the lines slow and deliberate.

“We want them to think they win. Naruto is the spark—they light the fire, they carry him to the temple. We follow in silence. When the sacrifice begins, when all their prey is in one place… that’s when we strike. Not before.”

Naruto’s fists clenched.

“You’re telling me I let them take me without a fight?”

“Yes,” Shikamaru said, his tone sharper than usual. “If you fight, you risk breaking the illusion. If you break the illusion, they scatter. And if they scatter, Rin dies. The others die. We don’t get a second chance at this.”

Silence pressed down.

Obito’s hands braced against the table, knuckles white.

For a long moment he said nothing, his jaw locked, the weight of command heavy as chains.

Then he raised his head, crimson eyes fierce, unyielding.

“Fine. Let them come. Let them think they’ve taken the last jinchuriki. When they lead him to that altar, we’ll be waiting in the dark. And when the blade falls…” His voice roughened, dark as steel dragged over stone. “…I’ll cut it from Danzo’s hand myself.”

Naruto met his gaze, steady, fire answering fire. “Then it’s settled.”

Shien barked quiet orders, sending men into the night.

Itachi rose, moving like shadow, Sasuke following with storm in his step.

Shisui lingered only long enough to clap Naruto’s shoulder, half a grin masking the tension in his eyes.

Only Shikamaru stayed by the map, staring down at the temple etched in ink, its lines circled and scarred.

His voice dropped, almost to himself.

“Checkmate’s only checkmate if you’ve read every move. Danzo’s clever. Seven steps ahead. But this time…” He exhaled slow, eyes narrowing. “This time we close the board.”

The tent flap stirred with the wind.

The trap was set.

The desert night was a blade drawn thin.

Clouds drowned the moon, leaving only the glow of torches at the edge of camp, their flames restless in the wind.

Naruto walked between them.

Alone.
Or so it seemed.

His cloak was loose around his shoulders, hood shadowing his face, but his stride didn’t falter.

Each step rang with quiet defiance.

Behind him, silent and unseen, the Sharingan tracked, the Byakugan watched, and steel lingered just outside the torchlight.

Kurama stirred within him, restless as thunder.

Naruto… you’re too calm.

Naruto’s lips barely moved.

If I’m not, they’ll see it. You said it yourself—fear smells.

Kurama’s growl was low, grudging. Fine. But when the time comes, I’ll break their chains myself.

The desert hissed.

Shapes bled out of it—hoods, robes, blades that caught no light.

Oasians, mimics with pale wood-skin, their faces twisting through borrowed features like water over stone.

Mercenaries, too, armored and scarred, steel glinting as they closed the circle.

One stepped forward.

A priest’s voice rasped from beneath his hood.

“Naruto Uzumaki.” The name rolled like a sentence. “The final vessel. Your time has come.”

Naruto’s chin lifted, steady.

“Took you long enough.”

They tightened the ring.

A mercenary lifted a clay vial, liquid glinting inside, clear as water.

“The draught,” the priest intoned. “The silence. Drink.”

For a heartbeat, the camp held its breath.

Naruto’s fist clenched inside his sleeve.

He thought of Hinata’s pale eyes, of Gaara’s quiet strength, of Rin’s defiance, of every voice chained beneath stone.

He let the fire rage in his chest—but only there.

His gaze never wavered.

He took the cup. He drank.

Gasps rustled through the ring as if victory had already been sealed.

But in the shadows beyond, Obito’s hand flexed over the hilt of his blade.

Sasuke’s jaw tightened, Sakura’s heart hammered in the medic’s tent yards away.

Shisui’s smirk had long since dropped, his eyes dark, waiting. Shikamaru’s stare burned into the sand, every move predicted, every escape marked.

The vial slipped from Naruto’s fingers, shattering against stone.

He swayed once—perfect, convincing.

Then he fell.

The Oasians caught him, their laughter brittle, inhuman.

The mercenaries raised their blades in salute, the priest’s hood dipped as though in blessing.

“Take him,” the voice hissed. “The altar waits. The gods wait. Tonight, the world begins again.”

They dragged Naruto into the dark, their ranks closing around him like teeth.

And all around the camp, unseen in the desert night, the trap closed with them.

The desert swallowed sound.

Naruto’s body was slung between two mercenaries, his arms limp, his head bowed like a broken puppet.

Sand dragged under his boots as they carried him into the night, their torches flickering like a funeral procession.

The Oasians moved with eerie unity, faces flickering between stolen shapes, as though the desert itself was wearing men’s skin.

The mercenaries muttered curses of triumph, already thinking of gold and glory.

And at the head, the robed priest raised his staff, its iron tip sinking into the sand with every step.

“Tonight,” he rasped, “the last vessel joins his kin. The gods’ feast nears its hour.”

They did not know they were already being hunted.

A mile out, spread wide across the dunes, shadows moved. No torch, no sound.

Only the faint shimmer of eyes—scarlet, white, cold grey—watching from every ridge.

Obito crouched at the front of them, his Sharingan burning through the dark, every heartbeat of Naruto’s form tracked as if tied to his own.

His jaw clenched tight, his cloak drawn close, his fury a coil straining for release.

Shisui’s voice was a whisper in his ear, low as smoke.

“He’s playing it well. They believe he’s broken.”

Obito’s eyes didn’t leave the procession.

“Good. Then they’ll lead us to Danzo themselves.”

Further back, Shikamaru crouched low, tracing lines in the sand with a stick, his gaze never leaving the horizon.

 He murmured to Shien at his side.

“They’re not going straight. See the way they keep doubling back? They’re masking the path. We wait until they show us the entrance. That’s when we strike.”

Shien gave a curt nod, hand brushing the pommel of his blade.

Itachi and Sasuke flanked opposite dunes, pale Sharingan glints cutting through the dark.

Between them, Neji’s Byakugan shimmered faint, catching every twitch of the procession, every false step in the sand.

“They’re not mercenaries alone,” Neji murmured, his tone razor-cold. “At least four Oasians are hiding their shapes. Their form is wrong.”

Hanabi shifted closer, her voice sharper, younger, but steady.

“If they sense us—”

“They won’t,” Itachi cut in, his voice iron calm. “Not until we want them to.”

Behind the line, Naruto’s friends moved too.

Sai kept to the far right, a scroll already unfurling in his hand, ink slithering alive across it like restless snakes.

Sasuke glanced back at him once, voice low.

“When it starts, you keep him alive. No hesitation.”

Sai’s face was unreadable as ink. “You won’t need to remind me.”

And still, Naruto hung limp, playing his part perfectly.

Inside him, Kurama’s voice thrummed low, steady.

They think you’re theirs. They don’t smell the trap yet.
Good, Naruto thought back. Because when it springs, I want Danzo to choke on it.

The desert wind carried the Oasians forward, their false caravan winding into the black.

And from every ridge, every shadow, every hollow, the true army followed—silent as a tide.

The jaws of the ambush were closing.

 

 

                                                                    The Ninth Altar

 

The dungeon breathed damp and stale, torches burning low in their brackets until the light bent more shadow than flame.

The air was heavy with mildew, rust, and the sour reek of bodies too long caged.

Chains scraped faintly.

A cough echoed.

A whispered prayer drowned under the drip-drip-drip of water from the stone ceiling.

Rin sat curled against the wall, her ceremonial shroud clinging to her like a cruel mockery.

The black threads stretched across her body, stiff now with days of dried blood, clinging to her thighs, chafing against her skin.

She didn’t move often anymore.

Her voice had hollowed out to nothing, her silence a shield that even Danzo’s sneers couldn’t always pierce.

Akari leaned against the bars across from her, eyes shadowed but alert.

Sabo muttered in his sleep, twitching at dreams too sharp to be mercy.

Keiko whimpered now and then, only soothed by the twins murmuring to her from their neighboring cells.

And tonight—the torches burned brighter.

Too bright.

The peach-robed cultists had come and gone more than usual, muttering about preparations, about “the day being close.”

Their robes stank of incense, their faces hidden, but their voices were tinged with excitement.

Gaara, half-conscious but awake enough now, sat shackled at the far end.

His sand had been stripped from him by the draught, his beast’s voice silenced like the rest. Still, his eyes were steel.

Temari, her face bruised but her jaw unbowed, whispered to him through the bars: “They’re moving more tonight. Something’s changing.”

Danzo himself descended once more, the chain of nine charms glinting in the torchlight, his shadow long across the floor.

His steps echoed like a verdict.

He stopped, circling like a carrion bird, his eyes drinking in the captives—lingering longest on Rin.

“You’ve all grown quiet,” he said softly, his voice as smooth as it was venomous. “Fear does that. But take heart—the gods have not forgotten you. Soon, they will feast.”

His gaze swept to Gaara, his smile sharpening.

“Almost all Jinchuriki’s are now in my grasp. One prince already torn from his family’s arms. And the last fox soon delivered.”

The cultists murmured agreement, bowing their heads.

Rin closed her eyes.

She didn’t believe him—she couldn’t let herself.

But the silence in her chest where Isobu’s voice used to be was unbearable.

Gaara shifted weakly, his voice hoarse but steady.

“You won’t win.”

Danzo only chuckled, his eyes glinting.

“No? The gods favor patience. And I—am patience made flesh.”

He moved closer to Rin, crouching just beyond the bars, his words low, cruel, meant for her ears alone.

“Does your prince still dream of you? Or has he finally realized what you gave me? What you lost?”

Her fingers twitched against her knees, but she said nothing.

Danzo straightened, voice rising again, filling the dungeon with false devotion.

“Nine vessels. Nine beasts. One altar. One fire. The world will shake.”

He turned away at last, his robes dragging against the stone, leaving only the echo of his laughter behind.

The captives sat in silence after he was gone, the weight of his promise pressing down like stone.

It was Gaara who broke it, his eyes turning toward Rin, softer than before.

“He’s coming for you. Obito. You don’t see what you mean to him. But I do.”

Rin’s throat closed, tears stinging her eyes. She shook her head faintly, whispering, “It’s been too long.”

Gaara’s jaw tightened.

“Not even the gods recognize him anymore. And when he finds you—he will burn them alive.”

For the first time in days, Rin wept openly. Not only from fear—but from hope she was terrified to hold onto.

 

 

                                                                 

                                                                  All Nine Jinchuriki’s

 

 

The dungeon doors screeched open, the sound rattling like thunder through the stone.

Chains clanked.

Boots dragged.

Torches flared too bright, stabbing into the darkness where the prisoners huddled.

Two figures were hauled forward.

Chains as thick as an arm dragged at their wrists and ankles, etched with crawling sigils that pulsed faintly red.

The sound of them grinding on the stone floor was a dirge in itself.

Prince Bee stumbled first into view.

Even shackled, even beaten, his frame was broad, defiant, his eyes burning under the weight of his chains.

He fought them with each step, shoulders jerking, trying to rip free even as the runes smothered the beast inside him.

Behind him came Naruto.

His blond hair was matted, his face bruised, but his eyes—his eyes blazed with a wild defiance that no chain could drown.

He jerked against the men dragging him, fury vibrating off him in waves.

“Let me go, damn you! You think this is over?!”

The captives stirred.

Akari’s hands flew to her mouth. Sabo’s head dropped with a hoarse curse. The twins, Taro and Kira, pressed against their bars, silent tears sliding down their cheeks.

Then a scream split the corridor.

“Naruto!”

Hinata had been silent for days, her Byakugan dimmed by despair.

Now her voice tore out of her throat raw, breaking the air like glass.

She slammed against the bars, hands stretching through, eyes wide and wet.

“Naruto—no—please, no!”

Naruto’s head snapped, and when he saw her his whole body lunged forward.

The chains caught, yanking him to his knees.

“Hinata! I’m here! I’ll get you out—I swear to the gods I’ll—”

His voice cracked when he saw the iron cuffs on her wrists, the bruises around her arms, the pale exhaustion carved into her face.

His fury turned feral.

“What did you do to her?!” he roared at the guards. “What the hell did you bastards do to her?!”

“Uncle!”

The cry came from further down the row—small, desperate. A boy clung to the bars of his cell, barely older than ten.

His eyes shone with lightning like his bloodline, though they were clouded now with tears.

“Uncle Bee!”

Bee’s head jerked up. His chest seized.

“Kairo?” His voice thundered in the chamber, disbelief cracking through its strength.

The boy’s hands clutched the bars so tight his knuckles split.

“Uncle—help me—please—”

Bee threw himself forward, muscles straining, but half a dozen chains dragged him back.

The runes flared bright, burning his skin where the shackles bit.

He bellowed in rage, a sound that shook the stone.

“Don’t you touch him! Don’t you dare touch him!”

Kairo’s small frame shuddered with sobs.

“They—they said they’ll kill us all, Uncle—”

“Quiet!” one cultist barked, slamming a rod against the boy’s bars.

Kairo flinched, but his wide eyes stayed locked on Bee, refusing to let go of his uncle with even his gaze.

Temari’s nails scraped her bars, her chin lifting even through despair.

“Gods…” she whispered. “They have you all.”

Gaara, bruised but unbroken, shut his eyes tight.

His voice was rough, but it carried.

“That was always his plan. All nine. Together.”

The words dropped like a stone into their chests.

The corridor was a tomb of silence for a long, brutal moment.

Each of them heard the chains at their wrists.

Each of them felt the hopeless weight settle deeper.

Then came the sound that made the silence worse: the soft, deliberate scrape of a staff against stone.

The cultists stepped aside, bowing their heads.

Danzo entered.

His crimson robes dragged the floor, trimmed in gold that caught every flicker of torchlight.

The chain at his throat glittered with nine charms, each one whispering like teeth gnashing in the dark.

His presence filled the dungeon like a sickness.

He didn’t rush.

He walked the length of the cells like a priest savoring a procession.

His eyes drank them in—Naruto still straining in his chains, Bee’s fury tearing out of him, Kairo’s tears, Hinata’s scream still echoing against the stone.

When he reached the center, he stopped.

His smile was thin, a blade turned sideways.

“Look at you.” His voice was low, dripping with satisfaction. “Nine vessels. Nine beasts. All gathered at last.”

His gaze slid across them—Gaara, Bee, Naruto, Rin curled silent in her black shroud, Akari, Sabo, the twins, even little Keiko hiding her face.

“You should savor this moment,” Danzo said softly. His staff tapped once against the floor, echoing like a gavel. “Enjoy this reunion. It will be your last.”

The charms at his throat gleamed faint.

“Soon,” he whispered, “the altar will drink all your blood together. And the gods will be reborn.”

His laughter slithered down the corridor like smoke, curling into every cell until it felt like there was no air left to breathe.

The echo of Danzo’s laughter lingered long after he was gone, staining the silence like smoke that refused to clear.

The heavy door clanged shut, bolts sliding into place, and then there was nothing but the rasp of chains and the uneven breathing of the damned.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Even the torchlight seemed to dim, shadows stretching long across the stone.

It was Temari who broke it, her voice low, steady only because she forced it so.

“He won’t get what he wants. He can’t.”

Across the row, Akari let out a bitter laugh that cracked mid-breath.

“He already has us. What more does he need?”

Naruto’s head snapped up, fury burning through exhaustion. His voice echoed against the stone, raw and ragged.

“He needs all of us alive. That means we’re not done. That means we fight, no matter what they pour down our throats. No matter what chains they throw on us. We don’t stop!”

His words hit the silence like sparks thrown into dry grass.

Keiko lifted her head, her small hands trembling as they clung to the bars.

“He—he won’t kill us yet?” she whispered, voice shaking like a child clinging to a story.

Gaara shifted, dragging himself upright against the wall of his cell, his face pale, jaw set with iron.

“Not until the altar,” he said flatly. His voice was hoarse, still ragged from the poison’s weight, but steady. His eyes swept the row of prisoners—his sister, his allies, even the children—and hardened. “Then we endure. Until the moment comes.”

From her corner, Rin stirred faintly. Her black ceremonial shroud clung to her skin, blood dried dark against her thighs, her silence heavier than stone. She hadn’t spoken since Danzo entered.

Temari’s hand tightened against the bars, her knuckles white.

“Rin,” she said softly, careful not to break her further. “Don’t listen to him. You’re still here. That’s enough.”

But Rin only drew her knees tighter to her chest, her face turned to shadow.

Bee exhaled through his nose, his chains rattling as he leaned back, voice rumbling from deep in his chest.

“Don’t break, little stormclouds. The gods don’t decide when we fall—we do.” His eyes cut toward Kairo’s cell, where the boy gripped the bars, trying not to cry. “Kairo. Hear me, nephew. You hold on. Your uncle ain’t finished yet.”

Kairo swallowed, nodding hard, but his small shoulders trembled.

Sabo muttered from the far end, voice like gravel dragged across stone.

“Endure, fight, endure. Easy words, hard truth. Chains don’t break for prayers.”

Naruto slammed his fists into his bars, his voice sharp enough to bleed.

“Then we wait. For them. Obito. Sasuke. Everyone up there—they’ll come. They’ll tear this place apart to get us out.”

The words hung in the dark like a fragile shield, a hope that trembled but did not yet shatter.

But Rin, silent in her blood-stained shroud, felt it fraying already.

 

 

 

Chapter 41: Toward the Forgotten Temple/Dawn Below/The March Reaches the Throat/The Battle at the Oasis Mouth/The Circle, The Sacrifice/The Ritual Begins/The Breaking of the Altar

              Toward the Forgotten Temple

 

 

The camp had already begun to shed its skin when the Uchiha brothers found him—no shouted orders, no trumpet, just the soft rasp of leather, the clink of buckles, the muted breath of horses that knew the hour.

Men moved like shadows between shadows, banking coals, knotting straps, tightening girths.

The world smelled of approaching rain and steel.

“It’s time,” Shisui said, rain-dark hair tied back, eyes like flint.

“Scouts are out. Routes cleared,” Itachi added, quiet as a drawn bow. “No fires on the march.”

Sasuke’s answer was a single, hard nod. His hand settled on the hilt at his hip.

“We ride.”

Obito turned without a word.

He wore black from collar to spur—weather-darkened leathers strapped close, the long coat cut for the saddle, twin knives crossed low at the back.

The storm that had crawled across the flats at dusk left a cold sheen on the world; in that pall, his gear looked forged out of night itself.

He opened his palm.

The ring warmed his skin—her ring, ruby deep as a wound.

He brought it to his mouth, kissed metal that still carried the faintest trace of her scent, and breathed her name into it as if the jewel could carry breath to the one thing he could not reach.

Then he slid the band into the inner pocket over his heart and thumbed the button closed.

“Hold for me,” he murmured into the dark. “I’m coming.”

Outside the line of tents, beneath star-glow thinned by cloud, Shikamaru waited with Shien over a saddle blanket chalked to a map.

No lanterns—only three hooded braziers and the pale smear of the moon.

The chalk lines were clean and merciless: ridge, sink, dome, trenches, dead ground, killing lanes, the narrow throat where sound would carry and men would die.

“Two lines,” Shikamaru said, voice low and even. “Fast vanguard takes the eastern flats with Shien—no banners, no horns. Main body shadows the ridge. If the oasis is the front door, the temple is the throat. We cut there.”

“Underground,” Shien grunted, tapping the chalk at a black square he’d marked three times. “We take picks. If there’s a hidden way, we make it bigger.”

Kakashi swung into a saddle opposite Ruen. Both men looked carved from the same sleepless night. “No noise until the last mile,” Kakashi said, reins loose in easy hands. “If they feel us coming, they’ll cut throats before we see stone.”

Obito’s gaze swept them, weighing resolve like he weighed steel.

“Then they won’t feel us.”

Ruen met his eyes.

For once there was no old fire, no goading smirk—just a stripped, simple hardness.

“We bring her home,” he said.

“Today,” Obito answered, and the word left frost in the air.

They rode.

The column moved like a single dark river—over hardpan that rang, through knife-grass that hissed, past fang-toothed rocks that caught starlight and threw it back blue.

Horse breath steamed white.

Cinches whispered.

Somewhere an owl hooted once and fell silent as if it too remembered the dead.

Shikamaru took a place just behind the point, lips moving faintly as he counted: pace, distance, wind, the rhythm of hoofbeats against the pulse in his throat.

“Three hours if the ground holds,” he muttered to the night.

“It will,” Itachi said from the gloom, because Obito needed certainty more than truth.

Shisui ghosted forward to check the flanks.

“Two patrols cut west,” he reported when he returned, barely winded. “Just dust and poor decisions. They won’t bark before dawn.”

Sasuke angled his horse alongside Obito’s.

“When we find them,” he said, voice quiet but edged, “I go first into the cells.”

Obito didn’t look at him.

“You go where I point.”

Sasuke’s jaw ticked. He didn’t argue. Not tonight.

Sai rode a little behind, his sketchbook strapped beneath his cloak, blade oiled and silent.

“When you have her,” he said, voice flat as ink, “I take Danzo.”

“Get me Rin breathing,” Obito replied. “Then take whatever you like.”

They pressed on.

Stars rolled.

Cold bit.

The line arrowed toward the place the maps pretended wasn’t there.

An hour in, the world narrowed to the ring and scrape of their own movement.

No one wasted words.

Even the horses seemed to understand a kind of prayer had replaced conversation.

Kakashi drifted up alongside Ruen again.

“You keep your feet under you,” he said without looking over.

“Whatever happens when we find her.”

“I know what I have to carry,” Ruen answered, voice rough with sleep he hadn’t had. “And what I don’t get to anymore.”

“Good.” Kakashi’s mouth twitched, too tired for a smile. “Then we won’t fight the wrong enemy in the dark.”

The flats fell away by degrees, sand giving to stone, stone to broken shelves, shelves to ridgeline spines that lifted the riders toward a horizon that never seemed to arrive.

Wind carried the taste of old smoke. Somewhere far ahead, water waited—stagnant, hidden, hoarded by a place that had forgotten mercy.

At the second hour’s mark, the night flicked and changed. A dull glow on the far right like the low ember of a forge gave itself a name: banners.

They were not alone.

From the west, the earth itself seemed to move.

A rolling wall of men in stone-colored brigandines advanced with a sound like grinding bedrock; hammers rode their shoulders, the heads wrapped to muffle clank.

At their head rode King Renga, shoulders as wide as a doorway, beard bound in iron rings. He raised a hand in salute without slowing.

“Uchiha,” he rumbled. “No stone stands while our children are stolen. We march until the earth splits if we must.”

Obito lifted two fingers from his reins. “Lend me your hammers at the throat,” he said. “I’ll return them wet.”

Renga’s teeth flashed in something like a smile.

“Good.”

From the north came the wheeled chariot of Iwagakure, drawn by four armored oxen whose breath steamed like vented furnaces.

King Ōnoki stood within the frame, small body wrapped in furs, eyes like chips of old granite.

His generals rode as close as knives.

“They thought to take my granddaughter from under the sky,” Ōnoki rasped, voice cutting the wind. “We’ll tear their temple down stone by stone and bury them under what they worship.”

“You’ll have your pick of stones,” Shikamaru said dryly. Ōnoki snorted and rolled on.

 

 

                                                         

                              Dawn Below

 

 

Stone sweated where the world remembered water.

The deepest vein of the Underground Oasis stank of damp earth, rot, and smoke.

Torches hissed in their sconces, dripping pitch like tears, their fire casting long and hungry shadows across walls carved by hands centuries dead.

The hinges groaned first—iron shrieks echoing through the corridors like the cry of something chained.

One by one, the cell doors creaked open.

They came with ritual precision: cultists robed in peach, their hoods stiff with dried salt and incense smoke.

Two by two, they carried clay cups, dark liquid sloshing in the dim light. Behind them walked Danzo, slow, unhurried, his crimson hems whispering over stone.

The chain of nine charms at his throat clicked with each step—soft as teeth gnashing, soft as promises breaking.

At Akari’s cell they began. She bared her teeth like the wolf she carried in her blood, hurling curses that cracked her throat raw.

She fought, knees slamming into the bars, hands clawing until the manacles yanked her short. A guard seized her hair and forced the rim to her lips.

She choked, spat, but the draught spilled down regardless. Her growl broke into a ragged cough as the elixir slid down, stealing the fire from her limbs.

Sabo spat directly into one cultist’s face when they shoved the cup against his mouth. The cultist’s palm cracked across his nose, pinching until the boy gasped, and in that moment the liquid poured down. He gagged, back arching, until his knees struck the floor with a hollow ring.

The twins, Taro and Kira, tried to resist the only way they knew—together. They pressed shoulder to shoulder, snarling each other’s names as if one voice could defy the world. The cups came anyway.

They thrashed, slammed their heads against the stone, but chains snapped taut and jaws were pried open. The draught spilled down, and the twins sagged, breath trembling, eyes burning but dimming.

Keiko’s turn. The smallest. She stood with her chin high, knuckles white around the bars, lips pressed so tightly together they trembled.

She didn’t fight when they took her chin, but when the cup tilted her eyes blurred. She wept silently as the draught slid past her lips, her small frame shaking like a brittle reed in wind.

Gaara was next. His chains clanked when they dragged the door wide. He lashed out with iron fingers, catching a guard’s wrist. Bone crunched—satisfying, final—before three more piled onto him, slamming him against the wall.

They pried his jaw open with a knife-handle and rammed the cup down. The liquid burned like ice, cutting down his throat.

His body stilled as the strength bled out of him, his knees hitting stone, eyes half-lidded but still burning with hate.

Bee struck harder. His shoulder rammed into two cultists at once, actually shoving them back a step. His growl shook the cell, teeth flashing.

“You’ll need ten more, fools,” he spat. They swarmed him like ants, fists and elbows battering his ribs, arms, throat. It still took four to wrench his head back, jamming the rim between his teeth.

The draught spilled, cold and relentless.

Bee coughed once, spat froth, and then his body began to sag, his strength leeched into the stone.

Naruto’s turn. His cell stank of sweat and dust. The cultist that entered smirked, licking his lips as though promised sport.

Naruto’s jaw set. He took the cup himself, stared at them with fury that made them flinch—and then drank in one swallow, slamming the empty clay back into the cultist’s chest.

His throat burned. His limbs dulled. His vision blurred. He collapsed slowly, deliberately, eyes never leaving theirs until his lashes finally closed.

And Rin.

They had left her as she was—draped still in the sacrificial shroud of black threads, fragile strands clinging like cobwebs across her skin.

Dried blood stained her thighs, her hips, shadowing the webbed fabric where it pooled at her feet. The cultists did not have to drag her; she sat against the wall, silent, her eyes unfocused, her lips already pale.

When they pressed the cup to her mouth she did not resist. She closed her eyes and let it pass, as though she were already gone.

The draught slid down into the hollow silence that had once held her strength.

Danzo’s shadow lingered at her cell longer than the others.

His staff tapped once against stone, his gaze sliding over the curve of her body with mocking patience.

He said nothing—only smiled, the faintest tilt of his lips, as though her silence amused him.

And then the doors opened wider.

The captives were dragged one by one, their ankles clattering chains, their wrists pulled taut.

Boots scraped stone, cloth whispered like mourning shrouds.

The corridor swallowed them whole, a long throat that led downward, downward—until it opened into a cavern vast enough to drown a kingdom.

Torches flared along the walls, lighting carvings that had outlived empires: beasts etched into stone, each one snarling, howling, watching with unblinking eyes.

The air reeked of incense and iron, thick with the weight of centuries.

And in the center—

The circle.

Carved deep, wide enough to hold them all.

Nine grooves spiraled like a serpent devouring its tail, each channel shaped for a body, each flowing into the other until they formed a knot too ancient, too deliberate. It was an altar disguised as art.

A grave dressed as worship.

The jinchuriki were placed upon it, one by one.

Chains locked.

Mouths bound.

Bodies splayed like offerings waiting for knives.

Behind a high pillar, Hinata, Temari, Ino, and Kairo were chained, their throats bare, their mouths gagged.

Their muffled cries filled the chamber, rising thin and terrified, echoing off the ancient stone.

Above them all, Danzo lifted his staff.

The charms at his throat glowed faint in the torchlight.

“Bring them forth,” he whispered. “Bind them in the circle. Let the gods see their feast prepared.”

The cultists obeyed.

The altar was ready.

 

 

                           

           The March Reaches the Throat

 

 

To the east, a silent river of pale eyes slipped through the dark.

The Hyūga host rode without sound and almost without breath—discipline so tight the formation felt like a single blade held in a single hand.

King Hiashi’s helm caught a thread of moonlight, cold as frost. Prince Neji and Princess Hanabi matched his pace exactly, faces carved by purpose.

“They will not hide from us,” Hiashi said, his Byakugan’s pale flare like winter lightning. “Every passage, every lie in the stone—we will see through it.”

Obito inclined his head, a soldier’s courtesy returned to a king.

“Your sight takes my blind side.”

From the rear thundered the bronze and black of Lightning.

King A rode bare-headed so the wind could touch his face, one gauntlet off so his fist could slam against the saddle in rhythm with the oaths he threw into the night.

“They took my son,” he roared, voice rolling like storm. “They touched my blood. I will bring him back, or I will bring the sky down on their heads.”

His host answered with a sound like the world breaking.

In that sound was grief hammered into a weapon.

Konoha’s banners burned gold and crimson in the dim.

Jiraiya rode straight-backed, jaw clenched, gaze on the horizon like he meant to will it closer.

Tsunade’s eyes were colder than the wind; she said nothing, counting cost before dawn demanded payment.

Hiruzen of Fire and Prince Asuma passed without fanfare. Hiruzen’s mouth was a hard line. Asuma’s hands flexed on his spear until leather creaked.

Lines flowed together and did not snarl. Credit Shikamaru for that.

He ranged his horse across the front like a man checking knots: a word to Stone, a finger raised to Lightning, two chopped gestures to Hyūga skirmishers to tuck deeper and keep their pale gaze hidden.

He didn’t bark.

He didn’t need to. The pattern held because the pattern made sense.

“Another hour,” he said, reining back to Obito’s side. “You’ll smell the water before you see it. When you do—go quiet.”

They went quiet.

The world shrank to heartbeats, hoofbeats, breath. Stars leaned closer. Steel exhaled frost. The idea of morning began to creep up the back of the night like a thief and then, without warning, put a hand on its shoulder.

The eastern flats gave them to stone.

Ridge-shadow broke at last to reveal the sink where the Oasis hid its oldest bones—black palms like claws, a lip of broken masonry tooth-marked by time, the faint curve of an ancient dome listening for the sun. Below, like a wound in the earth, the temple’s mouth gaped.

Sound changed. It always did near deep places.

The air grew heavier, full of echoes waiting for a voice.

Shien raised one gloved hand.

The great column swelled and thinned, squads peeling off as if the map under his fist had risen up through the ground to tell men where to go.

“Positions,” he said, not loud, and the order ran like a ripple along a pond.

Archers ghosted to shattered cornices, quivers ticking, eyes on the dark mouths of old windows.

Shield lines crawled along the transept trench and went to ground, shields overlapping, iron beasts with their backs to the dawn.

Renga’s hammer-men spread across the center like the idea of a wall.

Ōnoki’s engineers unrolled bundles that weren’t bedrolls at all but charges and spikes and things that made stone remember it could move.

Hyūga scouts vanished into fissures and reappeared at the edges of sight, their pale gaze turning the ruin into a picture that moved.

Kakashi and Ruen split left toward the narrowest stair, knives already loose and bare as promises.

“If there’s a throat,” Kakashi whispered, “we’ll put a hand around it.”

Shikamaru stayed low at the ridge’s lip, squinting down the ruined angles, tasting how sound would run in a stone throat. He lifted two fingers.

“Another thirty breaths,” he said, voice so steady it made other men’s hands stop shaking. “We’ll be where we need to be.”

Sasuke stood a half-step behind Obito, eyes burning toward the black mouth below. He said nothing.

He had said it all in the saddle.

Itachi touched Shisui’s shoulder and pointed.

“There,” he murmured.

A wave of mercenary helms winked from scrub and ruin across the sink—glints like fish backs in dirty water.

Almost a match for their own line, and not ragged.

Paid well.

Fed better.

Dangerous because of it.

“They were waiting,” Itachi said.

Shisui’s mouth thinned.

“Let them count,” he answered, eyes cut to the far left where a low ravine offered a place to bleed, if a man needed it. “We didn’t come to keep score.”

Obito sat his horse at the ridge’s lip and breathed the thin dawn.

The world smelled of wet stone and old dust. Beneath his coat, the ring’s weight rested warm over his heart.

He could feel the press of its circle through cloth like a brand that said: remember what you belong to.

He put his palm flat over it and closed his eyes.

“Hold,” he whispered, and no one but the ring heard him. “Hold for one more hour. I’m here.”

The kings gathered in a knot of iron and oaths.

Renga dismounted and set his hammer’s haft into the ground. It made a sound like thunder with its mouth closed.

“This is where we break them,” he said, voice pitched for men to overhear. “No stone will lie quiet while our blood is caged.”

Ōnoki leaned forward in his chariot, old bones warmed by fury.

“When we drag their priest out, I’ll put his head on a pike high enough the crows forget how to land.”

King A rolled his shoulders like a man testing an old wound.

He lifted his bare hand.

The warriors of Lightning slammed weapons against shields, a single rolling shock.

“My son lives until I say otherwise,” he vowed, each word a blow. “I will bring him back or bring the sky down trying.”

Hiashi’s Byakugan flared, white fire under lids. His voice came like frost snapping branches.

“They have taken my daughter. They have taken too much. The eye sees what faith would hide. Today, we end it.”

Jiraiya drew a breath like he was lifting a weight.

“We’ve brought what we can,” he said, not looking at Obito but not avoiding him either. “Don’t waste it.”

Tsunade didn’t bother with words.

She nodded once, slow, a queen measuring debt she would collect in flesh if she had to.

Hiruzen’s old voice was iron rubbed smooth.

“They made this place a church to fear,” he said. “When we leave it, it will be a tomb.”

Obito didn’t answer any of them.

He watched the mouth of the temple and listened to the way the dawn pressed at the edges of the dark as if even light didn’t want to cross the threshold.

A horse shifted beside him.

Ruen had edged up out of the swirl of Hyūga scouts and Uchiha leather.

For a heartbeat, neither man spoke.

Wind snapped a banner somewhere down-line.

A spear butt clicked. From the ruin, a crow cawed and shut its mouth fast.

“Today,” Ruen said.

Obito turned his head. Their eyes locked—rivals, enemies, kin by the stubborn grace of a woman who loved them both in different, unforgiving ways. For once, there was nothing in the look but steel.

“Today,” Obito echoed, and the word was oath and knife.

Shikamaru raised his hand without ceremony.

“Vanguard, ready,” he said. “Archers: fixed draws. Engineers: wait for my mark. Shield wall—on my breath.”

Shien rolled his shoulders and lifted his own palm.

The line tightened. Men bent knees. Leather groaned. Steel sighed.

Below, in the temple’s dark, Danzo’s staff struck stone once.

The sound climbed the throat of the ruin and came to them thin and mean, like a smile you didn’t see until it was too late.

“On your word,” Obito said, not to a king, not to a god—just to the man with chalk on his fingers and a brain that had saved them more than luck ever had.

Shikamaru didn’t look back.

He watched wind and ruin and light and the way men who were about to die shifted their feet without knowing they had.

He counted in his head and under his breath and maybe in his bones.

“Now,” he said.

The ridge inhaled. The ridge exhaled.

And the armies moved.

 

 

           The Battle at the Oasis Mouth

 

 

The ridge exhaled—and war screamed awake.

The first sound was bowstrings.

A storm of arrows hissed down from the shattered cornices, blackening the air, shattering shields, punching through helms.

Men fell in rows before they even knew they were dying.

The mercenary host answered with its own volley, jagged and bright.

Shafts slammed into shields, into horses, into stone. Renga’s hammer-men locked shoulders and braced, their wall groaning under the impact.

One man staggered back with an arrow jutting from his thigh; another caught one through the throat and went down choking.

“Forward!” Renga roared, his hammer lifted, his voice breaking like thunder.

His men surged, boots shaking the earth.

From the left flank, the Hyūga line poured silent death.

Byakugan eyes burned pale fire as they cut through the smoke, seeing every weakness.

“There!” Neji shouted, striking a hand-sign to his captain. “That line breaks—press!” Hanabi’s voice followed, sharp as glass: “Shields high—draw them into the choke!”

King A was at their head, his gauntletless fist punching through a man’s helm like it was tin.

His soldiers followed his fury, a rolling wall of bronze and black.

“FOR KUMOGAKURE!” he bellowed, and his men’s roar shook the stone teeth of the ruin.

Ōnoki’s engineers lit their spikes, flinging charges into the trench. Explosions bit fire from stone, carving chaos into the mercenary line.

“Break their teeth!” Ōnoki shrieked from his chariot. “Stone eats stone—bury them!” His generals surged forward, blades flashing in the firelight.

Konoha’s banners struck next.

Jiraiya leapt from his horse, spear sweeping wide, cutting three men in one arc.

“Push!” he snarled. Tsunade was a storm behind him, her blade singing through iron and bone.

She didn’t speak—she didn’t need to. Every strike was a command.

And at the center, the Uchiha burned.

Obito’s Sharingan lit scarlet, his long coat split and flying as he tore into the mercenaries like a storm given flesh.

His twin knives flashed, each stroke leaving ruin in its wake.

One man’s sword shattered under the weight of his block; another’s throat opened like wet paper under his counter.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t breathe.

He carved forward like the temple itself was calling him.

Shisui was laughter and lightning at his flank, blade and fire in equal measure.

“Try to keep up, brothers!” he shouted, cutting down two men before Obito could answer.

“Stop showing off,” Itachi said quietly, his blade sliding in and out of a throat as if silence itself were his weapon.

Sasuke tore forward, a black blade in his fist, his rage given form.

He fought like every mercenary wore the face of Rin’s captor, each strike too sharp, too fast, too final to block.

Shien’s shield wall braced the center, their iron overlapping like scales, spears punching through gaps.

He bellowed orders over the clash: “Hold your line! Push the trench! Break them!”

Kakashi and Ruen drove hard on the left stair, cutting down men three at a time.

Kakashi’s voice was a calm knife: “Keep low—cut high.” Ruen’s reply was only a growl and the snap of bone as he crushed a mercenary’s wrist before burying his blade in his gut.

Arrows rained. Steel rang. Men screamed.

The Oasians revealed themselves at last.

They poured out of the cracks in the ruin, their forms warping, shifting mid-step.

One became two.

A soldier’s face melted into a child’s, into a woman’s, into a king

Obito knew was already dead.

“Demons!” a Lightning soldier screamed as the mimics fell upon them, blades flashing, faces changing with every heartbeat.

“Eyes up!” Hiashi barked. “They cannot hide!” His Byakugan flared, piercing the shifting lies. “Strike true!” Hyūga steel flashed, cutting through mimic after mimic, pale eyes unblinking as illusions fell away to reveal twisted flesh beneath.

A mimic lunged for Obito with Rin’s face. His Sharingan flared, but his blade flared brighter—he cut her down without hesitation.

His voice was a rasp through his teeth: “You will not wear her skin.”

Blood slicked the stones. Smoke rose in pillars.

The battlefield churned like a sea of blades, and above it all, the dome of the temple loomed, patient, waiting, hungry.

Obito tore through three mercenaries, his breath a growl.

He looked up, eyes fixed on that black mouth gaping in the ruin’s heart.

“Clear me a path!” he roared.

Shikamaru’s voice cut across the din: “Archers—pin the ridge! Shield wall—drive center! Uchiha—break the mouth!”

The armies surged at his word.

Obito pointed his blade at the temple, crimson eyes blazing.

“I’m coming, Rin,” he whispered.

And with his brothers at his side, he plunged into the storm, cutting for the black throat of the Oasis.

 

 

                                               

                The Circle, The Sacrifice

 

 

The temple’s heart was a circle sunk into the floor, its stone carved with lines so old they felt grown rather than chiseled—grooves twining into nine shapes that were beasts and stars at once.

A body lay in each arc.

Men were stripped to ritual pants, skin chalked with sigils that made the eye ache.

Women were arrayed in shrouds like Rin’s—black threads crossing pale flesh, not to cover but to display.

Gags bound mouths; iron cinched wrists to the stone so firmly that any struggle only sang metal.

Rin lay at “three,” the turtle’s curve beneath her shoulder blades.
Gaara at “one,” sand-king made captive, breath a slow war.
Bee at “eight,” muscles bound, eyes burning lightning.
Naruto at “nine,” chest rising even, gaze steady and furious.
Akari, Sabo, the twins, and small Keiko filled the rest, nine lives drawn tight on the stone’s old geometry.

Behind and above them rose a high pillar like a watching neck.

At its base, Hinata, Temari, Ino, and Kairo were shackled together—chained so they could not reach, gagged so only the sounds of their cries reached.

Hinata struggled uselessly against iron; Ino pressed her forehead to the stone and shook; Temari did not bow even now, eyes like a blade; Kairo’s muffled sobs broke like waves and kept breaking.

The Oasians gathered in the shadows—the pale wood-grain of their skin uncanny in torchlight, faces too smooth, eyes wrong.

A few wore the shapes of priests; a few wore the shapes of guards; most wore no faces anyone present had loved, and that made them safer masks.

Once, centuries ago, they had done this for themselves. A hush moved through them—a memory without words.

Firelight flickered across their features and seemed to show other faces for a heartbeat, faces long dead, faces that had believed.

Danzo lifted his staff, and the charms chimed.

“Prepare,” he said.

Peach robes fanned outward.

The nine acolytes with knives took their places—one at each throat, blades held flat, ready to turn when the prayer told them to turn.

Bowls were set where blood would run.

Braziers were stoked until the air rippled.

He paced the circle slowly, savoring it.

Past Bee—“Warrior.”
Past Naruto—“Fox-child.”
Past Gaara—“King.”
Past Rin—he stopped.

He let his eyes trail the webbed shroud, the dark stain at her thighs, the dullness in her gaze that wasn’t weakness but shock worn to the bone.

His smile cut.

“Still wearing the gods’ gown, little vessel? How devout.”

Rin stared past him at nothing.

Her lashes trembled once.

Danzo leaned a fraction closer as if to listen to a silence only he could hear.

“And still so very quiet. No sobs for your prince? No prayers for mercy? Hm.” The charms at his throat clicked as he straightened. “You gave the altar something rare. The gods were… interested.”

He moved on, pleased with himself.

Temari’s gag couldn’t stop the sound she made—raw, murderous.

Naruto craned his eyes toward Hinata and found hers; that was enough to steady him.

Bee found Kairo and went stiller, as if stillness could become a shield.

Keiko tried not to cry and failed, shoulders shaking so hard her chains sang.

High on the cavern’s lip, a tall, stained opening caught the first weak color of morning.

Stag-glass panes showed the nine beasts in molten blues and crimsons and golds—windows that had watched sacrifices before and would have watched again, had the day gone Danzo’s way.

 

 

                                   

                       The Ritual Begins

 

 

The cavern breathed like a tomb.

Every torch guttered as if the very air recoiled from what was to come.

Shadows leapt against the dome, stretching long over the carved beasts etched into the walls—nine eternal watchers, their stone eyes gleaming with firelight.

The nine jinchuriki lay in their grooves, chained and gagged, their bodies aligned in the vast spiral that converged at the altar’s heart.

Their chests rose and fell in shallow rhythm, breaths stolen from them by the draughts.

Each body a vessel, each vessel a promise of blood.

The cultists moved like clockwork.

Peach robes whispered as they fanned outward, forming a ring around the altar, their hands clasped, their voices low.

The first murmur came like the hiss of sand across stone:

“Blood for gods. Flesh for dawn. Breath for fire.”

The words built as more joined, until the cavern itself seemed to hum with them, until the stone itself felt like it would split from the pressure.

The Oasians entered then.

They came from cracks in the stone, from shadows that looked too narrow to hold bodies.

Dozens, maybe hundreds, their forms shifting—faces melting from one visage to another in a grotesque parade of humanity.

Kings, soldiers, children, mothers, faces living and dead.

All flickered across their skin as if they could not hold to one shape, not after centuries of curse.

Their laughter came low and hungry.

One of them hissed, “We remember the first feast.”

Another croaked, “The fire that drank the nine.”

A third whispered, “Tonight the gods wake hungry.”

Danzo stood at the center of it all.

The chain of nine charms glowed faint against his throat, pulsing as if with a heartbeat not his own.

His staff struck the stone once, twice, the sound echoing like thunder in the hollow dome.

He lifted his voice above the chant, above the Oasians’ laughter.

“Witness.”

His words cracked like a whip.

“Centuries ago, your ancestors faltered. They bled the beasts, but they bled them alone. One by one, drop by drop. And the gods spat them back. Tonight, we succeed where they failed. Tonight, nine vessels open together. Nine beasts pour out as one. Nine voices scream as one. And when the fire drinks, the gods will rise reborn.”

The cult roared, their voices pounding like war drums.

“Blood for gods! Flesh for dawn! Breath for fire!”

At the base of the high pillar, Hinata wrenched against her chains.

Her muffled cry broke raw against the gag, her pale eyes streaming.

Temari thrashed with every ounce of strength she had, her wrists bleeding where the iron bit deep.

Ino’s whole body shook, every breath a sob she couldn’t voice.

Kairo strained hardest of all, small wrists mangled in iron, muffled screams rising until his throat cracked: “Uncle! Uncle Bee!”

On the altar, Bee twisted his head, eyes rolling to where his nephew struggled. His chains rattled, muscles straining, but the draught had bled too much strength from him.

His roar came out thick, guttural, swallowed by the gag.

Gaara’s stare burned fire into Danzo’s back.

The king of Sunagakure lay shackled, but his eyes were alive with the fury of ten thousand storms.

His muffled growl carried all the way to Temari, and she lifted her chin, tears streaking her face but her gaze steady.

Naruto’s chest heaved, eyes squeezed shut. Every instinct screamed to him to tear free, to fight, but the chains held, and the elixir dulled him to smoke.

His muffled cry tore into the chanting like a blade, but it was drowned by the wave of voices.

Rin lay stillest of all.

The black shroud clung to her, blood dried into its threads, her pale skin ghostlike in the torchlight.

But her eyes… her eyes opened.

Slow. Heavy.

They found the ceiling, the torches, the endless stone.

And for a moment they blurred with tears, because she had dreamed of Obito’s face breaking through the dark.

And he was not here.

Danzo saw it.

He circled her like a vulture, the staff tapping the stone at each step.

His smile was sharp, cold.

He bent low enough that only she could hear, though all could see the curve of his lips.

“So quiet now,” he whispered. “What did you give the gods already? A child? A life? You are more useful broken, little vessel. And you will watch as your lover arrives too late.”

Her lashes trembled. She turned her face away.

Danzo straightened, his voice rising.

“Knives.”

The cultists obeyed.

Each one stepped forward, robes whispering, and drew a blade from beneath the folds.

Nine blades in all, long, curved, gleaming with oil and blood.

 They raised them high over the nine bodies bound to the altar.

The Oasians shrieked in ecstasy.

Their voices twisted together into a single howl that rattled the stone:

“THE GODS HUNGER!”

Hinata’s scream ripped through the gag.

Temari’s too. Kairo sobbed, body convulsing in terror. Ino collapsed forward, her chains keeping her from falling flat, her whole body wracked with soundless pleas.

Danzo lifted his staff high, the charms glowing brighter, brighter, until they painted the dome in molten red.

“Now,” he hissed. “Let their blood flow together!”

The cultists lowered their knives—

—blades gleaming in torchlight—

—and the screaming filled the cavern until it seemed no air remained to breathe.

 

 

                   The Breaking of the Altar

 

 

The temple shook.

Glass rained down in shards of crimson and sapphire as the ancient mosaics shattered one by one—nine beasts breaking in a storm of arrows.

Archers filled the rafters, their shafts whistling like judgment, cutting down the peach-robed cultists poised to strike.

The circle of knives wavered.

Screams split the chamber.

Obito came first—black coat torn with dust and blood, twin knives dripping as his Sharingan blazed red in the torchlight.

Shisui was at his flank, eyes alight like wildfire, Itachi a shadow of steel, Sasuke’s bow already bending again as he drove another arrow through a cultist’s chest.

Shien’s hammer split stone and bone alike as he carved a path.

Behind them thundered King Renga’s wall of iron, Ōnoki’s engineers with their spikes and powder, King A’s warriors roaring for their stolen prince.

The Hyūga pressed like frost from the edges, pale eyes burning through the dark.

It was war inside a tomb.

And in the heart of it—nine bodies bound in chains that groaned with every breath.

Naruto strained against the iron that cut his wrists raw, gag biting his mouth, eyes blazing as he fought uselessly against the weight of seals and shackles.

Beside him, Gaara’s chest heaved, Bee’s muscles bled against manacles, Akari and Sabo writhed, the twins Taro and Kira pressed back-to-back in the grooves carved for their beasts.

Keiko sobbed behind cloth, her small frame shaking with terror.

And Rin.

Rin lay bound in the heart of the carving, bound into the deepest grooves of the altar.

The black shroud clung like a web to her skin, each thread framing what it did not conceal. Dried blood marked her thighs, crusted dark at the hollow of her body.

The fragile strands pooled at her feet, leaving her exposed, displayed, humiliated. Her lashes glittered wet, but no fresh tears came. Her lips trembled beneath the gag.

She had stopped praying.

She had stopped struggling.

The world had already stolen too much.

Her thoughts drifted inward, reaching for the only thing that still lived inside her.

Obito…

If the gods demanded her life, then let her last breath be his.

His face rose before her—sharp in firelight, softened in the dark when he let her see him, really see him.

His hands scarred but gentle when they brushed her hair back. His voice, low and fierce, when he swore, he would always find her. His mouth, trembling against hers under the lanterns of the Crimson Festival.

Her chest ached.

She thought of the child they had lost—the dream of tiny hands, laughter in halls, a family that never had the chance to exist.

That wound cut deeper than the chains.

And yet… in him, in Obito, she had learned what love was.

I didn’t know love until you, she whispered in her heart. You gave me a world I never thought I could hold. If I die here, promise me… don’t let it break you. Don’t let me be the ruin that swallows you whole.

Her lashes fluttered, her heart splintering with every beat.

You will be king, my love. A mighty king. They will look to you and see the man I saw—the man who carried me when I had nothing, who loved me when I thought I was unworthy. Shine for them. Even if I cannot stand beside you, shine.

Tears slid sideways into her hair.

I love you. Always. Even now. Even when the gods take me. I love you.

Her body went slack, her pulse fluttering faint.

And then, through the storm of screams and battle, she heard it—his voice.

Raw.

Ripped from the heart.

Obito’s scream tore across the chamber like fire.

Her eyes shot open, tears spilling fresh.

And when she saw him charging through the smoke and glass, knives blazing, his gaze locked on her, her breath stuttered.

For the first time in days—hope.

 

Obito’s boots hit stone.

The air stank of blood, smoke, and the sour tang of the cultists’ elixirs.

But none of it mattered—none of it even touched him.

Because at the altar, tangled in black threads and chains, was Rin.

Her eyes.

Gods, her eyes—wet, wide, shimmering like broken glass.

Tears cutting trails through the dirt on her cheeks.

And when they met his, her lips—bound beneath the gag—trembled in recognition.

He staggered, his breath torn out of him.

The battlefield dropped away.

The roar of men and steel dimmed to nothing but the sound of her trying not to sob.

She’s alive.

His knees nearly gave out.

Alive. Bound, bleeding, broken—but alive.

“Rin!” His voice ripped the air in two. “I’m here! Hold on!”

She shook her head faintly, tears spilling faster.

Chains bit when she tried to move, black threads clinging to her skin, the cruel sacrificial shroud making her look less like a woman and more like an offering carved for gods he would burn to ash.

Obito surged forward—knives flashing, cutting a path through the last cultists who barred his way.

Shisui and Itachi covered his flanks, Sasuke’s arrows sang overhead, Shien’s hammer split shields like kindling.

But Obito saw none of it.

His world had narrowed to the woman bound at the circle’s heart.

And Danzo saw it too.

The old priest’s lips curled into something colder than a smile.

He moved with the calm of a man who believed he could not be touched, even as his cultists died screaming around him.

His staff tapped once against the stone, and his hand dipped to the altar.

Fingers closed around the ritual dagger.

Its blade was etched with the sigil of the Three-Tails, black grooves wet with old sacrifice.

Danzo turned, slow, deliberate, savoring the way Obito’s crimson eyes widened.

“If I cannot claim my dream,” he said, voice like oil, “then neither will you claim yours.”

He crouched beside Rin, shadow falling over her pale face. His whisper slid like venom into her ear.

“You thought he could save you? Foolish child. Even kings must learn—they cannot keep what the gods demand.”

Rin’s body jerked against the chains, a muffled cry breaking past the gag.

Obito’s scream tore his throat raw.

“NO!”

Danzo drove the dagger down.

The blade sank into Rin’s stomach with a sickening, wet sound.

Her body arched in agony, a strangled scream ripped from her gagged mouth.

Blood spilled over the black threads, blooming scarlet like a cruel flower across her shroud.

Obito’s vision went white with rage.

The world tilted, narrowed, burned.

He was on Danzo in an instant—too late to stop the blade, too late to stop the blood, but not too late to kill.

His knives slashed air and shadow as Danzo slipped back, cloak whispering, already retreating into the chaos with a serpent’s calm.

Obito didn’t chase. He couldn’t.

Because Rin was choking on her own breath, her body trembling, the dagger still lodged in her belly.

“Rin!” He fell to his knees beside her, ripping the gag from her lips. Her mouth opened, a sob, a gasp, a single broken word:

“Obito—”

His hands shook as they cupped her face, his tears falling fast and hot onto her cheeks.

“Don’t speak. Hold on, Rin. I’ve got you love. I’ve got you.”

Blood spilled from the wound, hot against his fingers. He pressed hard, desperate to slow it, his forehead pressed against hers.

His voice broke into a roar, tearing at the ceiling:

“SOMEONE FIND THE FUCKING KEY! NOW!”

Shisui’s voice rang out over the chaos, men scrambling, cultists falling, hands tearing through corpses for hidden keys.

Obito’s gaze dropped to the shroud—the black threads clinging, the dried blood between her thighs that he hadn’t wanted to believe was real.

His throat closed, grief and fury choking him.

“I swear,” he whispered, broken, “this isn’t the end. I’m going to save you. I’m going to tear every fucking stone of this place down for you. Just—hold on.”

Her trembling hand brushed weakly against his wrist, smearing his skin with her blood. Her lips moved, barely a breath:

“…don’t… let it… consume you.”

Obito shook his head violently, tears blinding him.

“Don’t you dare say fucking goodbye. Not now. Not after everything. Stay with me, Rin. Please—stay.”

And then—metal scraped.

A shout: “The key! We’ve got it!”

Chains fell, one by one, clattering to the stone.

Obito caught her as the last shackle snapped loose, gathering her bleeding body into his arms.

The dagger hilt jutted from her belly, every movement a threat, but he couldn’t stop now.

“I’m taking it out,” he whispered fiercely into her hair. “You need to hold on. Do you hear me? You will hold on. I’m getting you to a doctor. You’re not leaving me like this.”

He tore the blade free. Her scream shredded his heart. Blood poured hot over his hands.

But he didn’t stop moving.

Obito rose with her cradled to his chest, her black shroud hanging in tatters, crimson soaking the fabric.

His Sharingan burned the world scarlet as he roared, voice cracking, wild:

“SAKURA! TSUNADE! DOCTOR! ANYONE!”

He stumbled through the chaos, carrying her toward the rear where healers were already raising a tent.

His tears fell into her hair, his voice ragged with desperation.

“I didn’t fight this long just to lose you now. Please, Rin. Please don’t leave me baby.”

Her hand—so small against his chest—pressed faintly against her own belly.

Even half-conscious, she tried to heal herself, flickering power like a dying candle.

Obito held her tighter, whispering into her hair as the world raged around them:

“Stay with me love. Please. Don’t leave me in the dark.”

And he ran, screaming for Tsunade until his throat bled.

The night tilted and warped around him, the edges of his sight hazed with red and black. Every stride jostled Rin’s body, every breath she took—or didn’t—shredded him thinner.

But it wasn’t just her limp weight in his arms that gutted him. It was the vision.

The Forgotten One’s voice still clung to his skull like rot.

The memory slammed through him in flashes: Rin sprawled across cold stone, her chest caved crimson, her eyes open—staring, glassy, gone.

Dead.

Her blood dripping from his hands, no matter how tight he held her.

“No,” Obito growled, pushing harder. His legs burned, lungs tearing open with every scream. “Not her. Not now. Not here!”

Then—another vision.

Not the corpse, but the boy.

The child Rin had seen. Ten years old at most. A face he knew as surely as his own: Uchiha hair, Sharingan eyes bright with promise, her nose, his cheekbones, her smile.

Their son.

Obito choked on the image.

“That’s our future. That’s ours,” he hissed into the wind. “You can’t take that from me. From her.” He clutched Rin tighter, pressing his cheek to her clammy forehead. “Stay, Rin. Stay, so I can give him to you.”

The infirmary tent loomed at last, shadows swaying within. He barreled through the entrance like a storm breaking, bellowing,

“TSUNADE! SAKURA!”

The tent froze.

Cots lined the dirt floor, soldiers writhing and groaning while attendants worked with bloodied cloths and bowls of steaming water.

The stench of iron, sweat, and rot thickened the air.

At the far end, Tsunade’s hands were deep in a man’s torn side, her apron already half red.

Sakura bound a soldier’s thigh with practiced speed, her face pale and pinched.

Both women turned. Both froze.

Because Obito stood there, soaked to the elbows in Rin’s blood, holding her like a man already half-broken.

“Help her!” he howled, stumbling forward.

His knees hit the packed dirt and he shoved Rin higher in his arms, as if offering her heart first to them.

“She’s bleeding out—I can’t—”

“On the table!” Tsunade barked, shoving an attendant aside.

He staggered closer but couldn’t force himself to release her.

His arms locked, clutching Rin against his chest as though the moment he let go, she’d vanish from this world.

“Put her down!” Tsunade’s voice was iron.

He shook his head, clutching Rin as if Tsunade herself might steal her away.

“No—I stay. I’ll help. I won’t leave her—”

Tsunade’s palm cracked against his chest, shoving him back.

“You’ll do nothing but get in my way!”

Her voice thundered through the tent.

“You think you can save her with your hands? Look at them—shaking, soaked in blood! You’ll kill her faster than the blade did.”

Obito’s throat tore with a sound caught between a snarl and a sob.

“I saved your worthless life once,” Tsunade snarled, her eyes blazing, “and now you’ll let me save hers. Or you’ll damn her yourself.”

The world tilted. Obito shook his head, a sound tearing out of him like a wounded animal.

“No… no, I can’t—”

“OUT!” Tsunade roared, pointing at the flap.

“Get out before you kill her!”

Sakura’s face crumpled with grief as she whispered, “Obito, please…”

But Tsunade’s order was final.

Two medics seized him by the arms, dragging him backward as Rin was lifted from his hold at last.

His fingers scrabbled against empty air, desperate for one last touch.

“Rin!” His voice cracked, raw and ragged as they dragged him back. “Don’t leave me—Rin!”

Tsunade leaned over Rin at once, voice snapping like a whip: “Hot water! Needles, gut thread, clean cloths—move!”

Sakura was already at her side, pressing cloth against Rin’s wound, her hands steady but her lips trembling.

“The bleeding won’t stop—”

“Then make it stop!” Tsunade snapped. “Clamp here, press there—harder! She still has a pulse, we’re not losing her, not today!”

The curtain flapped closed.

Obito stood outside, shaking, his hands slick with her blood, useless and trembling.

His knuckles slammed against the wooden post until skin split.

The sounds blurred as Obito sank to his knees in the dirt outside, fists hammering against the canvas wall until his knuckles split.

All he could see was the Forgotten One’s vision: her lifeless eyes.

All he could cling to was Rin’s smile.

And he swore to the gods and the abyss both—he would kill the world itself if it meant never seeing her eyes go dark.

Obito barely remembered being torn from Rin’s side.

One heartbeat he was on his knees at the cot, her blood burning his hands.

Tsunade shouting over the crash of healers rushing in.

The tent blurred.

The air broke.

All he saw was her.

Rin—barely covered by the black threads of the shroud, a sacrificial doll stripped of dignity.

Rin—stained with dried blood along her thighs, the secret place that should have been his to worship now mocked by cruelty.

Rin—her body trembling in a way he could not stop.

The vision of the Forgotten One twisted with reality, bleeding together until it was the same: Rin dying, Rin bound, Rin desecrated before gods who never answered.

It broke something in him.

His knives were in his hands before anyone could stop him.

He slammed through the tent flap like a storm set loose, his Sharingan a furnace.

The first cultist he caught screamed only once before Obito opened his throat to the bone. The spray painted his leathers, warm, stinking, and he didn’t even blink.

“WHERE IS HE?” Obito’s roar split the air. “WHERE IS DANZO?”

The mercenary tried to answer, but the words never came—Obito’s knife pinned his tongue to his teeth before he could speak.

He kicked the body aside, spinning to the next.

A dozen men rushed him, blades lifted.

He moved through them like a scythe in tall grass.

Steel clanged against his coat, bit into his skin, but it didn’t matter—every wound only fueled him.

He cut, stabbed, tore—flesh, armor, bone, all the same.

A mercenary tried to run; Obito hurled a knife into his spine, then dragged him back by the hair to finish it slow.

“FIND HIM!” His voice was raw, shredded. “FIND DANZO!”

A captured cultist whimpered, chained to a post, trying to crawl backward as Obito stalked him. “P-please—I—I only—”

The knife rammed through his ribs shut him up.

“WHERE IS HE?!” Obito shook the body even as it went limp, screaming into the dead man’s face. “WHERE IS HE HIDING?!”

He dropped him like trash and spun to the next.

It wasn’t interrogation anymore.

It was execution.

Shisui and Itachi tried again, flanking him, their voices sharp.

“Obito! Enough—you’ll bleed out before you reach him—”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Obito roared, flinging one bloody hand wide.

His eyes were glowing pits, wild with tears and fury.

“They left her to bleed—naked, chained, broken—” His voice cracked, then sharpened to a blade. “I’ll kill them all until there’s nothing left to burn!”

And he did.

Another throat opened under his knife, another scream ripped short.

His boots slipped in blood, but he didn’t fall.

He couldn’t fall.

He was too far gone.

It was Shikamaru who stopped him.

The young strategist had stood back until now, watching with that sharp, calculating gaze—but even he couldn’t watch anymore.

He stepped forward, voice low but cutting through the storm like steel.

“Prince Obito.”

The prince didn’t hear him, didn’t want to.

His knife drove into another chest, ribs cracking.

He yanked it out and turned, spitting blood from his own lips, Sharingan blazing.

“OBITO!”

Shikamaru’s voice lashed like a whip. “If you waste yourself now, Rin dies.”

The words struck harder than any blade.

Obito froze, chest heaving, knife dripping.

“She’s bleeding out in that tent,” Shikamaru pressed, steady though his face was pale.

“The best healer alive is working on her. Tsunade saved you when you should’ve been ash. If anyone can save her, it’s her. But if you throw yourself away now, Rin dies. You don’t get to her in time.”

Obito’s breath rasped like torn cloth.

For a heartbeat, the knife trembled in his grip.

His vision blurred—Shikamaru’s voice, Rin’s face, the memory of the Forgotten One’s vision of her body lying cold—everything twisted until he thought he might collapse.

Shisui caught his arm again, firmer this time. Itachi pressed his shoulder. Sasuke stood a step behind, silent, watchful.

Slowly—like a beast dragged from its kill—Obito lowered his knife.

“Rin,” he whispered, as if the name alone tethered him.

His whole frame shook, blood dripping from his chin.

His eyes, still burning, turned toward the healer’s tents where Tsunade worked.

He staggered away, stumbling, half-carried by his brothers.

Shikamaru stayed where he was.

He glanced back once—at the carnage Obito had left behind.

Dozens of men, butchered like animals. Their blood soaked the ground black.

Their faces frozen in terror.

Shikamaru had seen battlefields before. He had seen men torn apart in war.

But this… this was not war.

This was grief made flesh.

And for the first time, the strategist who had thought himself prepared for anything felt something cold crawl up his spine.

Because he realized: if Rin died, there would be no world left standing once Obito was done.

 

Chapter 42: The Rescued/The Hunt for Danzo/Chains for a Prophet/The Father and the Prince/Obito and Rin, Unbroken/The Ashes to Come

                          The Rescued

 

 

The temple was no longer a sanctuary of gods.

It was a ruin filled with the groans of the wounded, the stench of smoke, and the raw cries of the freed.

One by one, the jinchuriki were cut down from their chains, their bodies carried from the circle that had been meant to drink their blood.

Each of them bore the marks of torment—bruises where iron had bit, burns from shackles that had never loosened, and the hollow eyes of too many days without hope.

But now—hope burned.

The armies that had fought their way through mercenaries and cultists poured into the vast chamber, dragging prisoners, binding the few cultists who hadn’t been cut down.

Torches were relit.

Standards planted.

For the first time in centuries, the temple floor shook not with prayer, but with the sound of kingdoms reclaiming what had been stolen.

Gaara staggered as soldiers freed him from the altar’s stone.

His body was still weak from the draughts, his movements unsteady.

But when he lifted his head, the first sight he saw was Kankurō—bandaged at the shoulder, blood drying down his arm, but alive.

“Brother,” Kankurō rasped, half dragging, half running to him.

Gaara nearly collapsed into him, their foreheads pressing together for a breath that was more vow than embrace.

“You stubborn bastard,” Kankurō whispered, voice raw. “You don’t get to die before me.”

Temari pushed forward then, tears cutting down her dirt-smeared cheeks, and threw her arms around them both.

Gaara’s head bowed between his siblings, his voice barely audible. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“You always underestimate us,” Temari said, holding tighter. “But we don’t break. Not us. Not ever.”

 

Across the chamber, a roar split the air.

“Bee!”

King A stormed through the crowd, his armor dented and spattered from battle, his massive frame impossible to miss.

His gaze locked on his younger brother, who staggered as chains fell from his shoulders, his strength barely holding him upright.

“Brother!” Bee’s voice was hoarse, but it cracked with relief.

They slammed together in an embrace, the impact shaking the men around them.

King A’s huge hand cupped the back of Bee’s head, his voice rough with something few had ever heard from him—fear, relief, love.

“They dared touch you. They dared touch my blood,” he growled into Bee’s shoulder. “I should have torn the sky down sooner.”

“Yo, it’s fine,” Bee muttered with a faint grin, even as exhaustion dragged his voice low. “You came. That’s all that matters.”

Then another cry cut the noise.

“Kairo!”

Soldiers were helping down a boy from the pillar where he had been bound—Prince Kairo, heir to Kumogakure, no more than twelve. His wrists were raw, his eyes red from sleepless terror, but when he spotted his father, his scream shattered into sobs.

“Father!”

King A dropped Bee only long enough to catch his son as Kairo threw himself forward.

The boy clung to his father’s chest, shaking so hard he could barely breathe.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Kairo gasped.

King A crushed him close, his voice breaking like thunder in storm.

“No one takes you from me. No one.” He pressed a hand against his son’s head, his eyes glinting wet. “You are my blood, my heir. They would burn the heavens before I let them keep you.”

Bee, swaying but smiling, reached to ruffle Kairo’s hair.

“Told you, kid. Stubborn runs in the family.”

For a moment—father, son, and uncle held together—it was not a battlefield. It was blood finding blood again.

Near the broken transept, a girl no older than ten flung herself into the arms of a thin, sharp-eyed man.

Ōnoki’s granddaughter sobbed into his robes, her little hands clutching like she’d never let go again.

“You’re safe now,” Ōnoki whispered fiercely, his frail arms trembling as he held her. “No god, no man, no monster touches you again. I swear it.”

He glared over her head at the dead cultists, his voice dropping into venom.

“This place will be buried before the sun sets. None of their shadows will remain.”

The twins—Taro and Kira—were lifted down together, their hands still reaching for each other even in chains.

They stumbled as they were freed, only to find themselves caught in the massive arms of King Renga.

“My little stones,” Renga said, crushing them both to his chest.

His rough voice shook, breaking as he buried his face against their hair.

“I thought the earth had stolen you from me. But the earth returns what is mine.”

The twins sobbed against him, and the sound was raw enough to cut through the smoke.

Naruto’s chains fell last, clattering against the temple stone.

He staggered forward, rubbing at his raw wrists, the bruises glaring in the light of torches.

For a heartbeat he just stood, wild-eyed, the chaos around him a blur—Gaara finding Temari, Bee cradled by his brother, the twins clutching King Renga’s hands.

Then he heard her.

“...Naruto.”

His head snapped toward the sound.

Hinata stood at the far end of the chamber, her arms half-lifted as if afraid she might be dreaming him.

Her clothes were torn, her lip bloodied, but her eyes—those pale, unshakable eyes—were fixed only on him.

He moved first, then she, and then they were running, breaking through the last soldiers and healers until they collided in the center of the ruined hall.

Her hands framed his face before he could even speak, thumbs trembling as they touched the grime and blood there.

“I thought—I thought I lost you—”

Naruto caught her wrists, shaking his head fiercely, his own eyes wet.

“You’ll never lose me, Hinata. Never. I swear it.”

She surged up on her toes and kissed him—desperate, messy, nothing like the quiet blushes of their stolen moments in softer times.

This was survival, this was blood and battle and every breath she thought she’d never take again.

He kissed her back like a drowning man, holding her so tightly his arms shook.

When they broke for air, she was crying.

“I love you. I love you, Naruto.”

His breath caught, his forehead pressing to hers, his voice breaking open in front of everyone.

“I love you too. More than anything. More than life. I thought—I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you—”

Hinata clung to him, her face buried against his neck, and for the first time since the battle began, Naruto let the tears fall.

He held her like the war could take her away again at any second, like if he loosened his grip, she’d vanish back into the darkness.

Around them the chamber roared with reunions, but in that circle of two there was nothing but heartbeat and breath, nothing but words whispered against skin—never again, never apart, I love you, I love you, I love you.

 

Ino stumbled when the chains were cut, her body so weak she nearly dropped to her knees.

The torchlight stung her eyes, but through the blur she saw him—broad shoulders bowed under armor, hair streaked with white, face lined with nights he hadn’t slept.

“Father…”

Lord Inoichi broke.

All the walls of the noble, all the composure of a general, shattered in a single stride.

He crossed the space like a man fleeing a battlefield, his arms wrapping around her before she even reached him.

She collapsed into him, sobbing into the chest plate that smelled of steel and sweat.

“I thought—” Her voice cracked, raw. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Inoichi’s hands trembled as they cupped the back of her head.

“You should never have been here,” he rasped, his own eyes wet despite his iron will. “If I could’ve torn the world apart to keep you safe, I would have. I failed you—”

“No,” she whispered fiercely, clutching his armor. “Don’t you dare say that. You didn’t fail me. They took me. You didn’t fail.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath shaking.

“When I saw the reports… when Daichi told me you were gone—I thought I’d lost my little girl.”

At the name, Ino stiffened. She pulled back just enough to look at him, pale eyes sharp through the tears.

“Daichi? Where is he? Why isn’t he here?”

Inoichi’s jaw locked, rage smoldering under grief.

For a moment he hesitated, unwilling to put more weight on her broken shoulders.

But she deserved truth, not silence.

“He betrayed us,” he said finally, his voice low and bitter as ash. “He sold you to them. Lied to us all.”

Her lips parted, breath catching. “No…”

“Yes.” His hands tightened on her arms, grounding her. “I should have seen it. I should have known. He will answer for it, Ino. I swear it.”

Ino shook her head, tears falling fresh.

“I trusted him. I thought—” She bit the words off, unable to finish.

Inoichi gathered her against him again, his arms unyielding.

“Then let that be the last time he takes anything from you. You’re mine. You’re safe. You’re home.”

She clung to him, trembling, grief and rage tangling in her chest.

For the first time since her capture, she let herself believe she might live through this night—not because she was strong, but because he was here, and he wasn’t letting go.

From the shadows beyond the torches, unseen, Sai watched—his face unreadable, his hands still at his sides, though his eyes did not leave her.

 

Akari’s chains hit the ground with a heavy clatter.

For a moment, she didn’t move—her body stiff as if she still expected the bite of the iron, still braced for the hand that would force another cup to her lips.

Then a cloak slipped over her shoulders, warm and steady.

“Easy now, lass,” a soldier murmured, kneeling so he didn’t tower over her. His beard was streaked with gray, his armor scored with old battles, but his eyes were gentle.

He wrapped the cloak tighter around her trembling frame and pressed a flask of water into her hands.

“You’re safe. You’re free.”

Her throat worked, but the only sound she made was a broken laugh that collapsed into sobs.

She clutched the flask as if it were life itself.

Another soldier crouched beside her, parchment already unrolled across his knee.

“Where are your people, girl? Where’s home? Give us a name, a village, anything—we’ll send word. Tonight.”

Akari’s voice was raw, but she forced it out between shuddering breaths.

“Riverbend. North… past the pines… Kingdom of Wing. My mother. She’s waiting.”

The soldier scribbled it down, nodding.

“She’ll have your name back in her hands before the sun sets tomorrow. I swear it.”

Akari covered her face, shoulders shaking.

For the first time in months, she believed she would see her mother again.

 

Sabo was next.

His chains were harder to break—the iron had been welded cruelly, cutting into skin—and when they finally fell, he slumped to his knees, too weak to lift his own head.

“Here,” a young soldier said, stripping off his own cloak and throwing it over Sabo’s back.

Another pressed a clean towel into his raw hands.

They were strangers, but they treated him as though he were their own blood.

“You’ve been through fire,” the young one said quietly. “But you’re not alone.”

Sabo’s cracked lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. His voice was little more than a rasp.

“No one… waiting for me.”

The older soldier at his side shook his head firmly.

“Then you’ll stay with us until you’re strong. And when you choose a place, we’ll see you there. You’re not walking alone again.”

Sabo’s eyes closed, not in despair, but in the fragile peace of a man who realized he had been given something rarer than hope—belonging.

Around them, generals moved with parchment and quills, names written down, letters promised.

Towels and cloaks were draped over thin shoulders, cups of broth pressed into trembling hands.

None of the jinchuriki would vanish into silence again.

Each one had a place waiting, whether in their own hearth or in the arms of soldiers who swore they would not be left behind.

And for the first time, the cavern that had been built for sacrifice held something else: reunion, relief, and the first fragile taste of freedom.

 

 

 

                   The Hunt for Danzo

 

 

The temple bled chaos.

Smoke and screams tangled with steel, cultists shrieking prayers as they were dragged down, mercenaries dying with coins still in their pockets.

The altar chamber shook with the weight of war, but deeper inside, one figure slipped through the veins of stone like a serpent.

Danzo.

His crimson robes caught the torchlight in quick, violent flashes.

His staff clattered against the ground as he ran, the chain of nine charms at his throat rattling with each step, their pale gleamlike teeth.

Shisui’s voice cut the din: “He’s breaking west! Don’t let him vanish!”

Neji’s Byakugan flared pale fire, his gaze piercing the ruin ahead.

“There’s a split in the tunnels—he’s going for the courtyard! If he makes it outside, we’ll lose him to the dunes!”

“Not if I get there first,” Shien growled.

He charged down the right-hand passage, hammer sparking off the stone as he smashed through a barricade of fleeing cultists.

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed, crimson burning bright as he loosed an arrow down the passage.

The shot hissed through the dark and struck the stone beside Danzo’s head, forcing him to jerk aside.

Danzo stumbled into the courtyard at last—moonlight pouring over shattered statues, the faces of beasts eroded but still snarling.

He turned, staff lifted like a prophet cornered, his voice raw with fury and faith.

“You blind children! You think killing me ends the dream? I am the Father! My blood has already been written in the stone! The gods are waiting!”

He drove the staff down, trying to summon authority from hollow ground.

Thwip.

Sasuke’s arrow shattered the staff in two, splinters flying from Danzo’s hands.

The old man staggered back, his eyes flashing wild, broken teeth bared in a snarl.

From the shadows, a calm voice answered him, low and merciless:

“Checkmate.”

Shikamaru stepped from the ruin’s edge, fingers flicking once. Shadows along the ground curled like snakes, pinning Danzo’s broken staff to the earth.

Chains hissed next—Shien’s men flooding in, the heavy iron wrapping around the Father’s arms and waist.

Danzo struggled, kicking, spitting blood.

Neji was there in an instant.

His palm cracked into Danzo’s arm with a clean, brutal strike.

Bone snapped.

The man howled, but another chain whipped around his ankle—Hanabi’s, her face cold as carved ice.

She yanked him off his feet, dragging him hard into the dirt.

Still, Danzo laughed. His voice rose shrill and triumphant, even as his body writhed like a pinned serpent.

“Idiots! You think chains hold faith? Even caged, I win! My altar waits! My gods wait!”

Shisui’s blade pressed against the hollow of his throat, his breath a whisper hotter than the steel.

“Not today.”

Danzo spat blood into his face, grinning through it.

“Kill me and the gods take you all.”

But Itachi’s voice cut through, calm and absolute.

“No. We don’t kill you yet. You’ll live long enough to see your altar torn down stone by stone. You’ll watch your gods starve.”

Sasuke stalked closer, his bow still raised, his eyes like burning coals.

“And if you try to speak Rin’s name again, I’ll pin your tongue to your teeth.”

Danzo’s laughter faltered then, catching in his throat as the chains tightened, dragging him flat to the courtyard floor.

The charms around his neck clinked uselessly, one rolling free into the dust.

For the first time, the man who called himself Father was not a voice in the shadows. He was a prisoner.

Shien slammed his hammer haft into the stone beside Danzo’s head, the sound like thunder.

“Bind him tighter. He doesn’t breathe unless I say so.”

The Hyūga scouts swept in, pale eyes blazing as they secured every corner, every shadow, every passage.

Shikamaru watched it all from the edge of the courtyard, his hands loose at his sides but his jaw tight.

He had seen slaughter. He had seen war. But seeing this man—this snake wrapped in chains, still spitting his poisoned faith—was something different.

He turned, just for a moment, back toward the temple’s heart.

Toward the screams, the smoke, and the faint sound of Obito’s roar echoing through the stone.

For the first time, Shikamaru wondered—not about the war, not about the plan—but about the Uchiha prince himself.

 And whether anything of the man would be left once this night ended.

 

 

                                             

                   Chains for a Prophet

 

 

The camp was still chaos.

The clash of steel, the screams of the dying, the groans of the wounded—it all felt muffled, as if Obito sat beneath water.

He sat hunched on a low stone outside the healers’ pavilion, head bowed, hands hanging useless and bloodied in his lap.

His coat was stiff with dust and gore, his knuckles split raw, his body aching from battle.

None of it mattered.

Only Rin.

His lips moved in prayer, but not to gods.

The gods had already failed him.

“Please,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Please hold on. Don’t leave me now, Rin… not when I found you. Not when I need you.”

He remembered the way her hands had pressed against him on a different night, when it had been his body broken and bleeding.

The memory clawed through him—the dim light of that operation table, the sweat on her brow, her voice shaking as she begged him not to die.

Hold on, Obito. Please… don’t leave me.

He could almost see her there beside him again, except now the roles were reversed. She had stayed for him.

She had fought for him.

And now she was the one bleeding, her life hanging by a thread, and all he could do was sit outside while strangers held her fate.

The tent flap stirred.

Tsunade stepped into the pale torchlight, her arms slick to the elbows in blood, healer’s sash knotted tight around her waist.

For once, the woman who walked like a storm looked tired, almost human.

Obito’s head snapped up, Sharingan blazing.

“Well?” His voice cracked, wild and broken. “Tell me.”

Tsunade studied him for a long moment, her mouth hard, eyes heavy.

Then she gave him the words he thought he might never hear

“She survived.”

The world staggered.

His breath tore loose from his chest in a broken rush.

His hands covered his face, shoulders shaking once, twice, before he managed to choke out:
“Alive.”

Tsunade nodded curtly.

“You brought her in just in time. Any later…” She didn’t finish.

He lurched half to his feet.

“Can I see her?”

“Later,” Tsunade cut, firm but not cruel. “She’s too weak. She needs rest, not your grief tearing her open again.”

His jaw locked.

He swayed on his feet, fists clenched, every muscle taut as wire.

Slowly, painfully, he forced himself back down.

If Rin could see him now, she would want him steady.

She would want him strong, the way she had begged him to live when their roles were reversed.

But it burned.

Tsunade hesitated, then her tone shifted lower, heavier.

“You should know something else.”

His eyes flicked up, wary.

“They did force it,” she said quietly. “The abortion. But don’t—” she stepped closer, voice grounding—“don’t torment yourself. Her womb is not damaged. She will be able to bear children again.”

The words struck like twin blades—grief and relief, agony and hope.

His throat worked, but he didn’t speak.

Because even as Tsunade’s words blurred in his ears, something else caught his gaze.

Chains.

A knot of soldiers were dragging a figure across the trampled earth—robes torn and filthy, crimson hems smeared with blood.

Charms clinked at his throat like broken teeth.

Danzo.

Bound hand and foot, his face still twisted in something between sneer and sermon.

Obito’s pulse roared.

His teeth bared.

He rose without realizing it, his eyes locked on the man.

Tsunade’s words were already gone, drowned in the fire burning through him.

All he could see was Danzo.

The man who had taken Rin, who had made her bleed, who had left her half-naked, broken, humiliated.

Obito moved, slow at first, then steadier, each step heavier than the last, until he fell into the procession without a word.

The healers’ tent, the prayers, even the relief—all of it blurred behind him.

Only Danzo remained.

 

 

               The Father and the Prince

 

 

The tent was heavy with heat and stench—blood, sweat, damp canvas.

Two guards hauled Danzo inside like dead weight and threw him to his knees.

Chains clattered, charms at his throat jingling like broken bells.

He stayed down for a breath, his head bent.

Then he laughed—low, rasping, almost delighted.

Obito entered without sound.

His black leathers were streaked with gore, his knives still wet, the Sharingan burning like hellfire in his skull.

The guards didn’t linger.

They left quickly, leaving the two of them in silence.

Danzo tilted his head, studying him through the fall of greasy hair.

“So. The lovebird prince at last.” His lips curled. “I wondered if you’d come. I prayed you would.”

Obito’s hand twitched toward his knife but didn’t move.

His voice came out like broken glass.

“You won’t pray to anything when I’m done with you.”

Danzo chuckled.

“Oh, but I will. I always do. The gods and I—we understand each other. They don’t want faith. They want blood. And Rin…” His tongue brushed his teeth, savoring the name. “She gave it beautifully.”

Obito’s breath hitched, shoulders taut.

“Say her name again,” he whispered.

Danzo leaned back on his chains, eyes glittering.

“She begged me, you know. Begged me not to take it. Her hands clutched so tight over her belly… like a mother already. She thought she could protect it from me. Foolish girl.”

Obito moved a step closer.

The firelight caught the curve of his knife.

Danzo smiled wider, seeing it.

“You weren’t there, were you? You never are. Always arriving late, chasing shadows. While she screamed, where were you? While she cried, who held her?” His voice dropped, conspiratorial, cruel. “I did.”

Obito’s jaw clenched hard enough his teeth ached.

The air trembled.

Obito’s jaw locked, his whole frame vibrating with the effort not to move.

Danzo tilted his head like he was listening to some private music.

“She begged me to let her keep it. She promised me she’d do anything. Anything. I could’ve taken her then—made her mine in truth. Maybe I should have.”

The knife quivered in Obito’s hand.

Danzo saw it and pressed harder, his voice almost tender.

“Do you know what she whispered as they held her down? She whispered your name. Over and over. Obito. Obito. As if you were coming. But you weren’t. And I was.”

Danzo tilted his head, a smile cutting thin across his ruined face.

“I suppose it was yours. Unless…” his eyes gleamed mean, “she was spreading her legs for someone else. The way she clung, sobbing—it made me wonder.”

Obito’s chest heaved.

Danzo’s smile split wider, too wide.

“It was a little girl. Did you know? She would have had her eyes. Soft, full of hope. She would have clung to your finger the way Rin clung to her belly. But she’s gone now. The gods took her, as they will take all of them.”

That broke him.

Obito lunged, knife flashing. The blade sank into Danzo’s shoulder with a wet crunch.

Danzo hissed, pain lancing across his face—but the smile never left.

“Yes,” he gasped. “That’s it. Show me. Show me what Rin saw in you.”

Obito ripped the blade free and drove it into his thigh.

Blood spilled, hot and black in the torchlight.

“You think death will come quick?” Obito snarled, stabbing again, this time across the ribs. “No. Death is too easy.”

He stabbed again.

And again.

The knife punched through flesh, cloth, chain.

Danzo’s laughter warped into choking, wet sounds, but even then he forced it through bloodied lips.

“You’re just like me,” he coughed. “That’s why she loved you. That’s why she suffered for you.”

Obito’s hand fisted in his throat, dragging his face up so close the Sharingan swallowed his vision.

His voice was a promise forged in fire and hate.

“I’ll make you suffer until your last breath in this world. And when you crawl into hell, I’ll be waiting. I’ll tear you apart again, and again, and again—until the gods themselves spit your name out.”

Danzo wheezed, blood sliding down his chin.

Still, the ruined smile clung to his mouth.

“Perhaps I should have let her hold the little corpse. Let her kiss its face. Then you’d have found her cradling it when you arrived too late.”

Obito snapped.

He drove the blade into him again and again, his roar shaking the canvas walls.

When Danzo finally slumped, gasping shallow, Obito wrenched the blade free and staggered back, chest heaving, arms drenched in blood.

Then he bellowed into the night:

“DOCTOR! GET IN HERE! HE DOESN’T DIE YET!”

He stood there, trembling, while the healers rushed past him. He didn’t look at them.

He didn’t look at Danzo.

He only saw Rin—bleeding, gagged, chained in that black shroud. Her thighs streaked in blood, her hands empty.

That image seared itself into him.

And he vowed it was not over.

Not for Danzo.

Not until he had wrung every last drop of suffering from him.

 

                                                 

                Obito and Rin, Unbroken

 

 

The world returned slowly, like a tide creeping back over sand.

Rin’s eyes opened to dim shapes—woven curtains swaying in a breeze that carried the scent of ash and crushed sage.

Low braziers burned with green-smoked herbs, their glow soft and uneven.

Pots of water steamed quietly in the shadows, and the rustle of healers’ hands whispered somewhere beyond the partition.

She lay beneath fine-woven linen, cool against her skin.

Bandages wrapped her middle, binding the wound, pressing every shallow breath into something fragile.

Her hand was warm.

She blinked down and saw why.

His hand, scarred and calloused, held hers tightly.

And there, gleaming faint in the herbal glow, sat the ruby ring—her ring—back where it belonged.

Her throat tightened, tears stinging her eyes.

Obito was beside her, slumped forward in a low chair, his head bowed, strands of dark hair falling over his brow.

His tunic was still marked faint with blood and dust; his arms streaked where he hadn’t cared to wash properly.

His shoulders sagged—not in weakness, but exhaustion, like a man who had fought gods and barely crawled back.

Even in sleep, he hadn’t let go.

His fingers curled over hers as though some part of him still believed she would vanish if he loosened his grip.

She shifted slightly, the bandages pulling, pain whispering through her ribs.

His head snapped up at once.

The Sharingan flared in the half-dark before fading back to black.

His eyes were rimmed red, raw with sleeplessness.

For a heartbeat he only stared at her, silent, as if he feared she was a mirage.

“Rin,” he breathed.

Her lips curved faintly, though her voice cracked.

“You put it back…”

His gaze dropped to the ring, then to her hand in his, then back to her face.

His throat worked, but no words came.

He lifted her hand to his mouth instead, pressing his lips against her knuckles, shaking faintly.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice frayed. “I thought… they’d already taken you.”

Her weak fingers brushed at his jaw, trembling but sure.

“You didn’t. You found me.”

Obito leaned close, his forehead to hers, eyes shut hard.

His voice trembled low, a vow more than a prayer.

“Never again, love. Never again will they touch you. I’ll burn their temples, their gods, their shadows. I’ll end all of it.”

Tears spilled warm across her temples.

She wanted to tell him about the emptiness, about the child.

She wanted to ask if he knew.

But when she saw the wreckage in his eyes—rage sharpened into grief, grief sharpened into love—she couldn’t.

Not yet.

So she gave him only the words her soul could still carry.

“I love you.”

His grip crushed her hand tighter. His eyes opened, fierce and hollow all at once.

“I love you more than the world itself. And I will prove it. To you. To them. To the gods.”

Her chest shook with silent sobs, but she smiled through them, weak, true.

Obito’s forehead rested against hers, his breath ragged, his hand clamped around hers like a man refusing to release a lifeline.

Her lips trembled, parting, and she pushed the words through the weakness in her chest.

“Obito… the baby…”

His eyes shut tight.

He pressed his mouth to hers before she could say more, desperate, breaking.

The kiss was soft at first, then fierce, aching, as though he were trying to breathe life into her with the shape of her name. When he pulled back, his tears streaked into hers.

“I know,” he rasped. “They told me.”

Her chest hitched with a sob, her head shaking faintly against the pillow.

“I’m sorry—”

“No.” His voice cracked sharp. His hand cupped her face, thumb trembling against her cheek.

“Don’t you ever say that. You have nothing to be sorry for. They did this. Not you. Never you.”

Her tears slid warm across his palm.

She tried again, her voice a broken whisper.

“Our child…”

Obito bent low, his lips brushing her damp lashes, her brow, her mouth again—each word trembling against her skin.
“They stole her from us. I’ll never forgive them. But listen to me, Rin—this isn’t the end.”

Her gaze lifted weakly to his, wide and wounded.

He held it like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“When this nightmare is done,” he vowed, his voice iron wrapped in grief, “when we’ve burned every last shadow, and I’ve carved their screams into the bones of the gods themselves—I’ll give you another child. Ten if you want. As many as you can give me. We’ll fill our halls with them, our home with them. Every smile, every laugh, every heartbeat they took—I’ll give back to you tenfold.”

Her hand shook as it slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

Their lips met again, salt and warmth, broken sobs mingling.

When he drew back, his tears dropped onto her bandages, soaking through linen.

He gathered her carefully into his arms, mindful of her wound, yet holding her as if he’d never let go again.

His shoulders shuddered once, twice, until he gave up trying to hide it.

A tear slipped, unguarded, into her hair.

“For the first time since they took you,” he whispered into her crown, “I can breathe. I thought I was lost forever in that void, Rin—when I was dying, when you were gone. That was worse than death. Worse than the blade. Worse than anything.”

She buried her face against his neck, her weak arms trying to circle him, trembling but sure.

“You found me,” she whispered. “That’s enough.”

“No,” he said, voice raw. “Not enough. Never enough. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

He kissed her again, tender through his grief, then pulled her closer still, rocking faintly like a man cradling both salvation and despair.

And for a long moment, the war outside fell away.

There was no temple, no blood, no chains—only Obito and Rin, together again, scarred but unbroken.

 

 

                                                               

                       
The Ashes to Come

 

 

The dawn after the battle broke pale, ash-colored, heavy with smoke.

The temple still stood—scarred by fire, its mosaics shattered by arrows, its stones blackened where mercenaries bled.

It loomed against the horizon like the bones of some beast that refused to die.

Gaara stood before it in silence, cloak torn and streaked with dust, his eyes hollow with exhaustion but hard as flint.

The desert wind tugged at his hair, red against the gray sky, carrying the bitter tang of blood and old incense.

Behind him, footsteps crunched softly over broken stone.

“Brother,” Kankurō said.

Gaara didn’t turn. He only asked, his voice flat, low.

“How is she?”

“Temari?” Kankurō came to stand beside him, shoulders heavy but firm. His arms were crossed, but his voice softened. “She’s breathing easier now. Shaken. But she’ll live.”

For a long time, Gaara didn’t answer. His gaze never left the temple’s dark mouth.

“And you?” he asked finally. “How are you holding up?”

Kankurō let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’ve been stabbed before.” He shifted his weight, fingers brushing the bandage wound at his side. “Hurts less than seeing you dragged into that cell.”

Gaara’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply.

Kankurō looked at him sideways, searching his face. “What do you plan to do now?”

Gaara’s hands flexed once at his sides. His voice, when it came, was iron and fire both.

“I’m going to burn it.”

Kankurō blinked. “The temple?”

“The temple,” Gaara said. His eyes narrowed, sand-colored gaze burning against the ruin. “Every stone. Every window. Every altar they defiled. By morning, it will be nothing but ash.”

Kankurō frowned, weighing the words.

“And if it spreads? The city’s close enough—”

“I don’t care.” Gaara’s voice cut like glass. His chest rose once, sharp, before he steadied it. “If this whole city burns with it, then so be it. Let the world see what comes of touching what is sacred.”

The silence after his vow pressed heavy, broken only by the whisper of the wind through cracked stone.

Kakuro’s gaze lingered on him—his brother, once a boy the world feared, now a king the world would remember.

He gave a small nod.

“Then I’ll bring the oil.”

At last, Gaara turned to look at him.

His expression didn’t shift, but for the first time that morning, something in his eyes acknowledged the weight they shared.

Together, they faced the ruin, waiting for dawn to lift the last shadows so they could set them alight.

 

 

Chapter 43: Ashes in the Wind/The Stillness After Fire/Sunagakure Gardens/The First Breaths of Dawn

                   Ashes in the Wind

 

 

The desert sky had begun to pale, streaked with smoke and the faint bruising of dawn.

Behind them, the ruins of the Underground Oasis glowed like the last embers of a funeral pyre.

Flames licked high through broken domes, staining the horizon red, devouring mosaics of beasts and gods until even their memory curled into ash.

The temple screamed as it burned, stone cracking, glass shattering—an ending written in fire.

The armies did not look back often.

When they did, their faces were set—relieved, haunted, resolute.

The banners of Stone, Akatsuki, Sunagakure, Kumogakure, Kingdom of Stone Stars and Shadows, and Konoha moved like rivers in the wind, their edges torn, but they still flew.

Obito rode at the center, Rin cradled against his chest. She slept, pale but alive, bandages tight across her stomach.

Her head rested just beneath his chin, her hair spilling over his arm.

The weight of her in his hold steadied him, but every hoofbeat drove the vow deeper into his bones: never again.

He hadn’t released her hand since the healers had given her back to him.

Her ruby ring caught the firelight behind them, gleaming like blood and promise both.

Shisui rode close to his left, eyes narrowed against the rising sun.

“It’s gone,” he said softly.

Itachi’s gaze flicked back once, then forward again.

“Let it stay gone.”

Sasuke’s jaw tightened, his bow resting across his lap.

“No ruin should be left standing where they spilled her blood.”

Obito didn’t answer.

He looked ahead, his hand tightening on the reins.

He carried more than Rin in that saddle—he carried the weight of the vow he’d sworn over her body, over their child, over the ash that used to be Danzo’s altar.

Naruto rode a little further off, Hinata pressed against his side. He kept his arm around her shoulders, her head tucked against him as if he’d never let her go again.

Their whispers—soft, fragile I love yous—barely rose above the steady thunder of hooves.

King A carried his son Kairo in one arm, the boy’s small head resting against the giant’s shoulder, while Bee rode at his other side.

Renga rode with his twins draped in cloaks, their heads bowed in exhaustion.

Ōnoki’s granddaughter leaned against her grandfather’s arm, too tired to speak, but alive.

The freed jinchuriki were carried in wagons or leaned against loyal arms, their chains gone, their eyes wide and hollow as they watched the flames devour what had once been their prison.

The fire spread, hungry and bright, until the desert itself seemed to glow.

Smoke rose like a crown, twisting skyward, and in that black plume the armies saw both the memory of their suffering and the certainty that they had left it behind.

But not all the shadows had been burned away.

At the center of the column rumbled an iron-wrought cage lashed to a wagon, its bars reinforced with steel bands and seals scribed in fresh blood.

Inside sat Danzo.

Shackles pinned his arms behind him, a chain looped through his ribs and lashed to the bars so he couldn’t shift without tearing his own flesh.

His face was pale beneath the bruises Obito had left him, but his eyes gleamed with that same serpentine satisfaction—as though even in chains he believed himself the victor of some unseen game.

Mercenaries-turned-prisoners trudged ahead, bound by rope lines.

Shien himself rode beside the wagon with a hammer across his lap, daring Danzo to twitch.

Every few miles the wagon jolted over the uneven stone, rattling the cage so hard that his teeth clacked together.

Still, he smiled.

“Look at him,” King Renga muttered as his horse drew alongside. His jaw worked like he was grinding stone between his teeth. “The devil wears chains, but he still grins.”

“Let him,” Ōnoki rasped from his chariot. “He’ll have nothing to grin about when he’s paraded through the streets of Sunagakure like a dog.”

King A spat into the dust, his voice rolling like thunder.

“I want his screams to shake the heavens before the end. He stole my blood. He stole my son. I will not be satisfied with anything less.”

Hiashi’s pale eyes flared, cutting into the cage as if to strip away flesh and find the lie beneath.

“He is not worth your fury,” the Hyūga lord said coldly. “He is rot. Rot deserves no glory—only decay.”

But for Obito, riding silent at the vanguard with Rin held close in his arms, Danzo’s existence was already a wound.

He didn’t look at the cage.

Didn’t need to.

Every rattle of its chains was another reminder of what Rin had endured, what had been taken from them.

Ruen, watching him from the flank, murmured low to Kakashi: “One day Obito will kill him with his own hands. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day.”

Kakashi’s lone eye flicked to the cage, then to Obito.

His voice was gravel.

“No. Obito won’t kill him. He’ll break him. That’s worse.”

The column pressed on across the desert.

Behind them the temple collapsed with a final roar, flames swallowing its last stones.

The night carried the glow for miles, a funeral pyre for centuries of blood.

Obito bowed his head once over Rin, pressing his lips to her hair.

“It’s done my love,” he whispered against her. “We move forward now.”

And none of them looked back again.

 

 

                The Stillness After Fire

 

 

Sunagakure moved like a city waking from a nightmare.

The fires at the oasis had burned for days, and even now smoke clung to the horizon—a bruise on the desert sky.

Within the palace, soldiers lay in long rows across woven mats, armor stacked in heaps, the smell of poultices and blood mixing with incense from the temple fires still smoldering.

Kings spoke in low voices of departure—Renga of Stone counting the days until his hammer-men could march again, Ōnoki’s engineers rolling their strange instruments into wagons, Hiashi tightening his scouts into formation, the banners of Konoha being folded away one by one.

But here, in the heart of the palace, time felt suspended—like a breath the world hadn’t yet released.

Rin had not left her chambers.

The first bath had been the hardest.

The water turned black as soon as she sank into it, filth and dried blood clouding the pool until Sakura had to turn her face away, pressing her lips tight so as not to make a sound.

Rin didn’t speak.

She simply sat there, steam curling around her bowed head, letting attendants pour jug after jug over her until her hair clung heavy and her skin flushed pink from scrubbing.

Still, she felt unclean.

Every morning since, she asked for another bath.

And every time, when the water cooled and the attendants retreated, she would stare at her hands beneath the surface, as if expecting something to be washed away at last—some stain that clung deeper than skin.

Sakura never left her.

Her cousin’s presence was a quiet tether: folding bandages at the low table, straightening Rin’s sheets when she slipped from bed, sitting close enough that Rin could hear her breathing in the silence.

She never pressed, never filled the air with words Rin wasn’t ready to answer.

When nightmares caught Rin in their claws, Sakura was there with a damp cloth and soft hands to hold her until the shaking passed.

And Obito came.

He never entered like a prince.

He came silent as shadow, shoulders heavy with dust and smoke from the war council, his coat smelling faint of steel and horse.

He would set down a tray—bread, broth, figs she rarely touched—then linger at the doorway, his eyes searching her as if she were a ghost he was terrified might vanish again.

Sakura always caught him, always ushered him away before the air grew too heavy for Rin to breathe.

But at night, when the palace grew hushed, Obito returned.

He lay down beside her, not touching at first, then slowly curling his arm near until his warmth pressed against her back.

He never asked for words.

He only breathed her in, as if every inhale anchored him to life.

And in those moments, Rin’s trembling stilled—not because the fear was gone, but because she remembered she was not alone in it.

Some nights, she drifted against him without realizing it, cheek against the curve of his chest.

Some nights, she woke to find his hand caught around hers, holding like a man who had crawled out of the void and still feared he might fall back in.

The palace lived in motion outside their chamber—armies gathering, alliances being measured, tomorrow’s war already whispered into maps—but inside, time slowed.

It was only Rin, the steam of another bath, the quiet rustle of Sakura’s hands, and the steady weight of Obito’s presence, refusing to let her go.

 

The knock came just after dawn.

Obito stirred first, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife at the bedside before he remembered where he was.

Rin lay curled beside him, her breath soft, her bandaged stomach rising and falling beneath the silk sheet.

He rose carefully, pulling on the loose sleeping pants folded at the foot of the bed, and padded barefoot across the chamber.

The door creaked open to reveal Ruen.

His clothes were plain, his face shadowed by lack of sleep, but his eyes… they held something Obito hadn’t seen there in years.

A tremor of guilt.

Obito’s grip tightened on the doorframe.

His voice was low, guarded—not the iron fury he once carried for this man, but not forgiveness either.

“What do you want?”

Ruen swallowed.

“I need to see her.”

Obito’s jaw ticked. His eyes, still red-rimmed from too many sleepless nights, cut through him like a blade.

“Not now. She’s sleeping.”

But the words had barely left his mouth when soft footsteps stirred behind him.

Rin, wrapped in a pale silk robe, pulled the door wider.

She had tied it hastily, the sash loose against her thin frame.

Her hair was still damp from bathing, falling like ink over her shoulders, her face pale but awake.

“Rin,” Ruen breathed. His voice cracked.

For the first time in months, his sister stood in front of him. Fragile.

Changed. A ghost reborn in flesh.

He saw it all—the hollowness in her cheeks, the weariness in her eyes, the thinness of her body that spoke of too many nights starved and beaten.

His throat closed.

Ruen dropped to his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his forehead pressing to the cold stone. “Gods, I’m so sorry, sister”

Rin blinked, startled, then stepped closer, clutching the robe tighter against her.

“Ruen…”

“I called you names. I struck you. I was blind with anger and pride.”

His voice cracked further, shaking in the morning stillness.

“And worse—I nearly damned you with that marriage certificate. I let hate guide me. I thought I was protecting our family, but I was only destroying it.”

Obito stiffened.

He turned his head, slow as a blade rising.

“That was you?”

The tone wasn’t a question. It was a death sentence.

In a flash Obito lunged, his hand closing around Ruen’s throat, hauling him half off the ground.

Rage seared in his eyes, the raw memory of that forged betrayal igniting like dry oil.

“You—”

“Obito!” Rin’s voice cut sharp. She rushed forward, hands pressing against his chest, her strength weak but her command unyielding. “Enough! No more bloodshed, my love. Please.”

Obito’s grip trembled.

His Sharingan flared, then dimmed as he looked down at Rin’s face—her tear-bright eyes, her trembling hands begging him back to her.

Slowly, he released Ruen, shoving him hard against the wall but not striking again.

Ruen coughed, hand to his throat.

He looked up at Obito, then at Rin, shame burning through him.

His voice rasped.

“I ask forgiveness… from you both.”

His gaze fixed on Obito.

“You saved her when I couldn’t. You carried the burden I was too blind to shoulder. For that—for everything you’ve done, not just for Rin but for our family—I owe you more than I can ever repay. If you can… if you will… accept me, I will stand as an extension of your family. Not in blood. But in loyalty.”

Obito’s eyes burned, dark with wariness, fury, and something more complicated beneath.

He wanted to kill this man.

He wanted to erase the hurt.

But Rin’s hand was still against his chest, her touch trembling, her lips whispering: please.

The silence stretched.

Then, finally, Obito extended his hand—not with warmth, not yet, but with iron will.

“For her sake.”

Ruen’s eyes wet with relief.

He gripped Obito’s hand hard, bowing his head.

“For her sake,” he agreed.

Rin stepped forward, tears spilling freely now.

She threw her arms around her brother’s neck, pulling him up from his knees.

“I never stopped loving you,” she whispered against his shoulder. “Even when you hated me.”

Ruen held her tightly, his eyes closing as though the weight of years had finally broken.

“I love you, Rin. I swear it. Never again.”

Behind them, Obito watched, jaw tight, his palm flexing as if resisting the urge to reach for his knife once more.

But when Rin glanced back at him over her brother’s shoulder, he inclined his head the faintest measure—acknowledging the moment, the peace she needed.

For the first time since the fires at the oasis, the chamber did not feel heavy.

It felt… healing.

 

 

                   Sunagakure Gardens

 

 

The palace of Sunagakure slept uneasily.

Even with victory behind them, the air still carried the smell of smoke and blood, and soldiers shifted in their cots as though they still heard war-drums in their dreams.

Ino couldn’t sleep either. She had bathed until her skin was flushed, pulled a silk robe around her shoulders, and laid her head against her pillow.

But the walls felt too close, her chest too tight, and every time she closed her eyes Daichi’s smirk flickered in her mind — the lies, the chains, the memory of watching her friends bleed while she could do nothing.

Her father’s steady snoring seeped through the adjoining wall. It only made the chamber feel smaller.

With a sharp breath, Ino rose, bare feet brushing against cold stone, and slipped quietly into the corridor.

The palace halls were hushed, lit only by the faint glow of torches guttering in the breeze.

 She followed them until the walls opened into one of the inner gardens.

Moonlight spilled across the fountain, silvering the desert roses and jasmine vines.

The water’s voice was soft, too soft to fill the silence.

And she wasn’t alone.

Sai sat on the low step of the archway, sketchbook open across his knees, a stick of charcoal moving in slow, deliberate lines. He hadn’t lit a candle.

The moon traced his pale skin, caught on the curve of his jaw, turning him into something carved — still, untouchable, almost ghostlike.

Her breath caught.

“Sai?”

He looked up at once, like he had been waiting for her voice all along.

His expression didn’t change — it rarely did — but the brush stopped moving.

“You should be asleep,” he said evenly.

“I couldn’t.” Her arms folded loosely across her chest, more to hold herself together than to keep warm. “What are you doing out here?”

“Watching,” he replied, matter-of-fact.

Her brow furrowed.

“Watching what?”

“You.”

The word fell like a stone in her chest.

“You’ve… been out here?” Her voice softened into disbelief. “Every night?”

He nodded once.

“I asked for my chambers to be near yours. In case anything happened. This palace still carries too many shadows.”

For days she had thought she imagined it — the steady sense of eyes following her steps in the corridor, never threatening, just present. Now she knew it had been him. Always him.

Her throat tightened.

“Why?”

Sai closed his sketchbook slowly.

He set it aside on the stone, as if baring something heavier than paper.

“Because I was afraid if I touched you, you’d disappear again. Because I thought if I let you see how much I—” He faltered, then forced the words out, raw. “How much I love you, you’d turn away. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t survive that.”

Ino froze.

The night seemed to hold its breath with her.

He stood, sketchbook dangling at his side.

The calm mask he always wore had cracked; his words rushed now, unmeasured.

“I’ve drawn you a hundred times since they took you. Sometimes I thought I remembered your smile, but when I finished, it wasn’t right. Sometimes I drew your eyes and when I looked again, it was like I had never seen them at all. Nothing was ever enough. Because it wasn’t you.”

The honesty of it burned hotter than any polished vow Daichi had ever spoken to her.

Her heart hammered.

She stepped closer until the silk sleeve of her robe brushed against his wrist.

“You’ve never said this before.”

“I didn’t know how.” His voice was low, steady but trembling at the edges. “Words don’t come easy to me. But I know what I felt when I thought you were gone. It hollowed me out. I don’t want to live hollow anymore.”

Her hand trembled when she lifted it and pressed it against his chest, over the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“You don’t have to know the right words. You just have to mean them.”

For a heartbeat, Sai just stared at her hand — as though it was the first real touch he’d been given.

Slowly, painfully, he leaned down until his lips brushed hers.

The kiss was clumsy at first — too sharp, too desperate. But Ino tilted into him, her arms winding around his neck, holding him there as though tethering him to the world.

His sketchbook slipped from his grip, charcoal scattering across the stone floor, forgotten.

When they broke apart, she pressed her forehead against his, breath trembling.

“I thought I’d never feel alive again,” she whispered. “But right now, with you—I do.”

Sai’s lips moved along the corner of her mouth, the line of her cheek, as though memorizing her face by touch.

His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it.

“Then let me keep you alive. For as long as I can.”

And she kissed him again — slower this time, deeper. Not like desperation, but like beginning.

Her lips lingered on his, slow and aching, before she pulled back just far enough to whisper, “Not here.” Her eyes flickered to the colonnade where a pair of soldiers stood half-dozing against their spears.

Sai followed her gaze, then looked back at her.

He nodded once, silent understanding, and without hesitation took her hand.

His palm was warm, his grip steady, guiding her through the moonlit garden and down the quieter corridor that wound toward the guest chambers.

Ino’s pulse thundered in her ears.

Every step felt both reckless and inevitable. She thought of her father sleeping only walls away, of the shadows of what she’d survived still clinging to her skin — but Sai’s hand grounded her, and for the first time in months, she felt something other than fear.

His chambers were close.

He had asked for them to be close.

The door shut behind them with a muted thud, sealing the two of them in a space lit only by moonlight spilling through the narrow lattice window.

The air smelled faintly of ink and oiled steel. His sketchbook and brushes lay stacked neatly on the desk, his armor folded in the corner, but the bed — wide, low, draped in pale linen — drew her eyes.

Sai stood there for a long moment, as though unsure how to move.

The calm mask slipped from him entirely now, and what she saw in his face made her breath catch: hunger, yes, but also terror — the terror of wanting too much.

Ino stepped forward first.

Her silk robe whispered as it shifted around her legs.

She reached up, slid her hand along his jaw, and tilted his face down to hers.

The kiss this time was not clumsy.

It was slow, deliberate, a fire-built stick by stick.

When they parted, her voice trembled.

“I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to remember. I just want to feel.”

Sai’s hand lifted, almost shaking, and settled against her waist. His thumb brushed over the silk, memorizing the line of her hip.

“Tell me if I go too fast,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Tell me if—if this isn’t what you want.”

She silenced him with another kiss, deeper, dragging him with her until the back of her legs touched the bed.

Her robe slipped from one shoulder, and his breath hitched at the glimpse of skin.

He reached for the tie at her waist with tentative fingers, then stopped, looking into her eyes.

She held his gaze steady, her hands tugging at the hem of his tunic in answer.

“I want this,” she whispered. “I want you.”

The robe loosened, pooling to the floor in a whisper of silk.

His tunic followed, her hands tugging it up and over his head, baring pale skin ink-stained at the fingertips but taut with muscle across his chest.

For the first time, there were no chains, no lies, no shadows—only them.

Sai’s mouth trailed along her collarbone, reverent, unhurried, as if he was painting her with touch instead of charcoal.

Ino’s head tilted back, her breath catching, her hands sliding over his shoulders to anchor herself.

When he lowered her onto the bed, the sheets cool against her skin, she felt the fear slip further away.

His weight over her, his lips on hers, the desperate tenderness in his eyes—it was all real.

When he lowered her onto the bed, the sheets cool against her skin, she felt the fear slip further away.

His weight over her, his lips on hers, the desperate tenderness in his eyes—it was all real.

Sai’s hands moved with a precision that felt like reverence.

He slid the silk robe off her shoulders, watching the fabric slip to her waist and reveal her bare breasts.

He touched her like she was a painting he’d never dare ruin, fingertips grazing lightly over her skin before lowering his head.

He kissed one breast, then the other, his lips soft, his tongue circling her nipple until it pebbled under his mouth.

He sucked gently, just enough to make her gasp, then moved to the other, his hand cupping her to keep her steady.

Ino arched beneath him, her breath sharp, fingers sliding through his dark hair as if she couldn’t get him close enough.

Her robe slid further, pooling around her hips, leaving the length of her body bare to his eyes.

Sai kissed lower, slow and deliberate, pressing his mouth along the center of her chest, her stomach, leaving a line of heat down to the curve of her pelvis.

When he reached her thighs, he paused, kneeling between them.

His hands slid along the insides, parting them gently. He looked up, meeting her eyes in the silver-dark. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I don’t ever want you to stop,” she whispered, voice trembling.

That was all he needed. Sai bent forward, his mouth finding her, his tongue dragging slow and sure through her folds.

Ino gasped, her thighs tightening around his shoulders. He teased her first—soft strokes, careful circles—before focusing, flicking his tongue over her clit until her back arched off the bed.

Her hands gripped the sheets, then found his hair, pulling him closer.

“Oh gods—Sai—don’t stop—”

He groaned against her, the sound vibrating against her sensitive flesh.

He licked her deeper, tongue sliding inside her, then back up to circle her clit again.

His rhythm grew steadier, firmer, his mouth drinking in every sound she made as though he had finally found the truth he’d been chasing in his sketches.

Ino cried out, her hips rocking against his mouth, her body trembling.

She had been touched before, but never like this. Never like she was being worshipped.

Sai held her thighs wide, his tongue stroking her until the heat coiled tight inside her, until her breath turned ragged.

The climax hit like a wave breaking—sudden, consuming, pulling her under.

She screamed his name, arching hard as pleasure flooded her, her whole-body quivering against his mouth.

Sai didn’t stop; he guided her through it, kissing her softly, licking gently until she sagged back into the bed, shivering and breathless.

When he finally moved back up her body, his lips were slick with her.

He kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on him. T

he kiss was desperate, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, as if neither could breathe without the other.

“You taste like life,” Sai murmured against her lips, his voice raw.

Her hands slid down, fumbling with his waistband, desperate to feel him.

She pushed his pants down, gasping softly when his cock sprang free, hard and heavy against her stomach.

He was thick, hot, pulsing in her grip as she stroked him once, twice, just to feel the weight of him.

Sai groaned into her mouth, his forehead falling to hers.

“Ino—”

She guided him lower, between her legs, the head of him pressing against her slick entrance.

“I need you inside me,” she whispered. “Now.”

He hesitated only a second, then pushed forward slowly, carefully.

The stretch made her gasp, her nails digging into his back. He buried himself inch by inch, groaning low as he filled her completely.

When he was fully inside, both of them froze—foreheads pressed, breath shuddering, hearts racing.

“You feel… gods, you feel perfect,” Sai breathed.

Ino kissed him, fierce and hungry.

“Fuck me Sai,” she whispered against his mouth.

He did.

Slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, her wetness clinging to him, the friction sharp and overwhelming.

Then faster, harder, his hips snapping against hers as he fucked her deep into the mattress.

Their bodies moved together, the bed creaking beneath them, the air thick with gasps and moans.

Ino wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her voice breaking with every thrust.

“Sai—don’t stop—”

He buried his face in her neck, groaning with every movement, his thrusts turning desperate.

“I won’t. I’ll never let you go.”

Their pace built until she was crying out, nails clawing his back, the pleasure cresting again.

Sai’s rhythm stuttered as he groaned her name, his release hot and deep inside her.

Ino shattered with him, her climax tearing through her until she screamed, holding him so tight it was as if she wanted to pull him inside her soul.

When it was done, he collapsed against her, both of them shaking, breathless.

He kissed her hair, her cheek, her mouth, as though he couldn’t stop.

“I love you,” he whispered. “More than I know how to say.”

Ino cupped his face, tears streaking her cheeks, her body still trembling from the aftershocks.

“Then don’t say it. Show me. Every day. For the rest of our lives.”

Sai pressed his forehead to hers, still buried inside her, his arms wrapping around her like he’d never let go.

“I will,” he vowed. “I swear it.”

The room was still, save for the sound of their breathing.

Moonlight filtered in through the lattice, painting pale bars across tangled sheets, across skin damp with sweat and trembling with the echo of what they’d just shared.

Sai hadn’t moved far.

His weight still pressed her into the mattress, his chest rising and falling against hers, his length softening inside her but his arms refusing to let her go.

He held her like a man who’d starved for years and had finally tasted food again—terrified that if he let go, the world would snatch it away.

Ino stroked his hair back from his damp forehead, her fingers gentle.

He closed his eyes at the touch, a small shudder leaving him. She smiled faintly, her heart aching.

“You look different,” she whispered, tracing the line of his cheekbone with the pad of her thumb. “Softer.”

Sai opened his eyes slowly, dark gaze drinking her in as if memorizing every detail.

“Do I?”

“Yes,” she said, shifting so that she could roll them slightly onto their sides, her leg hooked over his hip to keep him close. “It’s like… the shadows aren’t as heavy on you.”

He was quiet for a moment, then lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her palm.

“It’s because you’re here.” His voice was hoarse, raw. “You make me want to believe in things I never thought were real.”

Her throat tightened.

She cupped his face between her hands, pulling him into a slow kiss—nothing frantic now, just warmth and the quiet ache of love. When she pulled back, her lips brushed his.

“You don’t have to believe in everything,” she whispered. “Just us.”

He swallowed, resting his forehead against hers.

“I’ll try. Every day. Because when I thought I’d lost you… Ino, I felt like I had no shape, no purpose. Hollow. Tonight…” His arms tightened around her waist, holding her like she might vanish. “Tonight, you gave me back myself.”

Her eyes burned.

She kissed him again, tender, then shifted her hands lower, letting her fingers trace the faint scars that lined his shoulders, his ribs.

Little reminders of battle, of a life too full of silence and violence.

“These,” she murmured, touching one gently, “are proof you’ve survived. Proof you’re still here. And I want to be the one who makes sure there aren’t any more.”

Sai watched her, something breaking open in his gaze—something vulnerable and unguarded.

He caught her hand, brought it to his lips, then to his chest, pressing it against the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“Then let me promise you this,” he whispered. “That this heart… it belongs to you. Only you. Always.”

Her tears finally fell, warm against her cheeks, but her smile was radiant even through them.

“Then you’d better not break it. Because mine belongs to you too.”

They kissed again, slow and lingering, until the world shrank to nothing but breath and skin and the warmth between them.

Eventually, Ino nestled into the crook of his arm, her head resting against his chest.

His hand stroked absent circles across her back, steady and soothing, until her body finally began to relax.

“Sleep,” he murmured into her hair. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Her voice was soft, drifting. “You’d better be.”

Sai smiled faintly in the dark, a rare thing, and pulled her closer.

“Always.”

And for the first time since the nightmare began, Ino let herself drift into sleep without fear, her body safe, her heart full, wrapped in the arms of the man who had finally dared to love her.

 

 

                                                 

                The First Breaths of Dawn

 

 

Shikamaru hadn’t slept.

He stood at one of the open colonnades, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the black horizon where smoke still bled faint from the ruins of the Oasis.

Not watching them exactly—just staring, mind turning its endless circles, trying to make sense of a war that no longer followed rules.

He should have felt relief.

The captives freed. Danzo chained. Armies returning home.

But instead, his chest felt hollow, too full of echoes that refused to fade.

Behind his eyes, the images replayed—the tent where they’d dragged the surviving cultists, the mercenaries who had surrendered.

Shikamaru had gone to take stock, to prepare for interrogation.

What he’d found instead was a slaughter.

Obito Uchiha, his black coat soaked through, face pale with fury,

Sharingan blazing like twin furnaces.

The screams hadn’t lasted long.

Dozens of men butchered like animals, their bodies hacked apart in a frenzy that had nothing of strategy, nothing of war.

The ground had run black with blood.

The air itself had stunk of grief and madness.

Shikamaru had seen battlefields before. He’d seen men torn apart by steel and fire.

But this… this was not battle.

This was grief made flesh.

And for the first time in years, the strategist who thought himself prepared for anything had felt something cold crawl up his spine.

Because he realized: if Rin had died on that table, there would be no world left standing once Obito was done.

He exhaled hard, forcing the memory back, grounding himself against the stone rail.

The desert wind pressed cold against his face, carrying ash, carrying silence.

The scrape of sandals drew him back to the present.

He turned.

Temari stepped into the moonlight, robe cinched tight, hair loose over her shoulders.

She looked thinner than before, worn by chains and hunger, but her chin was still high, her gaze sharp even when her body trembled.

“You’re awake too,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” Shikamaru answered, voice rough. “Couldn’t sleep.”

She came to stand beside him, shoulder almost brushing his. Her eyes fixed on the horizon where smoke bruised the sky.

For a while neither spoke.

The silence wasn’t empty. It was heavy, shared.

Finally, she broke it.

Her voice wavered, but her words were steady.

“You’re the one who cut me loose.”

Shikamaru blinked. He hadn’t expected her to know.

He shrugged faintly.

“Somebody had to.”

Her mouth tightened, eyes glistening in the dim.

“I thought I’d die like that. Chained. Watching my brother bleed. You gave me a chance to fight.” She swallowed hard, gaze dropping. “I didn’t thank you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I do,” she insisted, her tone sharpening even as her voice cracked. “I’ve fought wars. I’ve seen blood. But that…” She shook her head, looking away fast before tears could fall. “I don’t know how I would’ve lived with it.”

Something in Shikamaru’s chest shifted.

Without thinking, he reached out, his hand brushing her wrist.

“You don’t have to think about it now. You survived. Your brothers survived. That’s enough.”

Her gaze swung back to his.

For a long moment, the only sound was the wind curling through stone.

Then she leaned in and pressed her lips against his cheek—soft, fleeting, gratitude made touch

Shikamaru almost let her go. Almost.

But his hand tightened on her wrist, pulling her back before she could retreat.

Temari stumbled into him, eyes flashing wide in surprise, her breath catching as her chest brushed his.

For a heartbeat she just stared at him—like she wasn’t sure if the man who’d freed her chains was really the same one dragging her close now.

Her lips parted, a protest on the edge of forming—then she saw the look in his eyes.

Not careful. Not calculating.

Not the endless strategies turning behind his brow. Just raw want, fierce and unguarded.

The surprise melted from her face as quickly as it had come.

She didn’t hesitate. She tilted her chin up, closing the space he hadn’t dared to cross yet.

Their mouths met hard—rough, unexpected, a clash of steel against steel.

Temari gasped into the kiss, but it wasn’t shock anymore.

It was hunger. She pressed into him like she’d been waiting for this, like all the fear and fury and nights chained in the dark had been waiting to ignite into this single moment.

Her fingers curled into his tunic, holding him there, pulling him closer still.

She wanted more—not just the brush of lips but the full claim of it. Shikamaru responded in kind, his other hand rising to cradle the back of her neck, deepening the kiss until it was less a question and more a vow.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. Her forehead rested against his, her pulse racing as fast as his.

“Didn’t expect you to do that,” she whispered, voice rough, lips still tingling.

Shikamaru gave a faint, crooked smile, his thumb brushing her wrist where he still held her.

“Didn’t expect you to kiss me back.”

Temari smirked through her ragged breath, shaking her head slightly.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I don’t hesitate when I want something.”

And then, before the silence could swallow them, she pulled him into another kiss—slower this time, deeper, one that lingered with the promise of more.

 

 

 

Chapter 44: Made Yours Again/The Kings Judgment /Until Morning Comes/

                           Made Yours Again

 

 

Obito had been waiting in their chamber, leaning against the carved stone post near the balcony, arms folded tight across his chest.

Shoulders squared, black leathers stretched tight across him. The desert heat pressed against stone walls, but he looked untouched by it, dark as a storm waiting to break.

His hands rested at his sides, one brushing the hilt of the blade strapped to his thigh.

Always armed.

Always ready.

He’d meant to take her down to dinner when she was ready, but the moment Rin stepped out from behind the partition, he went still.

The world narrowed to her.

The gown spilled around her like living flame, the rust-red fabric pooling at her bare feet, lace tracing delicate lines over skin he’d nearly lost.

Her hair was swept up loosely, tendrils falling to frame her face, softening her features.

Earrings gleamed at her throat, catching the faint glow of the coals burning in the brazier.

Obito had faced kings, armies, and gods without flinching.

But the sight of her emptied him.

She shifted slightly under his gaze, “You’re staring.”

“You expect me not to?”

His voice was low, rougher than he meant.

His eyes moved from her hair to her throat, to the shimmer of fabric, back to her eyes again.

“You look…” He swallowed, jaw tight. “Like something the desert itself would worship.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she held his gaze, a faint smile tugging her lips.

Rin tilted her head slightly, her eyes gliding over him — from his dark boots laced to the knee, to the leather straps across his chest, to the sword still fastened at his hip.

“And you…” She gestured down the length of him — his broad frame carved sharper by shadow. “You’re still in those.”

Obito blinked. “These?”

“Yes. Your leathers. Always your leathers.”

She stepped closer, fabric whispering against stone.

“The royals gave us clothes for tonight. Something lighter. Cooler. Yet here you are.” Her brow arched. “Do you ever wear anything else?”

He studied her for a long moment, then shook his head.

“Comfort doesn’t matter. War doesn’t care if it’s hot or cold. I wear what I’m ready to fight in. Always.”

Her smile deepened, softer now, touched with something mischievous.

“Always ready for war…” She trailed off, her hand brushing across his chest, fingertips grazing leather stretched tight over muscle.

Her touch slid lower, past his ribs, down the flat of his stomach until it reached the hardness straining beneath.

Obito’s breath hissed sharp between his teeth. His hand caught her wrist before she could go further.

“Rin—”

Her gaze didn’t falter.

“Let me,” she whispered, her voice firm but tender.

“You’re still healing,” he rasped. “I can’t—”

“You won’t hurt me.”

Her lips brushed his jaw, then his mouth, soft but demanding.

“What hurts is being apart from you. What hurts is letting them take what’s ours and not taking it back.”

Obito’s body trembled with the force of holding back.

He wanted her — gods, he wanted her — but fear clawed at him.

“Rin…” His voice broke, hoarse.

She rose onto her toes, her lips brushing his jaw, then his mouth, trembling but hungry.

“Make me yours again.”

His hand slipped from her wrist to her waist, gripping hard as if she might vanish.

He bent and kissed her — slow at first, reverent, then breaking into hunger, into desperation.

Her gown whispered between them, his leathers rough beneath her touch.

Her fingers fumbled at the buckles of his chest straps, the leather warm from his body.

He caught her hands, still trembling with restraint.

“If I hurt you—”

“You won’t.” She pulled one hand free, pressing it flat over his racing heart. “You’ve never hurt me. Don’t start doubting that now.”

Her certainty undid him.

With a shuddering breath, he let her slip the straps loose.

The leather creaked as it gave, falling away from his shoulders until his broad chest was bared, the dark shirt beneath tugged over his head by her urgent hands.

He lowered her gently onto the bed, the silk sheets cool against her back, the folds of her gown spilling out like flame.

He braced above her, his breath ragged, eyes dark and starving.

“Gods, Rin…” His thumb traced her cheek, then down the column of her throat, lingering at the lace that still framed her breasts. “You’re… everything. Always.”

Her lips curved faintly, trembling.

“Then take me. Remind me that I’m still yours.”

He groaned low, his mouth finding hers again, deeper this time, tongues tangling in a kiss that was all hunger and grief and desperate love.

His hand slid down, loosening the ties at her gown until the fabric slipped free, baring her shoulders, her chest, the soft lines of her body.

Rin gasped as his mouth trailed lower — across her collarbone, between the swell of her breasts.

His lips lingered, reverent, before closing around her nipple, his tongue teasing until her back arched.

She clutched at his hair, the sound that left her throat half sob, half moan.

He lifted his head, lips wet, eyes burning.

“I don’t deserve you. But I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I do.”

“Then start now,” she whispered, her fingers tugging at his belt, pulling him down against her.

The last of her gown slipped away, rust-red silk pooling at her hips before he slid it lower, baring her completely.

His hands trembled as they traced her thighs, her waist, every scar, every softness he thought he’d lost forever.

She tugged at the fastening of his leathers, fingers slipping inside until they brushed against the thick, swollen length of him.

The heat of his cock pressed hard into her palm, the weight of him straining to be freed from the confines of the leather.

He hissed, his whole-body shuddering, but didn’t stop her. Piece by piece she freed him from the armor, until at last nothing separated them but his last layer, thin and straining.

“Obito,” she breathed, pulling him down until their bodies pressed flush — her bare skin to his, hot, alive.

He kissed her fiercely, every movement careful but desperate, as if each second was a vow, a promise, a plea.

Obito hovered above her, braced on one trembling arm, his forehead pressed to hers as though he could fuse them together by will alone.

Her gown lay in a rust-red pool across the sheets, her body bared and glowing in the faint fire of the brazier.

Her thighs parted for him, skin flushed, breath shallow. He positioned himself carefully, his cock hot and heavy against her, the head brushing slick against her entrance.

He groaned low at the feel of her wetness, his control fraying already.

“Rin…” His voice was hoarse, breaking.

“You’re sure?”

Her hands cupped his face, steady even as her chest rose and fell fast.

“I’ve never been more sure. I want this. I want you. All of you.”

He kissed her once, slow and desperate, before lowering his hips.

The thick head of him pressed into her, pushing gently against her tight walls. Her gasp tore through the stillness, sharp and trembling.

Obito froze instantly, jaw tight, every muscle rigid.

“Did I—”

Her nails dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“No… don’t stop.” Her voice cracked, equal parts ache and plea. “It’s just… gods, you’re so big.”

His breath shuddered out of him.

He buried his face against her neck, his lips brushing her skin as he groaned, “You’re so tight, Rin… so hot. You feel like you were made for me.”

Carefully, slowly, he pressed deeper. Inch by inch, she stretched around him, the tight clutch of her body making him shake with restraint.

Her head tilted back, lips parting on a cry as he filled her further.

When at last he was fully inside her, their hips flush, he stilled completely.

His entire body trembled, sweat slicking his temple, his arms caging her in.

“Gods,” he rasped, his voice raw. “You’re gripping me so hard… I can barely breathe.”

Rin’s legs curled around his waist, holding him there.

Her eyes were wet, but her smile was real, trembling.

“Then don’t breathe. Don’t let go. Stay right here inside me.”

Obito kissed her fiercely, his mouth claiming hers as if he could pour every vow he’d ever spoken into that kiss.

He pulled back only to whisper against her lips: “You’re mine. Always mine.”

“Yes,” she moaned, rocking her hips gently against his, urging him. “Always yours. Now fuck me, Obito. Please.”

He groaned again, a sound deep in his chest, and finally drew back. The slow drag of his cock slipping from her tight heat nearly undid him.

She clenched around him, her moan sharp as he eased back in, filling her all over again.

The rhythm was careful at first, his thrusts slow and deliberate, his lips never leaving her skin — kissing her mouth, her jaw, the hollow of her throat.

She clung to him, gasping with every stroke, nails raking down his back as her body arched into his.

“You feel…” she panted, words breaking apart. “You feel so good. I’ve missed you so much.”

He kissed the tears from her cheeks, thrusting deeper, harder as his control frayed.

“You have no idea how many nights I dreamed of this. Of you. Of feeling you around me again.”

Her cry broke into a sob as his hips snapped harder, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the chamber.

She was trembling, breathless, overwhelmed.

“Obito—”

He swallowed the sound with his mouth, kissing her hungrily. His pace grew more desperate, each thrust deeper, harder, his body shuddering as if he was coming apart inside her.

Her tight body clenched harder around him, pulling him deeper, pushing both of them closer to the edge.

Her moans turned into cries, her legs locking around his hips as he drove into her again and again, each thrust pushing her higher.

Obito buried his face against her neck, his groans muffled in her skin.

His body shook with the effort of holding back, every thrust deeper and more frantic.

“Gods, Rin… I can’t—” His voice broke, harsh against her ear. “I can’t hold it… I’m about to—”

Her hands cupped his face, forcing his eyes to hers, her breath ragged.

“Then don’t hold back,” she gasped, her body trembling around him. “Come inside me, baby. I want all of you.”

The plea shattered what little restraint he had left. He thrust once, twice more before his body stiffened, his groan ragged and broken as he spilled hot inside her.

He held her tight, shaking as he emptied himself, his lips crushed against her shoulder in something between a sob and a prayer.

For long moments they didn’t move, still joined, both gasping for air.

His weight pressed her into the bed, his chest heaving against hers, his arms locked tight around her.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” he whispered, voice raw. “But you’re here. You’re mine. Always.”

Rin kissed his damp temple, whispering back, “Always.”

Obito’s body collapsed against hers as the last tremors wracked through him.

His chest pressed to her breasts, damp with sweat, his breath ragged and hot against her neck.

She was still shaking beneath him, her body fluttering around him as if she didn’t want to let him go either.

For a long time, there was no sound in the chamber except their uneven breathing — two heartbeats thrumming wildly against each other, two souls clinging as if they’d been dragged back from the edge of a cliff.

Obito didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He was still buried deep inside her, the heat of his release filling her, the feeling so overwhelming that his entire body shuddered when he shifted even slightly.

He pressed his lips against her temple, his voice breaking in a whisper.

“I’ve missed you like air, Rin. Gods… I thought I’d never feel this again.”

Her trembling hand slid into his hair, her fingers gentle as she brushed damp strands from his brow.

She kissed the corner of his mouth, weak but sure.

“You’ll never lose me again. Not while I can breathe.”

Obito groaned low, his forehead pressing to hers as he fought back the emotion burning through him.

He tightened his arms around her, careful not to crush her wound but unwilling to let any space exist between them.

His body still trembled faintly from the force of his climax, but his heart… his heart felt steadier than it had in weeks.

They stayed like that, locked together, until Rin shifted softly beneath him, her thighs still curled around his hips.

He hissed as he slid out of her, their bodies parting with a wet heat that made him groan low and feral.

She shivered at the sensation, her face burying into his chest as if she didn’t want him to see the tears gathering in her eyes.

He cupped her cheek, kissing her tenderly.

“Don’t cry, love. Not now. Not after this.”

Her voice cracked, muffled against him.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad. I just… I needed to remember what it felt like. To be yours.”

“You’ve always been mine,” he whispered fiercely, his lips brushing her hairline. “Even when I couldn’t reach you, even when I thought I’d lost you, you were mine. And you always will be.”

He shifted, pulling her gently onto his chest so she lay sprawled across him, his arms wrapped around her back. Her ear rested above his pounding heart. He stroked circles into her spine, slow and soothing, until her breath steadied again.

For a while they simply lay there in silence, her cheek pressed to the hard plane of his chest, his lips brushing her hair every few breaths.

Finally, Rin stirred, her voice soft.

“We should… we should go down. They’ll be waiting for us.”

Obito tightened his hold instantly, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“Let them wait.”

Her smile curved faintly against his skin. “Obito…”

He sighed heavily, then kissed her brow, forcing himself to ease his grip.

“Fine. Dinner.”

They rose slowly, her body still tender, his movements careful as though afraid she might break if he touched her too roughly.

He helped her to her feet, his hands steadying her as she reached for the discarded rust-red gown.

She winced when she bent, and he was instantly there, scooping the fabric up before she could strain herself.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice gentle in a way it never was with anyone else.

He slid the gown back over her shoulders, his fingers lingering as he tied the laces at her back.

Her hands smoothed the wrinkles from his leathers, her touch lingering at the buckle of his belt, a faint, playful glimmer in her eyes.

“You could still change, you know. Something cooler. Less heavy.”

His jaw tightened, though his lips twitched faintly at her tease. “War doesn’t know comfort, Rin.”

Her hand cupped him briefly through the leathers, making him hiss.

“Then perhaps comfort doesn’t know war,” she whispered with a faint smile.

Obito caught her wrist again, his eyes smoldering, but this time there was no restraint in his voice.

“Careful, love. Or we’ll never leave this chamber.”

She blushed but leaned up to kiss him quickly, soft and fleeting, before stepping back.

“Later, then.”

His eyes followed her every movement as she adjusted the fall of her gown, her hair still a little wild, her cheeks still glowing.

She looked devastating and delicate all at once, and Obito knew anyone who saw her tonight would know she was his.

He offered his arm, stiff and formal, though his thumb brushed softly against her hand as she took it.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Ready.”

And together, they stepped out into the hall — bound for dinner, for judgment, for the storm waiting in the war room.

But for the first time since the shadows had stolen her away, they walked forward as one.

 

 

                                                             

                       The Kings Judgment

 

 

The dining hall of Sunagakure was warm with firelight and the smell of roasted lamb, spiced rice, and figs dusted with sugar.

The braziers burned high in the walls, and gold-threaded banners of the desert kingdom swayed faintly with the night breeze.

Danzo’s name wasn’t spoken, but his shadow hung over the room.

Everyone knew he was locked below in the dungeons, bound in iron, watched day and night by Gaara’s most trusted men.

No one doubted the prince of the desert’s guards.

And no one doubted that the priest would never leave those cells alive.

When the doors opened, conversation softened.

Obito walked in first, clad in black leathers that drank the light, his brothers Itachi and Shisui flanking him, Sasuke just behind.

The Uchiha looked cut from the same steel — dark coats, strapped harnesses, every inch ready for battle though they had come for supper. It was their way.

Rin walked at Obito’s side, her gown a deep rust-red that caught the torchlight, her hair pinned and spilling loose at her shoulders.

She moved carefully, but steady — no longer fragile, though still healing. Obito guided her to their seats, his hand resting over hers even after she sat, as though to remind the hall she was not alone.

Around the table, allies shifted.

Sasuke had taken the seat beside Sakura.

She wore a dress much like Rin’s, pale silk with desert embroidery, her beauty drawing sidelong glances even from seasoned lords.

Sasuke’s hand lingered near hers on the table, and though his face betrayed nothing, his closeness said enough.

Naruto leaned comfortably against Hinata, his attire looser than the Uchiha’s severe armor, though the wild spark in him hadn’t dimmed. Hinata’s quiet smile anchored him, her pale gaze glowing in the firelight.

Further down, Sai sat beside Ino.

Unlike Naruto, Sai mirrored the Uchiha — clad in black leathers, buckled close, a man who preferred readiness to finery.

Ino’s silks softened the picture, the contrast between them striking enough to draw whispers from nearby nobles.

The seats down the table were filled with allies: King A and Bee of Kumogakure, Hiashi of Stars and Shadows, Tsunade and Jiraiya of Konoha.

Obito pulled out Rin’s chair with his own hands before seating himself at her side, his hand never left hers.

Gaara inclined his head slightly, his voice calm but carrying.

“Welcome. You honor Sunagakure with your presence. Rin Nohora, it is good to finally meet you properly. Obito has spoken much of you. I had hoped our meeting would be in peace, not chains in a dungeon — but the past is behind us. Tonight, you are a guest at my table.”

He lifted his goblet, the firelight glinting in the red wine.

“To the jinchuriki.”

Prince Bee thumped his chest with a grin.

“To the beasts that roar within.”

Naruto raised his goblet high, his voice warm.

“To surviving them all!”

The clink of goblets echoed through the chamber.

Rin raised hers last, her fingers trembling slightly.

As she lowered it, a sound brushed faintly against her mind — a deep murmur, distant, like the echo of waves against stone.

For weeks there had been nothing. Silence. Hollow. But now, faint as a heartbeat, it returned.

Isobu.

Her breath caught.

She clutched her goblet tighter, then set it down. Obito’s thumb brushed the back of her hand beneath the table, steadying her.

She drew a breath, her voice unsteady but clear.

“When they took me… when they locked me away, I could still hear him. At first. His voice was there. Then it went silent.” Her gaze flicked across the table to Gaara, to Bee, to Naruto. “And it was like losing another piece of myself. Like going hollow. Only a jinchuriki understands what that is.”

Her voice broke, but she continued. “To live with a beast inside you, and then feel it ripped away… it’s worse than chains.”

The hall stilled.

Naruto’s usual brightness dimmed, his jaw tight as he held Hinata closer. Bee’s grin faded into something solemn.

Gaara inclined his head once, slow and deliberate.

“I understand.”

Obito slid his arm around Rin’s shoulders, drawing her close against his chest.

His silence spoke louder than words: she was no longer hollow, no longer alone.

Gaara’s goblet lowered, but another voice rose from across the table.

King A leaned forward, the weight of his massive frame making the wood creak beneath his arms.

His deep voice rolled like thunder through the chamber.

“No one will hurt another jinchuriki again. Not while we live. Not while our kingdoms stand. That is my vow.”

Prince Bee thumped his fist to his chest.

“Word to bond, bond to steel — we keep it real. Jinchuriki bleed no more.”

Naruto grinned fiercely, raising his cup higher. “I’ll fight anyone who tries. That’s a promise.”

Even Hiashi inclined his head, his pale eyes flashing.

“Let it be law among us. Those bound to the beasts are under our protection.”

Glasses clinked again, louder this time. The vow bound itself in wine and flame.

It was then Tsunade turned her gaze to Rin.

Her golden hair gleamed in the firelight, but her eyes were softened, thoughtful.  

“How are you, my dear?” she asked simply, her voice free of courtly trappings.

Rin inclined her head, her voice carrying just enough to be heard. “Alive. Thanks to you, My Queen.”

Tsunade waved the words away with a faint huff, though a smile tugged at her mouth.

“Don’t thank me for doing what any healer would do. Thank me for this instead—” she gestured at the table, the gathered kings and allies, the shared feast “—for bringing our kingdoms together with Akatsuki. You’ve done more for peace than most men here. Don’t waste that.”

And with a wink, she lifted her goblet.

Rin blinked, startled, then smiled faintly — small, but real.

Obito’s hand squeezed hers under the table.

This time, even he lifted his cup.

Then King A leaned forward again, his deep laugh rolling through the chamber.

“So, tell me, Prince Obito,” he said, eyes gleaming. “When do we celebrate the wedding? An Akatsuki wedding… gods, I’ve heard tales. Black banners lined with fire, halls draped in silks, a feast that lasts for days. Your people know how to mark a union. And with a bride like yours—” his gaze slid to Rin, softened despite its weight—“it would be a sight for the ages.”

Rin flushed at once, her fingers tightening in her lap.

Hinata, sitting near Naruto, smiled shyly.

“I’ve read of them too. They say the brides wear crimson silk, embroidered with gold thread so fine it glitters like flame. I think Rin would look beautiful.”

Sakura nodded quickly, her eyes warm.

“She already does.”

Ino leaned forward with a grin.

“Obito, I think you’ll have trouble keeping her hidden on your wedding day. She’ll steal every gaze in the hall.”

Temari smirked faintly, lifting her cup.

“And why not? A queen should outshine them all.”

Rin’s face heated deeper, her eyes dropping to the table, unable to meet their gazes.

Across from her, Ruen finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual, but steady.

“They’re right. She’ll be the most beautiful bride our kingdom has seen.”

Kakashi, seated beside him, flicked a glance his way but said nothing.

Obito’s hand covered Rin’s where it trembled, his voice steady, cutting through the noise with certainty.

“There will be a wedding. But not yet. Not until Rin is fully healed. Not until she’s ready. And not until Danzo is dead.”

The hall stilled again at his words — the vow spoken not as possibility, but as fact.

The warmth of the table cooled the moment Obito’s words fell.

“Not until Danzo is dead.”

The silence stretched heavy, all goblets stilled mid-air.

At the far side of the table, King Hiruzen of the Kingdom of Fire leaned forward.

His age showed in the lines of his face, but his voice carried the weight of authority honed by decades on a throne.

“That will not happen. Danzo is a son of Fire. He is a priest consecrated by our temples. By law, he must be returned to my kingdom. He will stand trial there and be punished under my judgment — not yours.”

Obito did not sit back.

His hand remained over Rin’s, his eyes burning across the table.

“No. He does not leave these walls alive.”

Hiruzen’s voice hardened, oak turned to iron.

“You would deny Fire its sovereignty? You would usurp my throne’s authority over one of my own?”

Before Obito could answer, Tsunade leaned forward, her goblet striking the wood.

“Sovereignty doesn’t sanctify monsters, Hiruzen. You would take him home, put him on trial, parade your justice while hiding your shame. But your priests clothed him. Your temples gave him cover. And while you prayed to your gods, he bled innocents in their name.”

Hiruzen’s mouth set hard.

“Do not mistake the silence of the gods for sanction. Danzo acted in darkness, without crown or king to guide him. For his crimes, he will face Fire’s justice.”

Jiraiya’s voice cut sharp across the table.

“Fire’s justice? You mean exile? A cloister? You’ll lock him in some monastery and call it penance while his followers whisper his creed in the dark. That isn’t justice, Hiruzen. That’s cowardice.”

King A slammed his fist down, rattling dishes. His voice rolled like thunder.

“Obito speaks true. That man stole my son, bled my blood, carved pain into my family. His screams should rattle the heavens before he dies. If you shield him, you spit on every kingdom he’s scarred.”

Bee jabbed his goblet toward Hiruzen, rhyme dripping into rage.

“Law or no law, priest or no priest — he played with lives, he’s a beast. Justice don’t rhyme with mercy this time.”

Gaara’s voice followed, soft but deadly.

“He chained jinchuriki in darkness. He sought to break us from within. My people will not forgive him. Neither will I.”

Hiashi’s pale eyes glinted like cold steel.

“And do not dare speak of gods, Hiruzen. The gods were silent while he slaughtered. Why should their law protect him now?”

The air grew hotter, every voice sharpening, until the walls themselves seemed to hold their breath.

Obito rose slowly to his feet, his chair scraping stone.

His voice dropped to a low growl, quieter than the rest but carrying like a blade drawn from its sheath.

“If you take him from this place, if you drag him back behind your borders and call it justice, then prepare Fire for war. Because I will come for him. And I will not come alone.”

The words cracked the air.

King Hiruzen’s eyes burned, his lined face hardening like granite.

He pushed himself up from his seat, palms pressed flat against the table.

“How dare you speak to me so, boy? You are not king yet. You are crown prince — a child who wears his father’s sword but has never carried a throne. And already you summon the drums of war?”

Obito’s jaw flexed, his hand twitching toward his blade. The Sharingan flickered faintly in his eyes.

Before the silence could turn to steel, King A rose with the force of a storm. His goblet slammed down, wine spilling dark across the table.

“Akatsuki will not stand alone,” he thundered. “If Fire dares call war over this priest, know that Kumogakure will be the first to march beside them.”

Bee stood too, slapping his hand to his chest.

“Bro’s word is bond — if Fire wants war, they’ll hear our song.”

A rustle swept the table as Gaara stood next, calm but unyielding, his pale-green eyes fixed on Hiruzen.

“Sunagakure will not protect Danzo. If Obito moves to end him, my armies will not stop him. They will march with him.”

Hiashi of Stars and Shadows rose slowly, his robes whispering across the stone.

His pale gaze cut cold.

“The Kingdom of Stars stands the same. To shield a traitor priest is to spit on the peace our people bled for. If Akatsuki calls, my banners will answer.”

Tsunade was already on her feet, slamming her palm flat on the table.

“Konoha will not watch Fire shelter a monster. If you dare, we’ll fight beside them. And I promise you, Hiruzen, my fists hit harder than your sermons.”

Jiraiya rose beside her, tilting his head but his eyes were sharp. “Don’t test it, old man. The world’s tired of priests hiding behind temple walls.”

The hall shifted, chairs scraping, voices low and steady — one by one, every kingdom but Fire stood on Obito’s side.

Obito let it swell, then turned back to Hiruzen, his voice low and steady, a wolf circling its prey.

“Trust me — if Renga of Stone and Ōnoki of Iwagakure were still here, they would stand with us too. You know it.”

He leaned forward slightly, his shadow spilling long across the table.

“So, tell me, Hiruzen — are you ready to drag Fire into all-out war with half the known world? To see your kingdom burn like the Underground Oasis? Over a mad priest and his cult?”

His eyes narrowed, burning.

“If so, then don’t waste our time. Forfeit now. Because I have no problem cutting you down here, killing your son beside you, and then walking into the dungeon to finish Danzo myself.”

The room froze, Obito’s words hanging heavy, the threat of steel and fire thick in the air.

As Obito’s words cut through the hall, the first to react was not Hiruzen, but his son.

Asuma shoved back his chair, the legs screeching against stone. His hand dropped to the hilt at his hip, his eyes locked on Obito with fire.

“Come then, crown prince,” he spat. “If you want blood, take mine. Let’s settle it now.”

Chairs scraped as Kakashi surged to his feet, one hand snapping out to bar Asuma’s chest. Shikamaru and Ruen moved with him, catching Asuma’s arm.

But Asuma shoved against them both, his fury boiling over.

“He threatens my father! He threatens me in front of kings — and you expect me to sit?”

Obito didn’t move.

He stood tall, silent, his Sharingan simmering in the firelight. His hand didn’t reach for his blade.

He simply watched Asuma like a wolf watching a tethered hound rage against its chain.

That stillness was worse than any strike.

The Uchiha brothers rose in unison, chairs scraping, dark leathers shifting with steel.

Itachi’s hand rested on his blade, Shisui’s eyes narrowed, Sasuke’s jaw tight as his gaze cut across Asuma.

Naruto was already up, fists clenched at his sides, Sai flanking him, his posture stiff as iron.

Rin gasped and shot to her feet, her hand clutching hard at Obito’s arm.

“Obito, please—!” Her voice cracked with panic, her eyes darting between him and Asuma, as though trying to anchor him before steel met steel.

Sakura was at her side at once, her hand pressing to Rin’s back, whispering urgently, “Stay steady, don’t—don’t let go of him.”

The hall erupted into chaos. Voices rose over one another — lords shouting, Tsunade barking at Asuma, Bee yelling something half in rhyme, Kankurō cursing under his breath as he pulled Temari back into her seat.

The clamor built and built until it was all fire and fury in the air.

Then Gaara’s voice cracked through the noise like a whip.

“ENOUGH.”

The word slammed into silence. The torches guttered faintly in the sudden stillness.

Gaara had not raised his voice, but his pale-green eyes blazed like glass under a desert sun.

His hands were flat against the table, his posture calm but unshakable.

“This is my hall,” he said, every word slow and clear. “And no blood is shed in it tonight.”

The command rippled outward.

One by one, chairs creaked as lords and warriors sat back down, tension thick but leashed.

Kakashi dragged Asuma back into his seat, his grip iron.

The Uchiha brothers did not sit until Obito inclined his head, a faint signal.

Naruto and Sai followed, though their eyes stayed sharp.

Rin’s hand clung to Obito’s arm until he finally guided her back into her chair, steadying her trembling fingers with his.

Obito and Rin sat last.

The silence that followed was heavy, taut as bowstring.

The hall breathed again, tension still pulsing in the silence.

Slowly, King Hiruzen straightened in his chair, smoothing his robes with deliberate calm.

The fury in his eyes had not vanished, but he forced steel back into statesmanship.

His voice cut across the table.

“Very well. If blood is to be shed here, let us speak plainly. What does the Crown Prince of Akatsuki propose, then? How would you execute Danzo — and the cultists, the mercenaries that survived?”

All eyes turned to Obito.

He didn’t sit back. His hand remained on Rin’s shoulder, his face set like stone.

“Do not give them spectacle. Do not give them the honor of public execution. Just kill them.” His voice was low, flat, merciless. “Hang their bodies where the people can see. Let them rot as warning. That is all they deserve.”

A ripple moved down the table. Some shifted uncomfortably, others nodded grimly.

“And Danzo?” Hiruzen pressed.

Obito’s jaw flexed.

“Danzo dies. But not on a stage. No chanting crowds. No temple bells. He expects that. He thinks himself entitled to it. Men like him thrive on spectacle. A public death makes him a martyr.”

His eyes narrowed, fire catching in them.

“Strip him of it. Let him die small, broken, forgotten. Not a prophet. Not a priest. Just a corpse swinging in the dark.”

Hiruzen’s mouth curved into something close to a sneer, sarcasm edged in his tone.

“And tell me, Obito… would you have the honor of killing him yourself? Would you bathe your hands in his blood to ease your grief?”

Obito didn’t flinch. His voice cut cold.

“No.”

The room stilled.

He let the silence stretch before his next words landed like iron.

“As much as I would enjoy tearing him apart, he doesn’t deserve my hands on him. The one he hurt most should decide his end.”

His gaze dropped to Rin. His voice hardened. “Rin should kill him.”

The hall erupted in shock — murmurs, sharp intakes of breath, voices clashing in disbelief.

Even Rin froze, her lips parting, eyes wide, her body gone still as stone.

Rin’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingers curled tight around the stem of her goblet.

“I’ve never killed anyone before,” she whispered, her voice trembling into the silence.

Across the table, King Hiruzen’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, his tone sharp, edged with scorn.

“Why her? Why not you, boy? She is your consort. Your future wife. A queen to be. I understand he took her, that he hurt her. But you are the one who rescued her. If justice is to be done, why do you not claim it with your own hand?”

Obito’s gaze never left Hiruzen, though his hand tightened over Rin’s shoulder.

His voice came low and dangerous.

“As much as I would enjoy tearing him apart piece by piece, it isn’t mine to take. He hurt her. He bled her. He stole what was hers to keep.”

The hall grew still.

Obito’s jaw clenched.

His eyes burned as his voice rose, sharp and clear, each word cutting into the silence.

“He forced her. He broke her body, tried to break her soul. He cut our child from her womb.”

A ripple of shock went through the table.

Goblets froze, hands tightened.

Temari’s voice broke first, raw and furious.

“It’s true.”

Hinata bowed her head, her voice barely more than a whisper, but steady. “I heard her cries.”

Ino’s hand curled into a fist, her blue eyes bright with anger. “I’ll never forget it.”

Ruen froze, color draining from his face.

His chair scraped back as he half-rose, staring at Rin with wide, stricken eyes.

His lips moved, but no words came — only a choked sound, disbelief and grief tangled into one.

Kakashi’s eyes darkened, his fingers curling tight around the stem of his goblet until the glass threatened to crack.

His breath left him sharp, audible in the quiet — shock flashing into cold fury.

He couldn’t even speak; the weight of it left him hollow.

The women’s voices fell like stones into water, sending ripples through every corner of the hall.

Even the kings, hardened by war, shifted uncomfortably in their seats, rage stirring under their skins.

Shisui muttered low, his jaw tight.

Itachi’s eyes flicked briefly toward Rin, then back to Obito, and for once his composure cracked — just enough to reveal fury simmering beneath.

Sasuke’s hand was clenched on the table, knuckles white.

Gaara’s gaze lingered on Rin, sharp and assessing, before he gave a short, single nod.

“Then yes. It should be her hand that ends him.”

King A rumbled in agreement, his fist tightening against the table.

“Blood for blood.”

Hiashi inclined his head once.

“Justice only means anything when the victim has voice. Give her the blade.”

The tide turned fully in Obito’s favor.

Obito turned then, at last, to Rin.

His hand came to hers, fingers wrapping around her trembling knuckles. His voice lowered, softer now, but unshakable.
“You don’t have to be alone in it. If you want, I’ll stand at your side. I’ll help you. Or if you want it done but cannot bear it, I will kill him for you. Whatever you choose, I will bear it with you.”

Rin’s eyes burned, her chest heaving with ragged breath.

She looked around the hall — at the kings, at the queens, at her cousin watching her with wide eyes — and finally back to Obito, whose gaze never wavered.

Her lips trembled, but the words came steady.

“No. I’ll do it. I’ll kill him.”

 

 

 

                     

Until Morning Comes

 

 

The night air of Sunagakure was warm, dry, carrying the faint perfume of desert jasmine from the palace gardens below.

From the balcony, Rin could see the lanterns in the streets, winding through the sandstone city like little veins of fire, flickering as the desert breeze rolled over the rooftops.

Her silk gown clung loosely to her frame, the pale fabric shifting around her legs.

Her hair, unpinned, spilled down her back, strands lifting and falling with every breath of wind.

She braced herself against the carved railing, her knuckles white, her heart too heavy to let her rest.

Behind her, the chamber was dim — only a few braziers casting low amber light across the walls.

Obito had shed his black coat and tunic, finally stripping down to his trousers, the leather discarded in a heap by the bed.

His broad chest caught the fireglow, scarred and hard, his shoulders rolling like a man unused to being bare.

He stepped quietly onto the balcony, boots scuffing the stone.

For a moment he simply stood there, watching her — the small curve of her shoulders, the way she seemed smaller against the desert’s endless horizon.

Then he crossed the distance in three strides and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.

Rin startled, then softened into him immediately, her body relaxing against the heat of his chest. His mouth brushed her temple, his breath warm against her hair.

“You should be resting,” he murmured, his voice a low growl softened by worry.

“I can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head.

His arms tightened, palms flattening against her stomach, grounding her against him.

“Tell me why.”

Her throat worked, her eyes burning as she stared out at the city lights.

“I don’t think I can do it, Obito. I’ve never killed anyone before. Not once. And tomorrow…” her voice broke, raw, “…tomorrow I’m supposed to walk into that dungeon and kill him. It doesn’t matter that it’s Danzo. The thought of driving steel into someone’s body — gods, what if I freeze? What if I fail?”

Obito’s jaw clenched against her hair. His grip grew firmer, one hand sliding up to hold her just under her ribs, the other curling tight at her hip. His lips brushed against the crown of her head.

“You won’t be alone.”

Her tears spilled hot across her cheeks, carried off by the desert wind.

“You don’t need to tell me if it’s too much. I’ll know. I’ll be there,” he continued, his voice iron wrapped around her trembling. “If your handshakes, I’ll steady it. If you falter, I’ll take it from you. Whatever weight you can’t bear, I’ll shoulder it. Always.”

She turned in his arms suddenly, her face lifting to him, eyes wet, voice sharp through her fear.

“And who’s going to carry yours?”

For a heartbeat, his face was still stone.

Then, slowly, the faintest smirk tugged at his mouth. His dark eyes glinted red in the braziers’ light.

“I’m going to be king,” he said simply. “And a king’s duty is to carry every burden, every scar, every shadow. Mine aren’t yours to take.”

He bent close, his lips grazing her ear as his tone dropped into a teasing growl.

“Just suck my dick and give me pussy once in a while and I’ll be fine.”

Her breath hitched — half gasp, half shocked laugh — and she smacked his shoulder with her palm.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Mm,” he murmured, kissing the wet corner of her eye, licking the salt from her skin. “And still yours.”

Her tears came again, but this time with a small, trembling smile. He thumbed one away as if it burned him to see it.

She slid her hands up his bare chest, her palms shaky but determined, tracing the scars and hard planes of muscle as if anchoring herself to him.

“Then take me to bed.”

Obito stilled for half a second, studying her face, the way her voice wavered but her eyes didn’t.

Then he bent, his forehead brushing hers.

“Rin…” his voice frayed, low, hesitant — but the way she held him left no room for retreat.

“Please,” she whispered, her lips ghosting against his. “I want you. Tonight. Now.”

Obito let her pull him inside, the warm night air trailing in behind them before the curtains fell closed.

His body was all hard muscle and heat at her side, bare from the waist up, only his trousers left. When the back of his thighs touched the bed, she stopped, her hand pressed against his chest.

“Sit,” Rin whispered.

Obito searched her face, his jaw tight.

When she didn’t flinch, he lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress, his legs spread, his dark eyes fixed on her.

Rin stood in front of him, her breath unsteady, still wrapped in the silk dinner dress she’d worn at the feast.

Her hands trembled as they slid to the straps, loosening them one by one. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, skimming the curves of her breasts, her waist, her hips, until the whole gown puddled in a soft pool at her feet.

Obito’s breath tore from his chest, his hands curling into fists against his thighs.

“Gods, Rin…”

She stepped forward and sank to her knees between his legs, her fingers tugging at the laces of his trousers.

When she pulled them down, his cock sprang free, thick and hard, flushed at the tip.

Rin wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly, watching the way his head fell back, a guttural groan rumbling out of him.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the swollen head before she took him into her mouth.

Obito’s hand shot into her loose hair, trembling, his hips jerking at the first wet pull of her lips down his length.

“Rin—fuck—”

She worked him with her mouth, her tongue sliding along the underside, then drawing back to swirl the head, her hand stroking what her lips couldn’t cover.

His groans filled the chamber, raw and broken.

“You’ll ruin me,” he rasped, his voice frayed. “You’ll fucking ruin me.”

Her mouth left him slick and shining, her breath ragged as she rose to straddle his lap.

His cock slid hot between her folds, already wet from need, and she guided him to her entrance.

Slowly, she sank down on him, inch by inch, until he filled her completely.

Rin gasped, her head falling back, her hair spilling down her spine. “Obito—”

His groan shook through her chest as his hands clamped onto her hips.

“So tight… gods, Rin…”

Her thighs burned as she moved, but she didn’t stop. She rocked against him, slow at first, adjusting to the stretch, then lifting and sinking back down on him in long, deliberate strokes.

The wet slide of him inside her made her gasp, her nails biting crescent moons into his shoulders as she clung to him for balance.

Obito’s jaw locked, his head tipping back against the wall for a moment before snapping forward again, his forehead pressing to hers.

His breath came in ragged bursts, groans spilling from his lips every time her body clenched around him.

“Fuck—Rin—” His hands guided her rhythm, pulling her down harder, deeper, until his cock was filling her to the very limit.

Her breasts pressed tight against his chest, the friction of her nipples brushing his scarred skin as she rode him.

Each bounce made her gasp sharper, her cries rising higher as the pleasure built in her stomach.

She leaned back slightly, bracing her palms on his chest as she shifted her hips into a faster rhythm.

The change made his cock drag differently inside her, hitting deeper, stroking the spot that made her whimper his name like a prayer.

Obito’s eyes blazed, wide and desperate as he watched her take him.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “Taking me so deep—riding me like you were made for it. My perfect girl.”

Her cheeks flushed hot, her lips trembling as she ground down harder, the slick sound of their bodies meeting echoing in the quiet chamber.

Her walls fluttered around him, gripping him so tight his groan turned guttural.

He reached up, one hand cupping her breast, thumb brushing her hardened nipple while the other gripped her hip to slam her down harder.

Rin cried out, arching into his touch, her pace faltering as the pressure inside her coiled tight.

She clutched at his shoulders, riding him through it, her voice breaking into sharp little sobs of pleasure.

Obito’s restraint shattered. He crushed her against his chest, thrusting up into her as she came down on him, the force of it shaking the bedframe. His teeth scraped her jaw as he groaned, half a snarl.

“Fuck—you’re milking me, Rin—gods, you feel too good—”

Her body trembled, her thighs quivering, her head falling back as she gasped his name again and again.

Her thighs shook as she rode him, the pleasure spiraling sharp and hot inside her.

Every thrust of his hips met her downward push, grinding him so deep her cries turned ragged.

“Obito—” she gasped, her head falling back, sweat beading at her temples. The coil inside her snapped, her whole-body clenching violently around him as she shattered.

Her scream tore free, her nails clawing his shoulders as wave after wave broke through her.

Obito snarled against her throat, his grip bruising on her hips as he held her down, groaning as her orgasm wrung him tight inside her.

“Fuck, Rin—you’re squeezing me to pieces—”

She collapsed against his chest, trembling, still pulsing around him. But Obito wasn’t finished. His control was gone.

With a guttural growl he shifted, grabbing her waist. In one swift motion he flipped her, pressing her onto her hands and knees at the center of the bed.

Her hair spilled wild around her shoulders, her body arching as he yanked her hips back.

He thrust into her from behind, burying himself to the hilt in one hard stroke.

Rin screamed, her fingers digging into the sheets, the angle spearing her deeper than before.

“Obito—gods—”

“Mine,” he snarled, pounding into her, every thrust sharp, punishing, desperate. His hands clamped on her hips, dragging her back to meet him, the wet slap of their bodies filling the chamber.

Her arms shook, her chest pressed to the bed as she took him, her cries muffled in the sheets until he bent low over her, his chest heavy on her back, his mouth hot at her ear.

“Always mine,” he growled, driving harder, faster, his cock hitting so deep she sobbed his name.

Her body gave again, a second orgasm ripping through her, her walls clamping down around him so tight his groan broke into a curse.

He buried himself deep, his thrusts erratic, his breath ragged against her ear.

“I—fuck, Rin—I can’t—”

She reached back, clutching at his forearm, her voice breaking. “Come inside me—please—”

That was all it took.

With a roar Obito drove into her one last time, his body seizing as he spilled deep inside her, hot pulses flooding her, filling her until it dripped down her thighs. His grip locked around her waist, holding her tight against him as he groaned through it, his teeth gritted, his forehead pressed to her shoulder.

They collapsed forward together, tangled in sweat and trembling limbs, his cock still buried inside her, his chest heaving against her back.

Obito’s arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her into him even in the aftershocks, his voice hoarse, broken, reverent against her ear.

“That’s my girl.”

When they pulled apart, Rin gave him a tired smile, her fingers brushing over his jaw.

“You don’t have to hold me so tight,” she whispered.

“Yes, I do,” Obito said simply. His voice was rough, almost breaking. “If I let go, I’ll wake up and find you gone again.”

Her throat tightened.

She cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”

For a long moment, he just stared at her, then pressed a kiss into her palm, closing his eyes like he was memorizing the feel of her skin.

Rin shifted closer, tucking herself against his chest. His arm wrapped around her, anchoring her to him, his hand resting heavy at her hip.

She breathed in the steady rhythm of his heart, letting it lull her, and felt the tension in his body ease at last.

Sleep didn’t claim them right away.

Instead, they reached for each other again and again, as if trying to make up for every night stolen from them.

They made love until their bodies were weak and trembling, until the sheets were tangled and damp, until the weight of separation finally loosened its hold.

Only then, tangled in each other’s arms, did exhaustion finally pull them under.

 

Chapter 45: The Dagger and the Vow/An Akatsuki Wedding/The Crown Prince and his Future Queen/The Garden of Red Clouds

Notes:

To everyone who has taken the time to read Threads of Faith, thank you from the bottom of my heart. This story has been such a journey for me—one filled with late nights, endless cups of coffee, and a love for these characters that I couldn’t keep to myself.

I can only hope that you felt even a fraction of the emotions I poured into these pages—whether it was the heartbreak, the battles, the laughter, or the love that carried Obito and Rin to their ending. Writing this has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, and knowing that you came along for the ride means everything to me.

I truly hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for walking this path with me, for your support, your patience, and your time. You made this journey feel alive.

                                                                   The Dagger and the Vow

 

 

The desert sun was merciless, even at dawn. Its pale light slipped through the lattice windows, turning the dust motes to gold.

Rin stirred first, her body aching in places she hadn’t realized could ache, her thighs sore, her lips still swollen from Obito’s kisses.

For a moment, she didn’t move. She just lay curled against his chest, her hand splayed across the scars there, her ear pressed to the steady thrum of his heart.

Obito hadn’t slept.

She could tell by the way his breathing stayed too even, too controlled, the faint tension still coiled in his muscles.

His hand traced idle circles at her hip, not absentminded but grounding, as though reminding himself she was real and still here.

“Morning,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

He tipped his head down, strands of dark hair falling across his tired eyes.

“Morning, love.”

The simple words cut through her chest.

For a heartbeat, the world felt ordinary, safe, as if they were just man and woman waking together after a night they’d stolen for themselves.

But it crashed back quickly.

Rin shifted, pulling the sheet closer around her bare shoulders.

Her stomach clenched as the thought returned, heavy and merciless. Today.

Danzo’s execution.

Her fingers twisted in the linen.

The chamber, still thick with the scent of their lovemaking, suddenly felt too close, too heavy.

Obito pushed himself up, rolling out of bed with a stretch that tugged across his broad shoulders.

He reached for the leathers folded over a chair.

The scrape of buckles and the snap of straps filled the silence as he dressed piece by piece, black against his skin, readying himself as if for war.

Rin sat where she was, her knees drawn up beneath the sheet, watching him with wide eyes.

Her hands shook faintly in her lap.

He caught it immediately.

Paused, one glove half-pulled on.

His gaze softened as he crossed back to her, kneeling in front of her so she couldn’t look away. He took her trembling hands in his, strong and sure.

“You don’t have to say it,” he murmured. “I already know.”

Her throat tightened. “What if I can’t do it, Obito? What if I freeze? What if I fail—”

He squeezed her hands, hard enough to silence her panic.

“Then I’ll be there. I’ll steady your hand. Or I’ll do it for you. Whatever happens, Rin, you won’t be alone.”

Her vision blurred with tears.

“You always say that—that you’ll carry my burdens. But who carries yours?”

For the first time that morning, his lips quirked into something almost like a smile.

“That’s a king’s duty. Mine alone.” Then his voice lowered, softer, rawer. “But last night… you carried me. Don’t ever forget that.”

Her breath broke, and she reached up, cupping his jaw with both hands, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“Then let’s finish this. Together.”

Obito’s throat worked, the cords of his neck tightening.

He turned his face into her palm and kissed it, rough lips lingering there as if he could brand himself with the feel of her.

When he finally rose, he extended his hand to her.

She hesitated only a moment before taking it.

He drew her gently from the bed, steadying her when her legs trembled from both passion and fear.

She dressed slowly, slipping back into the gown laid out from the night before, fingers clumsy on the ties until Obito’s hands covered hers, fastening them with careful patience.

The intimacy of it nearly undid her — this man who had torn armies apart, buckling her gown as though it were sacred work.

When she was ready, he adjusted the fall of her hair over her shoulders, his fingers lingering in the strands.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Her cheeks burned, but she let him guide her toward the door. His hand never left hers, the warmth of it steady and unyielding.

Together, they stepped into the corridor, their footsteps echoing off the stone.

The palace was already stirring. Soldiers’ voices carried faintly from the courtyard.

Somewhere below, chains rattled in the dungeons.

Judgment waited.

But for now, Rin held onto Obito’s hand as though it was the only anchor in a world about to shift again.

The dungeon smelled of rust, damp stone, and blood.

Every sound echoed—the scrape of chains, the faint drip of water, the muffled breathing of guards who dared not shift too loudly in the presence of kings.

Danzo was dragged forward and forced to his knees, shackles biting into his flesh.

His robes hung in tatters, crimson smeared down his front where wounds had never been cleaned.

And yet his head lifted, his one visible eye gleaming with fanatic fire.

Even on the edge of death, he looked at them not as a condemned man but as a prophet unbowed.

Obito stepped out from the half-circle of rulers, Rin close at his side.

His hand was steady as he withdrew the dagger, the steel catching torchlight, the three-tail sigil carved into its hilt glinting like a curse.

“This,” he said, voice low but carrying, “is the blade he tried to kill her with. The one that nearly stole her from me.”

He turned, holding it out to Rin.

Their eyes locked—her breath hitched, her lips parted, her trembling hand rising to take it.

The weight of the dagger dropped heavy into her palm, and for a moment she swayed beneath it.

Obito’s hand brushed hers, grounding.

“End it with this. Make him bleed with the same steel that marked you.”

Rin stepped forward, her heels clicking softly on stone.

The guards shoved Danzo upright, his neck exposed, the chain at his ribs pulling taut as he wheezed for breath.

Her hand shook as she raised the dagger.

Danzo’s lips twisted into a sneer.

Blood and spit clung to his teeth as he rasped, “Little lamb. You think you can cut a throat? You, whose hands were meant to soothe, to heal? You’ll falter. Because you are not chosen. That’s why the gods put their voice in me—not you.”

Rin’s knuckles whitened around the hilt.

Danzo leaned forward, the blade pressing faintly against his throat, dimpling the flesh but not breaking it. His smirk widened.

“You see? Even now, you tremble. Your child is gone because you were never strong enough to keep it. The womb of a whore bears nothing lasting.”

Her entire body jolted, the words driving into her chest like new knives.

Tears blurred her vision, her throat closing.

She wanted to push forward.

She wanted to scream.

 But her body locked—paralyzed by the cruelty, by the weight of what it meant to kill.

Danzo’s laughter rattled against his broken teeth.

“Weak. Always weak. And when you falter, I will rise again in memory. My words will outlive—”

His sentence choked into a gurgle.

Rin blinked, not understanding at first.

Then she felt it: the heat of Obito pressed flush to her back, his arm curling around hers, his hand gripping over hers on the hilt.

Their fingers interlaced, his strength forcing hers forward.

Together, the dagger sliced across Danzo’s throat.

The sound was wet, final. Blood burst in a dark spray, hot and metallic, splattering her hands, streaking across her gown.

Danzo’s eyes bulged wide, his voice cut into a strangled rattle. Chains clattered as his body seized, then sagged forward, lifeless, into the pool of his own blood.

Rin froze, staring at the crimson dripping down her fingers.

Her hand shook so violently she thought she might drop the dagger—but Obito’s grip remained, strong and steady, guiding her hand until the blade stilled.

Her breath came ragged, a sob caught in her chest.

Obito bent close, his lips at her ear, his voice low and unyielding.

“Not weak. Never weak. You didn’t face him alone. You never will.”

Her knees threatened to buckle, but Obito’s arm wrapped tight around her, holding her upright as Danzo’s body slumped against its chains.

The chamber was silent. Silent except for the steady drip of blood onto stone.

The silence after Danzo’s death was suffocating.

The only sound was the slow drip of blood striking stone, echoing like a clock in the dark.

Rin’s chest heaved, her hand still clamped on the dagger though her strength had fled.

The steel trembled in her grip until Obito guided it gently down, prying it from her fingers with care.

He set the blade aside, then wrapped his arm firmly around her waist, holding her upright against his chest.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

The torchlight flickered, shadows stretching across the rulers’ faces — shock in some, grim satisfaction in others.

King A was the first to break the silence. He rose from where he stood, his voice booming against the stone.

“Justice has been served.

The blood he spilled is answered by his own.”

Bee nodded at his side, murmuring in low rhyme: “No crown, no priest, no god above — just truth repaid with steel and blood.”

Gaara’s pale eyes lingered on Rin.

He inclined his head solemnly, his tone softer but no less final. “A wound has been closed. Not forgotten but closed.”

Tsunade folded her arms, her gaze sharp but not unkind.

“You did what needed to be done, girl. No martyr’s glory. Just the end he deserved.”

Hiashi’s lips pressed thin, his voice as cold as winter stone.

“Let every zealot who still draws breath remember this day. Let them see what becomes of false prophets.”

Jiraiya exhaled slowly, rubbing at his beard.

“Ugly work. Necessary work.” His gaze cut to Obito. “You stood by her. That’s what makes it different.”

Rin swayed faintly, her eyes still fixed on the pool of blood spreading beneath Danzo’s body.

Obito turned her toward him, shielding her from the sight. She buried her face against his chest, her trembling fingers knotting in his leathers.

Obito’s jaw was set, his voice iron when he finally spoke to the room.

“It’s done. His cult will see this, and they’ll know: no faith, no law, no gods will protect them. Not anymore.”

The rulers murmured, some nodding, some grim-faced, but none disagreed.

Above the silence, the chains creaked as Danzo’s corpse slumped further down.

His wide, lifeless eyes stared up at nothing — no prophecy, no god, no power left to him.

 

 

                                                                     An Akatsuki Wedding

 

 

A year had passed since the dungeons of Sunagakure ran red with Danzo’s blood.

The scars of war had not vanished — villages still rebuilt, families still mourned, and the names of the fallen still lingered in prayer halls — but peace, fragile and hard-won, stretched its first roots across the kingdoms.

Old enemies had learned to clasp hands.

The jinchuriki, once chained as weapons, now stood honored as living bridges between nations.

And today, Akatsuki rang not with war drums, but with bells.

The palace gardens had been remade for the occasion.

Crimson silks draped from tall arches, their fabric stitched with silver thread, shimmering like fire in sunlight.

Thousands of desert roses bloomed along the pathways, mingled with lilies from Konoha, lotus blossoms from the Stars and Shadows, and golden marigolds from Sunagakure.

Fountains spilled wine-colored petals across the pools, their waters catching the sky.

Every terrace overflowed with guests — kings and queens in jeweled finery, soldiers standing proud in their armor, merchants and peasants alike who had gathered to witness the union.

Flags from every allied kingdom flew high, snapping in the warm breeze.

And at the heart of it, beneath the great arch of roses, Obito waited.

He was dressed not in silks, not in the flowing robes his attendants had begged him to wear — but in his leathers.

Always his leathers. Black and weather-darkened, reforged and polished until the buckles gleamed like silver.

Across his chest, stitched in crimson thread, shone the crest of Akatsuki.

And across his broad back, unmistakable in its bold lines, was the Uchiha fan — red flame against white, proud and unyielding.

At his brow rested a crown of obsidian and gold, stark against his dark hair. It was not delicate, not ornamental — it was heavy, forged like a weapon, and he bore it as if it had been made for him alone.

He looked every inch the prince of Akatsuki — no, the king to come — a warrior made for battle who had survived to stand here now. And yet, despite the weight of crown and crest, his hand flexed at his side, restless. Because all his strength, all his composure, faltered in this one moment.

The music changed.

A hush swept through the garden.

Every eye turned to the aisle.

Rin appeared.

Her father stood beside her. His steps were slower than they once had been, his leg still marked by old wounds, but he walked steady.

No cane. No limp.

Only pride written deep in his face as he held his daughter’s hand against his arm.

The music swelled.

A hush swept across the garden, even the banners seemed to still.

Rin appeared at the head of the aisle.

Her father stood beside her. His steps were slower than they once had been, his leg still marked by old wounds, but he walked steady. No cane. No limp. Only pride written deep in his face as he held his daughter’s hand against his arm.

Rin’s gown shimmered in the morning sun — pale silver silk lined with a long crimson train, starlight and fire woven into one.

Her hair fell loose, crowned with rubies that glowed like embers, and on her hand the ruby ring gleamed bright.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as they came forward. Sakura pressed her hand to her lips, her eyes wet. Hinata clutched Naruto’s arm, smiling through her tears.

But Obito saw no one but Rin.

Every step she took seemed to drive his breath from him, his chest aching as if he had taken a blade.

For all his wars, for all the blood on his hands, this was the moment that undid him.

When she reached him, her father’s hand trembled as he placed hers into Obito’s scarred palm.

He looked Obito in the eye — not as a king addressing a crown prince, but as a father measuring the man who would hold his daughter’s heart.

“Don’t ever let her fall again,” he said, his voice low but steady.

Obito bowed his head, his hand tightening around Rin’s. “Not while I draw breath.”

Her father nodded once, then stepped aside, his face wet with quiet tears as he watched them take their place beneath the arch.

Rin’s smile trembled, her eyes bright as she whispered up at him:

“We made it.”

Obito’s throat clenched. His voice was hoarse, ragged with feeling. “Always.”

The priestess of Akatsuki Land stepped forward, her robes of white and crimson trailing against the stone.

She lifted her arms, her voice rising over the hush of the gathered crowd.

“On this day, before kings and queens, before allies and witnesses, we gather not for war, but for union. The joining of two souls, two houses, two kingdoms. The fire of Akatsuki and the heart of Konoha, bound together for all time.”

The guests murmured low, the words rippling through the garden.

Obito and Rin stood beneath the arch of roses, their hands joined, their eyes locked.

He hardly heard the priestess.

Every breath he drew was full of her, every heartbeat thundered with the sight of her in silver and crimson, her ruby ring pressed against his palm.

The priestess turned first to Rin.

“Do you, Rin Nohora, swear by your life and blood, by your heart and your breath, to stand beside Obito Uchiha as queen, as wife, as partner in light and in shadow?”

Rin’s throat trembled, her eyes glistening.

She squeezed Obito’s hand tighter, her voice soft but unshakable.

“I do. With everything I am, and everything I will be. I am yours.”

The priestess nodded, then faced Obito.

“Do you, Obito Uchiha, swear by your life and blood, by your fire and your vow, to stand beside Rin Nohora as king, as husband, as partner in light and in shadow?”

Obito’s scarred hand rose, cupping her face. His voice was rough, breaking.

“I do. By the gods, by the graves of the fallen, by every scar I bear — I am yours. Always.”

Rin’s tears slipped free. Obito caught them with his thumb, pressing his forehead to hers as if to seal the vow himself.

At the edge of the dais, Sasuke stood stiff, his hand brushing against Sakura’s beneath the table.

 She smiled up at him, whispering, “One day, it’ll be us.” He said nothing, but the faintest curve touched his lips.

The priestess raised her voice again.

“Then by the vows spoken, by the witness of rulers and the promise of kingdoms, I name you bound. King and queen in love, in strength, in fire, in shadow.”

The bells rang out.

Obito bent, capturing Rin’s mouth with his, not the hungry kiss of a man starved, but the steady, reverent kiss of a man who had finally come home.

The crowd erupted — cheers, clapping, the clash of spears against shields, the roar of voices carried high above the gardens.

But for Obito, there was only Rin.

Her lips trembling against his. Her tears warm against his cheek.

Her fingers clutching at his leathers, holding him like she’d never let go again.

When they pulled apart, the garden spun with petals loosed from the arches, crimson and silver falling like rain over them both.

Shisui was the first to reach them, clapping Obito hard on the shoulder, his grin wide.

“About damn time, brother.”

Itachi’s bow was slight, formal, but his voice softened.

“The world feels steadier with you two bounded.”

Sasuke only gave a short nod, but his gaze lingered on Rin with respect before he turned away.

Obito held Rin close, his arm firm around her waist, as the bells rang on.

 

 

                            

                                                              The Crown Prince and his Future Queen

 

 

The cheers and bells still echoed faintly through the palace, but Obito heard nothing but the sound of Rin’s breath as he carried her through the long corridors.

His arms were steady, but his chest felt tight, as though the weight of everything—the vows, the years of waiting, the sheer impossibility of this moment—was pressing down on him.

Rin wasn’t sure she had ever seen Obito so happy.

“I can walk, you know,” she murmured, though her voice was light with laughter.

“Do you think I would ever allow my wife to walk on our wedding night?” Obito tsked softly, his tone half-mock, half-reverent.

Her head swam from the wine they’d shared, the warmth of it mixing with the dizzying way he looked at her—as though she were the only thing in the world worth carrying.

“I plan to do nothing but worship you tonight,” he whispered, his mouth brushing hers, “and every night after. You are my queen, my goddess. Your word is my law.”

His kiss followed, fierce and unshakable, and when he pulled back his voice broke low, thick with devotion.

“I would find you in every lifetime. I would burn the heavens, the hells—fuck, the entire universe if I had to—just to reach you, love.”

Her lips curved, her eyes shining as she kissed him back, passionate and unafraid.

“You better, Obito Uchiha. I expect nothing less from you.”

His answering growl was swallowed by her mouth as his kiss deepened.

His grip tightened on her thigh, heat sparking through her as he shifted her higher in his arms.

With one scarred hand he caught the door handle, forcing it open without ever breaking the closeness of their bodies.

The chamber doors closed with a heavy thud, sealing them away from the world.

At last, there was silence.

No kings, no priests, no armies.

Only them.

Obito set Rin on her feet, but his hands didn’t leave her.

His palms framed her waist, sliding along the silk of her gown as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Her dress shimmered in the firelight—silver and crimson spilling across her shoulders, clinging to her like the dawn itself.

She looked up at him, smiling through her tears, her lips trembling.

“Obito…”

He bent down, his forehead brushing hers, and kissed her with a hunger that had been caged too long.

Not the careful vow beneath the arch, but the kiss of a man undone, desperate to claim the life he thought he’d lost.

When he pulled back, his voice broke against her skin.

“Wife.”

The word left him raw, reverent, as if it was both a prayer and a curse. His thumb brushed her cheek, and he kissed her again, softer this time, whispering against her mouth:

“My wife.”

Rin’s breath hitched, her hands fumbled at the buckles of his leathers, laughing faintly through her tears.

“Say it again.”

He did.

Against her lips.

Against her throat.

Against the bare skin where her gown had slipped loose.

Each time, his voice grew heavier, more certain.

“Wife.”
“My wife.”
“Rin Uchiha.”

She gasped softly, clutching him tighter with every word.

He lifted her again, carrying her through the last steps to the bed.

Crimson silk tangled between them, catching at his knees as he laid her down across the sheets.

Her dress remained half-on, half-off — fabric twisted at her waist, slipping from her shoulders but stubborn at her hips, as though it too refused to let go of the moment.

He laid her down among the sheets. Her dress fanned around her, clinging at her hips. He didn’t strip it away fully. Instead, he knelt above her, unfastening just enough — the bodice sliding low, the skirt rucked high — leaving her half in the gown that made her his bride.

Obito bent, pressing kisses along her collarbone, her shoulder, down the hollow of her throat. Rin arched beneath him, her breath breaking into small, helpless sounds.

Her fingers pulled at his leathers until he finally shrugged them off, baring himself to her, scarred skin marked by years of battle — all of it offered to her without shame.

“So perfect,” he growled against her mouth before catching her lower lip between his teeth. Her soft whimper spilled into the kiss, her hands tangling in his hair.

He lowered himself over her with aching slowness, their bodies aligning.

His mouth claimed hers again, urgent and consuming, as his scarred hand slid along the curve of her thigh, guiding her closer, closer still.

Obito loomed above her like something more than a man, all raw power and devotion.

To her eyes he looked like a god — not one she had been taught to worship, but one carved out of war, out of fire and shadow, out of the scars of survival.

And she knew, in that moment, she would kneel before him for the rest of her life if he asked it.

She would worship him with every breath, every touch, every part of herself. Even then, she feared it still would never be enough.

Rin clung to him, whispering his name against his lips—soft, desperate, unafraid. Her breath trembled with every kiss he stole, her heart pounding in wild surrender.

He guided his cock through her slick folds, teasing her, running the thick length from her swollen nub down to her entrance.

The motion made her jolt, pleasure sparking through her core, leaving her trembling beneath him.

Again and again he dragged himself across her heat, not yet giving her what she begged for, only stoking the ache until she was writhing.

He pressed the head of his cock against her opening and stilled, the promise of him enough to make her body clench in anticipation.

“Look at me.”

The command was gravel and fire, pulling her eyes back to his. His dark gaze held her, burning, unyielding, making it impossible to look away.

“Watch me as I fuck my wife.”

The words rumbled from his chest, low and possessive, claiming her before he even entered.

One hand dragged across his mouth, as if steadying himself, before it settled firm and commanding on her hips, anchoring her to him.

“Gods, please,” Rin gasped, her voice breaking on the plea. She arched into him, pressing herself harder against the thick weight at her entrance, desperate to feel him inside.

“So impatient, wife.” His voice was low and taunting, a wicked grin curling at his mouth as he pressed deeper.

He pushed forward slowly, deliberately, sliding in just an inch.

The stretch burned and delighted all at once, forcing a helpless whimper from her lips.

Her body fluttered around him, clinging greedily to the intrusion, and he stilled, savoring the way she trembled beneath his control.

His grip on her hips tightened, holding her down when she tried to move against him.

“Easy,” he murmured, the heat of his breath teasing her ear. “You’ll take me when I decide you’re ready.”

Her nails dragged down his back, desperate, pleading. “Obito… please…”

The soft cry in her voice nearly undid him, but he held her there, savoring every ragged breath, every arch of her body as she writhed beneath him.

Finally, he pushed deeper, inch by inch, forcing her to feel every part of him.

Her gasp broke into a moan as he filled her, her walls clenching tight around his thickness. He leaned close, watching her expression, every flicker of pleasure and ache painted across her face.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Taking all of me…”

When he bottomed out, he stilled again, his chest heaving against hers.

The silence between them was heavy, broken only by her panting breaths and the pounding of their hearts. Then—he moved.

One slow, devastating pull back, followed by a deep, steady thrust that made her cry out beneath him.

Again and again, he drove into her with growing force, abandoning restraint as her pleas dissolved into broken moans.

His wicked grin returned, rough and hungry.

“There,” he growled against her mouth. “That’s what you’ve been begging for.”

Her cry echoed, sharp and breathless, as his hips slammed into hers, each thrust harder than the last.

The rhythm that had begun steady and measured now unraveled into something fierce, desperate, unstoppable.

Her nails dug deep into his back, leaving angry red trails across his skin, but he only growled, spurred by the sting.

His pace quickened, driving into her with a punishing force that made the headboard rattle against the wall, the silk sheets twisting tighter around her trembling body.

Obito crushed his mouth against hers, their kiss wild and consuming, teeth clashing, tongues tangling.

He devoured her moans, groans vibrating from his chest as though he couldn’t get enough of her taste.

When he pulled away, his lips blazed a path down her throat, biting hard enough to bruise, to mark her as his.

Her body arched beneath him, hips rising to meet every thrust, matching his ferocity despite the way he overwhelmed her.

The air between them was hot and damp, thick with sweat and the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, wet and relentless.

“Obito—!” His name tore from her throat, broken and frantic, as pleasure shuddered through her. Her walls tightened around him, squeezing, dragging him deeper into the furnace of her body.

He groaned, low and guttural, his hand sliding up her thigh to hook it higher, throwing her wide open beneath him. He drove into her harder, deeper, his control gone, his need consuming him.

“Look at you,” he rasped against her ear, voice strained, nearly undone. “Fucking perfect—every part of you—” His words broke off into a growl as he buried himself to the hilt, his climax tearing through him.

His release spilled hot and heavy into her, filling her until she whimpered from the overwhelming heat.

His hips jerked with every spasm, his chest crushing against hers, until he was spent and shuddering.

For a moment, only the sound of their ragged breaths filled the air. Then Obito pulled back just enough to look down at where their bodies were still joined, his eyes dark, hungry.

His hand tightened on her hip.

“Push it out,” he ordered, his voice hoarse but commanding.

Rin’s breath hitched, but she obeyed, and a low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest as he watched his seed spill from her, dripping down her swollen folds in hot, messy rivulets.

He stared like a man enthralled, pride flashing in his eyes as though admiring a masterpiece.

Before she could catch her breath, his hand slid between her pussy.

Two fingers pushed back inside her, scooping their mingled release, slick and warm.

He lifted his hand, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Taste us,” he rasped, holding his glistening fingers to her lips.

“See how perfect we are together.”

Her lips parted, tongue curling around him as she sucked them clean, never breaking eye contact.

The sight made his jaw tighten, his breath falter, hunger sparking fresh in his gaze even as pride gleamed in the darkness of his eyes.

Her lips parted, tongue curling around his fingers as she sucked them clean, her eyes never leaving his.

Obito groaned low, a sound of dark satisfaction that melted into something softer the longer he looked at her.

When she finished, he pulled his hand back slowly, his thumb brushing tenderly over her mouth as if to soothe what he had just demanded.

For a moment, they only breathed—heaving, tangled, sweat-slicked bodies pressed close in the silk sheets.

Then Obito lowered himself, his forehead resting against hers, and exhaled as though surrendering the last of his restraint.

“My wife,” he whispered, the words reverent, almost disbelieving. “You’re mine in every way that matters now.”

Rin’s heart fluttered, tears pricking her eyes as she clung to him.

“Always,” she whispered back, her voice breaking.

She pressed soft kisses along his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his lips—gentle where their passion had been fierce.

Obito eased onto his side, pulling her into the cradle of his body, his arm winding around her waist. His hand spread flat over her stomach, lingering there with a weight that felt like a vow.

“This is only the beginning,” he murmured against her hair. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

She turned in his arms, meeting his gaze. His eyes, still dark with desire, now shimmered with something deeper—devotion, adoration, a love too fierce to be contained by words.

Rin kissed him, slow and tender, savoring the warmth of his mouth, the steady rhythm of his breath.

When they finally parted, she nestled her head against his chest, listening to the strong, unyielding beat of his heart.

The room was quiet except for the whisper of their breathing and the soft rustle of sheets.

Outside, the world was vast and uncertain, but here, in this bed, on this night, they belonged only to each other.

Husband and wife.

Lovers.

Forever.

 

                                                                             The Garden of Red Clouds

 

 

The war was long over.

The scars of fire and blood still marked the world, but the kingdoms had settled into peace.

Where once drums called men to battle, now bells rang for harvests and celebrations.

And in the heart of Akatsuki, the red cloud banners no longer promised war — they promised unity.

Obito Uchiha was king now.

The crown of obsidian and gold rested on his brow, heavy but earned.

At his side stood Rin — no longer prisoner, no longer consort, but his queen.

She wore no chains, no shadows, only the ruby ring he had first placed on her finger, and the love that had carried them through hell.

Their kingdom was not forged by gods.

It was forged by them.

In the royal gardens, their sons filled the courtyard with laughter and chaos.

The eldest tried to command, already mimicking his father’s voice.

The second darted like fire through the game, fast and mocking.

The third was precise, careful, striking with thought before action.

And the youngest was wild joy, his shrieks echoing as he toppled into the fountain, soaking himself to the bone.

Obito stood watching, arms folded over the crimson crest stitched into his leathers, the Uchiha fan bold across his back.

His smirk tugged, proud and exasperated all at once.

“Four devils,” he muttered under his breath. “My kingdom will fall before they do.”

For a fleeting moment, his chest tightened.

Maybe this was how his own father had felt, standing at a distance, watching him and his brothers tear through the palace halls as boys—wild, untamable, yet bound together by blood.

Pride and irritation, joy and exhaustion, all tangled into one.

The thought softened the edges of his smirk, leaving behind something almost wistful before he straightened again, the weight of his role settling back on his shoulders.

Beside him, Rin cradled their newest child.

A daughter.

Her hair was as dark as Obito’s, soft against Rin’s cheek, her eyes — when they opened — glimmering with the faintest reflection of her mother’s warmth.

Wrapped in silk, her tiny hands curled, clutching at the world as if claiming it already.

“She’ll rule them all,” Rin whispered, smiling down at the little girl.

“Their sister, their queen of hearts. She’ll have them wrapped around her fingers before she can even walk.”

Obito’s gaze softened.

He reached out, brushing one scarred finger against his daughter’s cheek.

The baby stirred, cooed, then nestled closer into Rin’s arms.

His throat tightened, his voice rough. “A daughter. After everything… the gods finally remembered mercy.”

Rin leaned her head against his shoulder, her crown of gold gleaming in the light.

“No. This wasn’t the gods. This was you. This was us.”

Obito bent, pressing a kiss into her hair.

His arm wrapped around her, strong and unyielding, pulling her and their daughter close while the laughter of their sons rang through the gardens.

He whispered, low but certain, a vow etched into eternity:

“This is the crown I chose, Rin. Not steel. Not fire. Not thrones. You. Them. Our family. And I will guard it until my last breath.”

Rin’s smile trembled as tears warmed her cheeks.

She kissed their daughter’s brow, then turned her face up to Obito’s, her eyes shining.

“And we will never be broken again.”

The king and queen of Akatsuki walked the garden together, their children’s laughter echoing across the stones, carried high into the banners above.

And so their story ended — not in chains, not in blood, not in fire.

But in love made flesh, in family born from ashes, in a crown of hearts stronger than any kingdom.