iii. heiress of ancient blood, bearer of future dreams
"Your wrost sin is that you betrayed and destroyed yourself, all for nothing."
This felt like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare—she couldn't tell. Not when everything ached, and her eyes burned like smoldering ashes.
The air was thick with the scent of blood, death, and something bitter—something vile. Her vision swam with pain as she stared at the figure of a boy, bleeding beside the cliff's edge. His Sharingan blazed in the dim light, but something was wrong. He had only one eye.
Tears of blood trickled down his cheeks, carving sorrowful paths through the grime and wounds. His lips curled into a sad, bitter smile—one that spoke of acceptance, of resignation to a fate already sealed.
"Shisui!"
The anguished cry rang from behind her.
The boy—no older than fourteen—turned at the sound, his gaze fixated beyond her. The roar of the waterfall grew deafening in her ears, and the unbearable sting in her eyes blurred the world into shadows and flickering red light.
A rush of midnight-black hair swept into her vision as a familiar figure came into view—Itachi Uchiha. He ran toward Shisui, desperation in his every movement, but he stopped cold when Shisui screamed at him—pleading, demanding—that he not come any closer.
And then, everything sharpened into unbearable clarity as she strained to catch his final words. But all she could hear was the whisper of a dying promise.
"I'm sorry, Itachi, for giving you this burden."
Blood-streaked tears carved their way down Shisui’s face as he lifted a trembling hand to his own eye. Without hesitation, he dug into the flesh, tearing his remaining Sharingan free. A choked breath left his lips as he pressed it into Itachi’s shaking hands.
"Protect our clan. Protect Sasuke. And above all… survive, Itachi."
Namida tried to move, tried to scream, but she was frozen—her body bound by unseen chains, her eyes searing as if she, too, were bleeding from within.
Shisui took a step back, his silhouette framed against the abyss below.
"He’s coming, Itachi. Go." His voice was nothing more than a whisper now, but there was no mistaking the urgency in it. Then, just before the end, he smiled—soft and sorrowful, laced with grief too heavy for his young shoulders to bear.
"I'm so sorry, dear Itachi."
And then, he fell.
Namida’s vision blurred as she tried to scream, to reach for him, to do anything—but her body betrayed her. She was trapped in place, her limbs trembling, her heart fracturing into something unfixable.
All she could do was watch as Shisui was swallowed by the darkness below.
Namida woke with a raw, gut-wrenching scream, grief ripping through her like a blade. Her chest heaved, her throat burned, and her body shook violently as she gasped for air. But the pain didn’t fade. It clung to her like a second skin, suffocating and relentless.
Her eyes burned—searing, agonizing—as the crimson glow of the Sharingan reflected back at her from the darkness.
The curse of those eyes. The burden of their power.
Her heart pounded like war drums in her ears, and her head ached with a pressure so unbearable it felt as if it would split open. Trembling, she curled in on herself, the cold, suffocating room pressing in from all sides.
This place—it was too much like a cell. Too much like a prison.
And in the quiet, in the dark, she swore she could still hear the whisper of a name falling into the void—Shisui.
"You are awake?"
The deep voice echoed through the cold, suffocating darkness, each syllable sharp as a blade. Her breath hitched as the weight of reality settled over her trembling form.
Her aching, burning eyes lifted, finding the shadowed figure standing beyond the iron bars. Fugaku Uchiha’s grim face was unreadable, his piercing gaze steady and unwavering.
She was right. She was in a cell.
Fugaku’s expression didn’t waver, but there was something unreadable in his gaze as he stepped closer, the bars between them casting long, sharp shadows across his face.
"Take it off."
She barely had the strength to blink through the searing pain in her eyes, her breath ragged, uneven. Her head tilted slightly, the only movement she could manage.
"Take the Sharingan off," he repeated, his tone firm, unwavering.
She tried—Gods, she tried—to close her eyes, to shut out the pain, to make it stop. But the burning only grew, seeping into her skull, carving through her like molten iron.
"I... can’t," she rasped, her throat raw, her voice barely above a whisper.
And it was the truth.
The Sharingan would not close. It would not let her go.
Fugaku's eyes darkened, his gaze piercing through the dimly lit cell like a blade.
"Don’t take me for a fool, little girl," he said, his voice devoid of warmth, his posture rigid with something unreadable.
Namida's breath hitched, her trembling fingers brushing against the blood smeared across her cheek. Her hand, shaking and slick with crimson, slowly rose to cover her eye, as if she could contain the unbearable weight of it—the curse, the power, the pain.
"It doesn’t want to let me go," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Because it was the truth.
The Sharingan pulsed, seared, clung to her like a brand. It was not hers to control. It had become a part of her—a relentless, merciless thing that refused to close, refused to rest.
Fugaku blinked down at Namida, his onyx eyes narrowing as if searching for the truth within her words. When he found none of the deceit he expected, he reached inside his kimono with an eerie calmness. From the folds, he pulled out a dark, long cloth and tossed it into her lap.
"Wrap it around your eyes," he commanded, his tone clipped.
Namida’s fingers curled around the cloth, the fabric rough against her trembling hands. Her breath was shallow, her body weak.
She hesitated, the weight of his command settling on her chest, but she obeyed, slowly, she lifted the dark cloth to her burning eyes, wrapping it tightly around her head, shrouding the cursed crimson in darkness.
Yet, the pain did not fade.
It was cold and rough against her skin, but its pressure helped dull the sharp pain—just a little.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to her feet. Her legs wobbled beneath her, exhaustion and agony weighing her down like chains. But she would not fall. She could not fall.
He stepped forward, unlocking the cell door with a quiet click before pushing it open with slow, deliberate intent.
"Get up," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for defiance. "The elders wish to see you, Namida Uchiha."
Fugaku turned sharply, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone floor as he strode away.
"Move."
Namida inhaled sharply, steadying herself before stepping forward, her legs stiff from confinement. She followed him in silence, each step pulling her closer to whatever judgment awaited.
The elders were waiting.
"Fugaku-sama," she called softly.
He did not slow. Did not turn. The only sign that he had heard her was the way his hands clenched behind his back, knuckles whitening under the pressure.
Her breath hitched, her heart hammering against her ribs as she caught the briefest glimpse of tension in his posture. The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating, heavier than the darkness that still clouded her vision beneath the cloth wrapped over her burning eyes.
"Is Mother alright?" she asked again, her voice barely above a whisper, almost afraid of the answer.
Still, Fugaku did not respond. He merely walked ahead, his presence cold and unyielding, filling the empty halls like a looming shadow that could not be escaped.
And in that silence, something inside Namida cracked.
What had she expected?
She had long since grown used to the coldness of her clan, especially from the clan head himself.
Fugaku Uchiha was not a man of warmth. He was not a man of unnecessary words. He ruled with quiet authority, expectations carved in stone, his gaze demanding unwavering obedience.
And yet… some foolish, desperate part of her had still hoped. Hoped for the smallest reassurance, the faintest confirmation that her mother was safe—that someone still cared enough to tell her so.
But hope had no place in the Uchiha clan. Only duty. Only silence.
She swallowed the ache in her throat and kept walking, matching his pace, pretending his indifference didn’t cut deeper than any blade ever could.
As they reached the towering doors of the council chamber, Namida dropped her gaze to her hands, her fingers absently picking at the dried blood beneath her nails. It clung stubbornly to her skin, a cruel reminder of everything that had transpired.
She exhaled slowly, steadying herself, before whispering a quiet prayer to the god of fire. A useless gesture, perhaps, but one that gave her a fleeting sense of control.
Lifting her head, she forced herself to meet the sight of those heavy doors—the same ones she had stood before a year ago, when the elders had decided her fate, sending her to the academy.
Now, she faced them again. But this time, she had no illusions about what awaited her inside.
Maybe what she did was wrong. Maybe she had been so consumed by rage that she felt nothing when she killed those men. But Namida knew one thing—she would do it a hundred times over if it meant saving her mother and herself from those vile hands.
Because if she hadn’t sacrificed her innocence, if she hadn’t stained her hands with blood, then who would have done it for her and Aeri? Who would have saved them?
No one.
Not the village that turned a blind eye. Not the clan that saw them as nothing more than sinners, ignored and despised.
So she had done what no one else would. And she would do it again.
"I overheard something curious yesterday, before the incident," Fugaku's voice cut through the silence, his gaze unwavering, focused on the doors ahead as though nothing could break his concentration. "An Uchiha girl questioning her sensei, asking about the reason for war... about the endless cycle of hatred that humanity seems to be bound to."
Namida's breath hitched at the cold weight of his words.
Her fingers twitched involuntarily, eyes dropping to the tiny cut on her palm—a fleeting thing, red against her pale skin. It was so small, so insignificant, compared to the deeper wounds buried in the marrow of her soul.
"Isn't it strange," Fugaku continued, his tone a mix of bitter amusement and barely-contained frustration, "that an Uchiha would wonder about such things?" He scoffed softly. "She even had the audacity to suggest that chakra itself might be the root of all the wars and suffering we've known."
His eyes remained fixed on the doors, unblinking, as if he were talking to no one at all.
"I'm sure our ancestors are turning in their graves because of such thoughts," Fugaku's voice was sharp, biting, as his words sliced through the air. "Chakra is our essence. The very breath we take, the fire we unleash, the earth we move beneath our feet. There is no Uchiha who hasn’t felt chakra pulse in their veins, girl. It is the core of who we are—the heartbeat of our clan. The eyes that slaughter, the hands that kill, the power that courses through us. Chakra is emotion, strength, and legacy all wrapped into one."
The weight of his words pressed down, suffocating the air between them.
Namida, eyes downcast, barely whispered, "Yet there is no happiness in it."
Her voice was so soft she wondered if Fugaku even heard it.
But he did.
His gaze, unflinching as it remained on the doors, darkened. "Happiness," he said with an edge that was almost pitying, "is a luxury for the weak. It belongs to those who have not accepted the burden of their duty—those who dare to chase dreams at the expense of their legacy. They are the ones who fall into madness, and there is no cure for that kind of sickness."
He glanced down at her, his eyes dark and tired, as though the weight of the world had pressed them into a permanent shadow.
For a fleeting moment, Namida wondered if Itachi would look like that one day—if he would wear the same hollow weariness as his father, a man burdened by a legacy that demanded only sacrifice. Would he be the same, trapped in a cycle of despair, every night consumed by nightmares that had no end? Her heart bled for Itachi, destined to carry the same cursed fate, the same crushing duty that had broken his father.
"Don’t be a fool and question the Shinobi world, Namida," Fugaku’s voice was cold, sharper than a blade. "You don’t want to end up like your mother, do you?"
Her breath caught in her chest. The words struck like a blow, a raw and bitter truth she wasn’t ready to face. It was as though something inside her cracked wide open, the pain flooding her chest, too real, too much.
The image of her mother—lost, broken, insane—flashed before her eyes, and all she could do was flinch, hard, as if the weight of his words physically shattered something inside her.
"Come on. The reunion with the elders has begun," Fugaku said coldly, his hand pressing against the enormous doors, forcing them open with a heavy, final push.
The sound of the doors creaking open echoed in the silence, a sharp contrast to the oppressive atmosphere that hung between them. Namida stood still for a moment, feeling the weight of his words still hanging in the air like a suffocating fog, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to speak.
The pain was too fresh, too raw, and her Sharingan eyes still burned.
Fugaku didn’t wait for her, his silhouette already disappearing into the dimly lit room beyond. She followed, each step feeling heavier than the last as the darkness of the council room loomed ahead.
Fugaku Uchiha knew, deep down, that he wasn’t a good man. His heart, weighed down by the unrelenting demands of duty, had long since hardened into something that could not feel—at least, not the way he wished it could. He had sacrificed too much, walked too far down a path of darkness, and made too many choices that could never be undone.
But still, he tried. He tried with all that was left of him to be a good clan head, to carry the legacy of the Uchiha with a stoic resolve, even if it meant crushing his own desires, even if it meant breaking apart the things that could have made him human. The clan demanded it, and so he gave everything away—his warmth, his love, his very soul—so that they might prosper.
Yet, in the quiet moments, when the weight of his decisions bore down hardest on him, Fugaku knew that there would never be redemption for him. The blood on his hands, the lives he had steered into the abyss, would never fade. He wasn’t a good man. But for the Uchiha, for the clan, he would remain unbroken. And that, he thought, was the only thing that mattered.
He had lived for one purpose: to carry the legacy of the Uchiha, to uphold the bloodline’s honor, and to serve the unyielding duty of the Konoha Military Police Force. It was a life of sacrifice, of cold duty above all else. And in the end, it would be how he died—entangled in the very same expectations that had shaped him.
Fugaku understood this. The burden was his to bear, and he would carry it until the very end. His sacrifices would never be seen, and his regrets would never be voiced. But for the Uchiha, for the clan, he would die by it.
Someone who has no idea of what a clan means would never understand the depth of Fugaku's devotion. To him, the clan was not just a group of people he was born into—it was the very core of his existence, a legacy that had been passed down through generations. Every decision he made, and every sacrifice he endured, was for the survival and honor of the Uchiha.
Fugaku’s devotion was rooted in duty, a duty that was unyielding, unbending. It wasn’t something he chose—it was something he was born to. His heart might have ached with the weight of it, but he would never allow that to show. To the outside world, it might seem like blind obedience or even cruelty and foolishness, but to Fugaku, it was the only way to ensure the survival of his people, the legacy of the Uchiha.
And for those who could never understand that devotion, it might seem like madness. But for Fugaku, it was the only truth. A truth that hurts, a truth that has long since drained Fugaku of his soul, leaving behind a hollow shell, tainted by the blood of countless sacrifices.
The weight of his actions, and the lives lost in the name of duty, never fully left him. Yet, despite the pain, it remained his only truth. A truth that could not be erased, not by time, nor by regret, in a world filled with lies and false promises.
In the end, what else was there but duty? And in that duty, Fugaku found a cruel, bitter kind of solace. It was all he had left.
"You’ve awakened the Sharingan, little girl?" Homura Mitokado mused aloud, his cold gaze fixed on Namida Uchiha. His voice was filled with disdain, as if he were observing something beneath his notice, something dirty.
"A girl tainting herself like that? What a shame," Koharu Utatane hissed, her lips curling in distaste. Her eyes flickered over Namida, judgment and scorn evident in every line of her face.
"What happened, child?" Hiruzen Sarutobi asked, his voice deep and steady, the weight of years pressing into every syllable. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke from his pipe, the scent of burning tobacco filling the tense air.
His gaze, though kinder than the others, was unreadable—watchful, calculating. Namida clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms, but she did not look away, thanking the dark clothes over her eyes.
She wondered if the Third Hokage truly cared for her answer or if this was just another game of politics, another moment where the fate of a shinobi was decided long before they ever had a say in it.
"Three men broke into our home," Namida said, her voice steady, unshaken. "One assaulted my mother while the other two tried to. So I took them down before they could take us away." Her crimson eyes burned beneath the cloth wrapped around her head, but her expression remained cold, unreadable. "Didn’t we learn to kill before we get killed, Hokage-sama?"
A sharp breath was drawn from one of the elders.
"Such insolence," Danzo Shimura spat, his voice laced with disdain. His lone eye bore into her, filled with something between irritation and intrigue.
Fugaku remained silent, his gaze cast downward as the Hokage smirked.
"You Uchiha always fascinate me," Hiruzen mused, exhaling a slow curl of smoke from his pipe.
At his words, Fugaku's fists clenched tightly at his sides.
"But tell me, little girl," the Hokage continued, his tone light yet laced with something sharper beneath it, "how did those men manage to break into your home—within a compound as heavily secured as the Uchiha’s?"
The room fell into a heavy silence, all eyes turning to Namida.
She met his gaze, unwavering. The air smelled of smoke and iron, of quiet judgment and unspoken truths.
Fugaku’s jaw tightened at her response, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, but his voice remained steady as he spoke, "An investigation has been opened, Hokage-sama. The men have been identified as coming from Iwa."
The tension in the room thickened. The mention of Iwa, the hidden stone village, cast an ominous shadow over the discussion. Fugaku’s words hung in the air, the gravity of the situation settling over the council like a cold fog.
Hiruzen’s smirk faltered for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of surprise in his aged eyes. The Uchiha clan had long been a key player in the village’s military, and any threat from outside would surely stir the pot. But the involvement of Iwa? That was something far more dangerous than they had anticipated.
Danzo's voice was laced with venom, his single eye narrowing. "Iwa? Don’t tell me the Tsuchikage is still holding a grudge over what Madara Uchiha did decades ago."
The way he spat Madara’s name carried the same loathing he held for the entire Uchiha clan.
Namida kept her expression blank, but inside, something burned. They spoke of grudges as if the cycle of hatred hadn’t been passed down like a curse. As if the sins of the past didn’t still weigh on the present.
Fugaku, however, remained impassive, his face a mask of stone. "Old wounds often fester, Shimura," he said coldly. "Some scars do not fade so easily."
Hiruzen exhaled a slow puff of smoke, watching the exchange with unreadable eyes. "Regardless of history, this is a matter that must be handled carefully," he mused. "If Iwa is involved, we cannot ignore the possibility of something… larger at play."
Danzo scoffed. "Or perhaps, this is nothing more than another example of the Uchiha’s inability to control their own affairs."
Fugaku’s fists clenched at his sides, but he did not rise to the bait.
"Yet, isn’t it strange that Iwa men would target Aeri’s home?" Koharu Utatane mused, her sharp gaze settling on Namida.
A flicker of something cold and knowing passed through the elder’s eyes, something that made Namida’s stomach twist.
"They could have chosen any Uchiha household," Koharu continued, idly tapping her fingers against the wooden table. "And yet, they went after a woman already cast aside by her own clan."
Namida’s fingers curled into fists at her sides.
Danzo let out a low chuckle, his smirk sharp as a blade. "It wouldn’t be the first time Aeri was linked to traitors, would it, Fugaku?"
"My mother is no traitor!" Namida exclaimed, her voice ringing through the room, raw with fury.
"Silence, child," Hiruzen's voice cut through the air, cold and final. Smoke curled from his pipe as his gaze settled heavily on her.
"Until we have proof," he continued, tone unreadable, "and the investigation is concluded, Aeri Uchiha will remain under the custody of the Military Police Force."
"You seek freedom for your mother?" Danzo’s voice was as sharp as a blade, his single eye piercing through her. "Then earn it."
The room felt colder as he leaned forward.
"Accept your duty as a shinobi," he said, his tone unwavering, "and join the forces in the war."
Namida's heart pounded so violently she thought it might shatter.
She turned toward Fugaku, searching—hoping—for something. A word, a glance, anything that would tell her he wouldn’t let this happen.
But all she met was silence.
Cold. Unyielding. Indifferent.
And in that silence, she felt the last remnants of hope wither away.
Yet, what could her clan head do against the will of the elders?
Fugaku was not a good man—only a dutiful one. A man bound by the weight of his lineage, shackled by the expectations of a clan that demanded sacrifice above all else.
For him, duty would always come first. Even if it meant sentencing the children of his clan to a path of blood and war.
Fugaku stared at the trembling figure of Namida Uchiha, his throat filled with the bitter taste of blood. His hands clenched at his sides, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like a thousand stones.
For so long, he had loathed her. He loathed what Namida represented—Aeri’s betrayal, her defiance against the clan’s bloodline, her abandonment of their sacred duty. A traitorous woman who chose fleeting happiness over the very lineage that should have been her life’s purpose.
But now, all that remained was a fading, empty anger and the ghost of a woman’s grief. Aeri was long gone, consumed by her own sorrow and madness. Kazuya Senju—was dead, taken by the same darkness that now clung to Namida.
And Fugaku couldn’t help but wonder if this girl, this child standing before him, would meet the same fate—her life swallowed by the endless bloodshed, sacrificed on the battlefield like so many before her.
Fugaku wished, for just a fleeting moment, that he could be a foolish, kind man—one who could save this child, protect her from the inevitable. But that was not his role. He was the clan head, bound to the will of the elders, and to the traditions that demanded sacrifice.
He had no room for pity or mercy. Children were sacrificed, women were cast aside, and blood was spilled.
Yet, a thought lingered deep within Fugaku’s chest, one that he couldn’t quite shake off. Would his son, Itachi, find himself years later standing in his place—bowed under the weight of duty, bending to the cold, unyielding demands of the elders? How long before Itachi’s soul became lost in the same darkness that consumed Fugaku, the darkness born of sacrifice, duty, and an unforgiving legacy?
Fugaku clenched his jaw, the bitterness rising like bile.
He had no one to blame but himself for the storm that raged within Itachi. From the moment he had taken his son into the world of war and violence, when he had shown him the brutal reality of being a shinobi a year ago, Fugaku had condemned him to the same fate he had endured.
Itachi, who had once been so full of light and promise, was now trapped in the same cycle of loss and sacrifice—forced to wear the heavy cloak of the Uchiha legacy, bound to a path of blood and duty.
Every time Fugaku looked at his son, he could feel the weight of his own failure. Itachi’s eyes were no longer as innocent, no longer as clear. The life Fugaku had chosen for him, the life he had imposed on him, was slowly choking the boy’s spirit. Every drop of blood Itachi spilled was another piece of his soul lost to the Uchiha's unrelenting demands.
Fugaku’s heart clenched with a sorrow that had come too late, a grief that settled deep into his bones. He had failed his son. And in failing Itachi, he had only damned himself further.
Danzo’s lips curled into a dark smirk as he turned toward the Hokage.
"Grant me custody of Namida Uchiha," he said smoothly. "Under my guidance, she will become an exceptional shinobi."
Namida bit down on her tongue hard enough to taste blood, her hands trembling at her sides.
But before the Hokage could respond, a sudden knock echoed through the chamber, breaking the tense silence.
"Excuse me, Lord Third," came a voice—calm, steady, yet carrying a warmth that felt out of place in this cold, heavy room. "I am here to take Namida Uchiha under my wing."
A ripple of surprise passed through the council as all eyes turned toward the entrance.
"Sakumo Hatake," Hiruzen announced, his gaze settling on the man who stepped forward.
Danzo’s smirk faltered—just for a breath, a fleeting crack in his otherwise impenetrable mask—before he schooled his features back into cold calculation. His lone eye flickered toward the doors as they groaned open, spilling dim light into the suffocating chamber.
A figure stepped forward, his presence cutting through the heavy air like a blade.
Sakumo Hatake.
Tall, steady, and unwavering, his silver hair gleamed under the council room’s flickering lanterns. Unlike Danzo’s oppressive weight or Fugaku’s cold authority, Sakumo’s presence carried something else entirely—a quiet, unshaken strength.
Hiruzen exhaled a slow breath, smoke curling from his pipe as his keen gaze settled on the White Fang. “Sakumo Hatake,” he acknowledged, voice unreadable. “You wish to take Namida Uchiha under your tutelage?”
Sakumo nodded once, his sharp eyes flicking to the girl standing motionless between the Uchiha clan head and the elders who would decide her fate. “I do.”
Namida, caught between them, felt like a bird with clipped wings. If she was left in Danzo’s hands, she would be stripped down, remade into something hollow, something useful. But Sakumo…
She had no reason to trust him, no reason to believe that his interference was anything more than a passing whim. And yet, something in the way he stood, unwavering, made her want to believe.
Hiruzen hummed in thought, taking a slow drag from his pipe before releasing the smoke into the silence. “And why?”
Sakumo’s gaze never wavered. “Because I will train her to be more than a blade.”
Danzo scoffed, his single eye narrowing. “Naïve. You would waste potential on sentiment.”
Sakumo barely spared him a glance. “And you would carve the soul from a child before she’s even had a chance to live.”
Silence.
Fugaku, who had remained unreadable, finally shifted, his dark eyes lifting toward the man who had just severed the chains of an inevitable fate.
The White Fang had drawn his sword.
Now, the Third Hokage would choose where it would fall.
Hiruzen tapped his pipe against the wooden armrest of his chair, the soft embers falling like dying stars into the dim chamber. His expression remained unreadable, yet the weight of his decision hung thick in the air.
Danzo’s fingers twitched against his cane, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.
“You would take responsibility for this girl?” Hiruzen pressed voice slow, testing. “An Uchiha raised by a traitorous and mad woman, one who has already proven to be capable of spilling blood without hesitation?”
Sakumo’s gaze remained steady. “I would.”
Namida sucked in a quiet breath. She did not dare move, did not dare speak. She could still feel the ghosts of the Hokage’s words wrapping around her throat like a noose.
Hiruzen studied Sakumo for a long moment, his old eyes flickering toward Fugaku. The Uchiha clan head had not spoken, had not interfered. He stood like stone, bound by the chains of duty, by the weight of what he could not protect.
Finally, the Hokage exhaled, setting his pipe down beside him. “Very well.”
Danzo’s eyes narrowed. “Hiruzen—”
“My decision is final,” the Third cut in smoothly, though his tone held a quiet warning. “Sakumo Hatake will take Namida Uchiha under his wing.”
Danzo’s displeasure was almost tangible, but he said nothing. He only cast Sakumo a long, measured look before shifting his gaze back to Namida.
"Let us hope you do not prove to be another failure," he murmured, then turned sharply on his heel.
Namida’s breath hitched, a shiver crawling up her spine. She did not know if he had been speaking to her.
Or to Sakumo.
The White Fang, however, paid Danzo no mind. Instead, he stepped forward, stopping just in front of Namida. She forced herself to lift her head, her crimson eyes meeting his, close enough that she could see the faint scars across his knuckles, the unwavering steadiness in his stance.
“Come,” he said, his voice lacking the weight of command, yet carrying something steadier. A promise, perhaps.
For the first time since she had woken in the cell, she felt the crushing weight on her chest ease—if only slightly.
And so, without another word, Namida Uchiha followed Sakumo Hatake into the unknown.
(If only she knew.
If only she knew that Sakumo Hatake would be the first man to bring her a sorrow so deep, so absolute, that no cure would ever mend it.
After all, the Uchiha were never meant to keep what they cherished most.
Namida Uchiha would come to love Sakumo Hatake more than anything. And Sakumo—Sakumo would come to love this child, this stubborn, fire-eyed girl, as he loved his own son.
Yet even as he took her under his wing, even as he guided her with patience and love she had never known, he understood one undeniable truth.
Everything ends.
And for them—for the man who had the misfortune of being loved by a Uchiha, the girl who carried both dreams and madness in her heart—It would end in the worst way imaginable.).
Kakashi blinked hard, his steps slowing as he took in the sight before him at the door of his home.
Uchiha Namida stood rigid beside his father, her presence an unsettling contrast to the usual polished composure of the Uchiha clan. Her blood-streaked hands, the dry crimson stains marking her face and white hair.
Kakashi's gaze flickered to the small cut beneath her right eye, a thin, angry line against her skin. He wondered if she even noticed it. There was something painfully familiar in the rawness of her. Something that echoed a sorrow he couldn’t place.
She didn’t react to his approach. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak.
Kakashi, still young but not naive, could feel it—a tension so thick, it seemed to press in from every side. His father stood beside her, silent but burdened. That was when it hit him, when the weight of what was happening sank in—his father was holding something he couldn’t fix. A promise, a fate, a soul on fire. And that was enough to make Kakashi stay silent, too.
“…Is she going to live with us?” he asked quietly, his voice steady, though his stomach churned with uncertainty.
Sakumo’s voice was soft but firm. “She is.”
Kakashi glanced back at Namida. The glow of her Sharingan was still burning beneath the cloth she wore, a tortured light she could not escape, no matter how tightly she pressed her hands to her face. He could feels it—the swirling red Chakra of the Uchiha bloodline. It wasn’t just a weapon, not anymore. It was a curse, a legacy that clung to her like a shadow.
She didn’t react to his gaze, her eyes hidden beneath the fabric, but Kakashi felt it on him.
Kakashi's eyes briefly lingered on her bloodstained hands before turning to his father. There was a deep pit in his chest, something he couldn’t shake.
He wanted to ask what had happened. But no words would come.
The silence between them was suffocating.
Namida’s trembling hand came up to cover the cloth wrapped around her Sharingan, as if trying to shield it from their stares, from the world that refused to understand the darkness inside her. She was trying to hide it, but it was impossible. The weight of her power and her pain pressed against her like a wall she couldn’t climb.
The Sharingan was still burning beneath her skin, demanding remembrance.
Kakashi watched her, still silent, his own heart pounding in his chest.
Namida swallowed hard, the bitter taste of blood still hanging on her tongue, thick and suffocating. The edges of her vision blurred. She had no answers. No explanations. Just pain. A suffocating, unrelenting ache.
Then, without warning, Kakashi formed a hand seal, and in a soft puff of smoke, a small white wolf pup appeared at his feet. Its fur was pristine, almost glowing in the dim light of the room. Its bright eyes blinked curiously as it looked up at Kakashi and then at Namida.
Without hesitation, the pup trotted toward her, its small paws tapping against the floor as it approached her, its nose twitching with curiosity. Namida didn’t have time to react before the tiny wolf jumped up, pressing its small body against her chest. Its tongue darted out, licking at the blood on her face.
The sensation was unexpected.
Namida froze, her heart skipping a beat. The soft warmth of the pup’s tongue against her skin, its innocent presence—it was so simple, so pure. So… normal.
For a brief moment, it felt like everything stopped.
Her chest tightened, and before she knew it, tears welled up in her eyes, hot and unrelenting. The wolf’s affection—a creature so free from the world’s cruelty—shattered the dam that she had built around herself.
Kakashi, watching her from the corner of his eye, didn’t look away. He didn’t need to.
“She likes you,” he said, his voice quieter than before, almost uncertain.
Namida swallowed, her fingers shaking as she gently ran her hand over the wolf’s soft fur. The little wolf let out a happy whine, nuzzling into her touch, its warmth grounding her in a way she didn’t expect.
Sakumo, observing quietly, let the silence linger before speaking. His voice was unusually soft. “Mika rarely likes humans.”
Namida let out a shaky breath, her fingers lingering on the wolf’s fur as she took a step back. The wolf settled at her feet, its small body curled against her legs. She nodded, her fingers now loose and trembling on the cloth covering her Sharingan.
Something was different. A small sliver of peace had crept in. It was fragile, fleeting, but it was there.
Namida turned her gaze to Kakashi, her chest still tight with the weight of everything she couldn’t say. His voice came again, soft and full of something she didn’t expect.
“Father is a good person. Don’t worry, Namida.”
She stared at him, searching his expression for something that wasn’t there. Reassurance? Belief? She didn’t know. All she saw in his eyes was the same desperation that she once saw in her own. A boy who wanted to believe in something he couldn’t understand. A boy who thought there could still be kindness in this world.
But Namida didn’t know what good was anymore. Not when her mother had been thrown into a cage like an animal. Not when the world had betrayed her so completely.
She couldn’t answer him, couldn’t say what was truly on her mind. Instead, she nodded, her throat burning with unshed words.
"Where is my mother?" Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
Sakumo studied her for a long moment before answering, his tone steady but with a tenderness she wasn’t sure she deserved. "She’s safe. Under the watch of the Military Police Force, as ordered."
Safe? The word tasted like ash on her tongue. It meant nothing.
Her grip on her kimono tightened, the bitter edge of anger biting into her chest. "Can I see her?" she asked, her voice raw.
Sakumo’s eyes softened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Not yet."
Namida closed her eyes, the flood of grief and fury crashing over her once again. Not yet. Of course not. The same force that had torn her family apart now held her mother under lock and key.
Her hands clenched into fists. “Where is she held?”
Sakumo’s gaze remained steady. "In the tower of the military camp."
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. The tower behind the military camp. The place where traitors were locked away, abandoned, erased from history.
Her breath hitched. She doesn’t belong there.
Namida’s heart thundered in her chest, the ache in her bones becoming unbearable. She had fought, bled, and killed to protect her mother, yet here they were—trapped, powerless, with a system that had never cared about them.
She lifted her head, locking eyes with Sakumo. "I will get her out."
Kakashi’s small wolf let out a whimper, nudging her hand, but she barely noticed.
Sakumo's gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. "Then you must become stronger."
Namida’s entire being shook with the weight of those words. Stronger? It was too much. She was already shattered, already broken. But there was no other choice.
Something raw craked inside her. The ground beneath them trembled, the room heavy with the sound of her pulse ringing in her ears.
Namida’s Sharingan burned beneath the cloth. She could feel it—the raw power, the blood that coursed through her veins like fire.
"She is innocent!" she explained angrily. "She was attacked! My mother did nothing wrong!"
Sakumo remained unmoving, his expression unwavering. "I know," he said quietly.
But that wasn’t enough. Not anymore.
"Then why won’t you do anything?" Namida demanded, her voice rising, full of pain. "You’re a great shinobi, aren’t you? The White Fang of Konoha. You have power. You could make them listen!"
Her words struck like a lightning bolt, filled with accusation and pain.
Sakumo exhaled slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. "Power doesn’t change the hearts of men so easily, Namida."
Her breath quickened, and the room seemed to close in on her. Power doesn’t change the hearts of men?
"The law of shinobi is built on blood, pain, and death," Sakumo continued. "Power resides where men believe in it. And men believe in many things—fear, hatred, war. Rarely do they believe in justice."
Her body trembled, and she felt like her chest was about to burst open. "Then I will make them believe in it."
Sakumo’s eyes darkened, his voice quieter now. “Then steel yourself, child. The path you walk will be the hardest of all.”
Namida stood taller, her jaw set with determination, her eyes aching.
Tears of blood traced the contours of Namida’s face, slipping from behind the cloth that covered her Sharingan. Her eyes, crimson and spinning with power, burned with an intensity that matched the weight of her words.
"I don’t care if the village ignores us, my mother and I," she whispered, her voice breaking the silence with an eerie, unwavering clarity. "I don’t care that the Uchiha clan shuns us, or that the elders think their words are law. What I care about is my mother. Justice. Peace. I care about kindness—even if it’s the thing that kills me."
She spoke as if the very earth could hear her, as though her voice could reach beyond the confines of their world, carving a path no one had dared to tread before.
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she seemed to gather every ounce of her strength. "So listen to me," she continued, her voice rising, "I will bring a new path. A new era. A world where the laws of shinobi will be nothing but a dark past. I will create new foundations, even if I must build them from my bones and ashes. I will change everything. I will reshape the world."
The air felt like it had turned to stone, heavy and suffocating under the weight of Namida's words. Her eyes, burning with the raw intensity of her promise, were wide and unyielding as the Sharingan twisted violently beneath her eyelids. The crimson light seemed to pulse with every emotion she couldn't suppress—her desperation, the hollow ache in her heart, the fury that had consumed her since the day she had first bled for her people.
"The Senju and Uchiha thought they created a nation of peace after the First Shinobi War," Namida's voice cracked, the rawness of her pain slipping through each syllable. "But there is no peace when children are the products of wars!" She jabbed her hand toward Kakashi, then herself, her fingers trembling with the force of her conviction. "When we are trained to kill without hesitation, tainting our hands like soldiers! To hell with them all—Chakra, clans, elders, the Hokage! I will show them all that they were wrong from the beginning! I will create a new era, no matter the cost!"
Her voice grew louder, sharper, each word a battle, each phrase a battle cry. The weight of her words, of the anger and sorrow packed within them, seemed to echo off the walls, leaving the room trembling. There was a fire in her, a flame that could not be snuffed out, no matter how dark the world around her became.
But as the storm of emotion raged inside her, her body betrayed her. The strain of it all, the overwhelming torrent of rage, grief, and determination, was too much. She felt herself faltering, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her vision blurring, the edges of the world darkening around her.
Her knees buckled before she could finish, and her body swayed as if the very earth beneath her could no longer hold her up. Sakumo's arms shot out, catching her in a swift motion, but it was too late. The darkness claimed her.
The promise of a new era, of a world remade, slipped from her lips as she crumpled into his arms.
Namida's small form went limp, her breaths shallow, labored. The blood tears still streaked her face like a sorrowful testament to the weight of her words—the cost of what she had vowed. The Sharingan, still blazing beneath the cloth, slowly faded from view as she lost consciousness, leaving nothing but a fragile silence in the wake of her storm.
Sakumo held her close, his heart heavy with the unspoken pain of knowing that this path, this relentless fight for change, would demand everything from her. And it had already begun to take its toll.
For a moment, the White Fang’s gaze lingered on the girl in his arms. He understood sacrifice. He understood the burden of carrying a legacy.
And as he looked down at Namida, he couldn't help but wonder: would her new world come at the cost of her very soul? Would anyone be able to survive the weight of such aspirations?
He stood still, his grip tightening around her gently, as the room seemed to hold its breath.
Kakashi’s eyes flickered with worry, his small form trembling with an emotion he couldn’t entirely control. His gaze darted from his father’s face to Namida’s pale, bloodstained one, and the weight of it all seemed to crush him in ways he couldn’t put into words. His hands, balled into fists and then released, shook slightly in the silence that enveloped them.
"Is she okay?" His voice cracked, a quiet tremor betraying the fear that had gripped him since the moment Namida had collapsed into his father's arms.
Sakumo’s gaze was fixed on her, a solemn stillness in his posture that made it impossible to read his thoughts. Beneath the cool surface of his expression, something darker simmered—an emotion Kakashi couldn't name, a deep well of sorrow that threatened to spill over.
"No," Sakumo replied softly, the word like a weight in the air. He shifted slightly, his grip tightening around Namida as if her fragility demanded it. His voice carried a quiet, unspoken truth: "But she will be. We will be there for her."
Kakashi’s heart clenched at his father’s words. He wanted to believe them, wanted to feel the security that should have come with such a promise.
Sakumo’s eyes moved away from Namida’s pale face, locking onto Kakashi’s gaze, and his expression softened, though the weight of his words still lingered.
"Listen to me, Kakashi, my dear son," he said quietly, his voice laced with the tenderness that Kakashi adored. "This girl is important. What she holds—" He paused for a beat, as though struggling to find the right words. "The blood she has in her veins could change everything."
His fingers tightened imperceptibly around Namida’s fragile form, his thoughts momentarily drifting back to the past—haunted by memories that would never let him rest. He hadn’t expected to find himself in this position, caught between promises and uncertainty.
“We will be there for her,” he repeated, the words louder this time, as if to convince himself more than anyone else.
But the weight of his own doubt hung in the air like a thick fog, pressing down on him. How much longer could he hold onto his resolve? How long could he shoulder the burden of promises made in the face of an uncertain future? He had done his part, carried the weight of his own sins, but this—this was different. Namida’s path was one he wasn’t sure he could walk with her. She was a force of nature, her fire too wild, her spirit too untamed to be easily guided.
And yet, somehow, despite the quiet whisper of fear, he knew they had to be there for her.
Kakashi, standing so close to his father, could feel the heaviness of the unspoken tension between them. But he nodded, his small face hardening with the determination that mirrored his father’s. The weight of what was ahead wasn’t lost on him. The burden of Namida’s words, of the future she threatened to carve out, was something both terrifying and unavoidable.
"I’ll help her, Father," Kakashi said, his voice more certain now. "I’ll stand with her."
Sakumo glanced down at his son, his heart aching at the sheer resolve in Kakashi’s eyes. He could see it—the same spirit he had once seen in himself, the same unyielding will. It was inescapable. The future was something they would face together, no matter how daunting it became.
"Then we must be stronger," Sakumo replied, his voice quieter this time, as if speaking to himself more than anyone else. He took a long, slow breath, then gently placed Namida on a nearby couch. "We must be ready for whatever path she chooses to walk."
Kakashi nodded again, though his heart felt like it was lodged somewhere deep in his chest. This wasn’t just about protecting her, or even standing by her side. It was about understanding the weight of what she had said.
The future she wanted to build, brick by brick, was one he couldn’t yet comprehend. But he would help her, and he would follow. And in the process, he would learn the kind of man he would need to become in order to face the inevitable consequences of those choices.
The weight of the silence lingered, settling over the room like a thick, heavy fog. Sakumo stared down at Namida, his mind a battlefield of old ghosts and painful memories. His hand hovered just above her forehead, as if to offer some sort of comfort, but it remained suspended, useless, as her shallow breaths filled the stillness.
“She’s strong,” Sakumo murmured softly, more to himself than anyone else. His gaze was distant, lost in the flickering shadows of his past. "She reminds me of an old friend."
The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy with meaning. Kakashi, standing just behind him, could feel the shift in his father’s presence—the subtle change in his expression, the way his shoulders tensed. There was something unspoken there, a connection that wasn’t immediately clear but was undeniably felt.
A name rose in Sakumo’s mind, unbidden but sharp—Kazuya Senju.
The name cut through him like a cold wind, freezing everything in its path. Kazuya had been everything Sakumo had once aspired to be—brave, strong, unwavering in his beliefs. A man willing to challenge the system, to fight for what he believed was right, no matter the cost. But the cost had been his life, and that sacrifice haunted Sakumo in ways nothing else could.
Kazuya Senju had believed that the shinobi system could be different. That the cycle of violence, the politics of war, and the cruelty of their world could be shattered by a new kind of justice. Sakumo had watched him fall, a tragic victim of his own idealism, his final breath a testament to the cost of his ideals.
And now, as Sakumo’s eyes flickered between the girl in his arms and the young boy at his side, he saw something he couldn’t ignore. He saw Kazuya’s fire in Namida’s eyes—her willingness to burn everything down to create something new, something better, something kind.
The thought made his chest tighten, the memories of his old friend flooding back with a brutal force. Kazuya had never asked for the world to change; he had demanded it. And it had cost him everything.
Sakumo’s jaw tightened. The thought of Namida following in Kazuya’s footsteps, of her being consumed by her own dreams of a world that might never come to be, twisted something deep within him. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let it happen again.
But the weight of the situation pressed down on him with an unbearable force. He wasn’t sure if he could protect Namida from herself, from the flames of her own beliefs that were so much like Kazuya’s. He couldn’t shield her from the harsh truth of the world, not completely. The world was not kind, and it would never be.
We’ll be here for you, Namida.
The words echoed in Sakumo’s mind, but they felt fragile, brittle, as if spoken in the shadow of an impending storm. No matter how strong they tried to be for her, how much they tried to protect her, the world had a way of breaking those who reached for too much.
The world had a way of turning those who sought to change it into martyrs, casting them aside as relics of a bygone era.
His eyes hardened as he stared down at Namida’s still form. No matter what, he would be there for her. He would hold onto this promise with everything he had. But in the dark recesses of his heart, where the fear and doubt gnawed at him, he couldn’t shake the thought:
Would it be enough?
Sakumo closed his eyes briefly, letting out a slow breath. He didn’t know what the future held for Namida, for Kakashi—or for any of them—but he knew that no matter the cost, he would stand by her.
He owed it to Kazuya, to Aeri.
But he also knew that some fires consumed everything in their path. He hoped—prayed, even—that he wouldn’t have to watch another one burn. Yet deep down, in the marrow of his bones, he understood that he would.
The weight of it settled heavily on his chest. He would burn.
He would burn for her—for Namida, with her fierce dreams of a world she could not yet fully understand.
He would burn for Kakashi, who still clung to hope, to innocence. And even if the world he fought for seemed impossible, even if the price was everything he had left to give, he would take that sacrifice.
He would die for the ideals of a better world. He would be the flame that lit their path forward, even if it consumed him whole.
No matter what.
In the quiet of the room, as the weight of the promise pressed down on him, Sakumo made his peace. His resolve would not waver—not for Namida, not for Kakashi, and not for the broken fragments of his past. For them, he would carry the fire. And if he had to burn, then so be it.
Under the cold light of the full moon, Aeri Uchiha’s onyx eyes, once sharp and proud, were now dull and distant. Her gaze fixed on the small window of the cell, a sliver of freedom she would never touch again. The wind whispered through the cracks, but it was nothing compared to the storm that raged within her—a fire in her veins, a burning gold chakra that clawed and screamed with every heartbeat.
It was madness. It was sorrow. A curse she couldn't escape. And in the midst of it all, one name echoed, relentless, louder than the rest. A name that pierced the darkness, drilling into her soul like a knife.
Kazuya.
The name twisted in her chest, a deep ache that pulsed with each breath she took. Her entire body trembled, her fingers pressing hard against her skin, trying to quell the fire within her. But it never worked. The pain never went away. It only grew.
Kazuya. Kazuya. Kazuya. Kazuya.
Her fingers dug into her chest, the sharpness of her nails cutting into the soft flesh over her breast. The blood flowed, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. She was already bleeding from the inside out. Each cut was a reminder, each scar a testament to her brokenness.
Her mind was shattered, torn apart by the love she had lost. Kazuya—the man who had once promised her a future. The man who had fought for a dream that now felt like a distant echo. And now, she was left with nothing but his name and the burning, endless pain.
Kazuya.
Her eyes blurred, the tears mixing with the blood on her skin. She clung to the name, as if holding onto it would bring him back, would bring her peace. But deep down, she knew it was impossible. She had failed him. She had failed them all.
And now she was alone, trapped in a cell built by the very people who had torn her life apart. They had taken everything from her—her love, her family, her clan, her freedom, her hope. But they couldn’t take Kazuya from her. No matter what they did, they couldn’t take his memory, his spirit, his name.
Kazuya.
The cry rang out again, louder this time, desperate. Aeri’s chest heaved with the weight of it. She wanted to scream, to rage against the world that had done this to her, but all that came was a broken sob. The walls of her cell were closing in, the darkness swallowing her whole.
They had taken everything. Everything.
Aeri's breath came in ragged gasps as she sat hunched in the corner of her cold, dim cell. Her fingers dug into the roots of her own hair, pulling at them as if she could tear away the pain, tear away the memories that plagued her mind. But it wouldn't stop. It never stopped.
The child. The child with the white hair she had once loved so fiercely in Kazuya, yet now felt a cold, bitter loathing for.
Namida. Her daughter. Her daughter, whose eyes glowed with the same burning fire that had once consumed her lover. The child whose existence should have been a reminder of everything she fought for, everything she hoped to protect.
But instead, Namida had become a reflection of everything Aeri had lost, everything she couldn’t save.
Her chest tightened, and the agony in her mind spiraled faster, overwhelming her. How could she hate her own child?
A voice, shrill and venomous, echoed through her skull. She’s the reason you’re here. She’s the reason Kazuya’s dead. She’s the reason you failed. You failed her. You failed everything.
Aeri's fingers tightened into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She could hear the voice mocking her, could feel the raw guilt tearing through her, wrapping around her heart like a vice.
But deep down, she knew the truth. It wasn’t Namida. It wasn’t her daughter’s fault. No matter how much she hated herself for the emotions that churned within her, Namida was innocent. It was the Shinobi world. It was the lies and the betrayals that had torn them all apart.
And yet... Aeri couldn’t stop herself from feeling the bitterness, the resentment toward the very child she had brought into this world.
A voice in her mind whispered, softer now, more like a pleading: You failed her, Aeri. You failed the world. You failed Kazuya. You failed your daughter.
Her breath hitched, and she let out a strangled cry, her fingers clutching harder at her scalp, tearing out strands of hair as she tried to push away the voices, the memories, the guilt. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want her to suffer. I didn’t want to hurt her.
Her body shook with sobs, her chest aching with the raw truth that she could never take back what she had done. The child—her own blood, her own flesh—was gone, lost to the cold, unforgiving hands of the world that had consumed her.
She hated herself. She hated the way she had let everything slip through her fingers. And she hated the fact that she could never protect Namida the way she had promised Kazuya, the way she should have.
But even with the guilt that burned through her, even with the hatred that twisted inside her for what she had allowed to happen—there was still a part of her that loved her daughter.
A part of her that screamed, in the silence of the night, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Kazuya, Namida.
"Is this really the world? Shall i grieve? Shall i hope?"