Haru Ōtsutsuki felt a complex mixture of joy and sorrow upon meeting visitors—direct descendants of his venerable ancestor Hamura, still living in the world below. The legend that the true power of their legacy would awaken with the arrival of outsiders had long given him hope. And yet, he deeply lamented that their arrival came at a time when that hope had all but died among the last surviving inhabitants of the moon.
He watched as the man—the Hyūga patriarch—stood in vigil while his daughters slept. Haru could feel it: the power and purity of the Byakugan radiating from both Hiashi and Hanabi. But with them stood another girl. She bore a different surname, yet openly admitted to being the patriarch's daughter. Her name was Hinata. The strength she had demonstrated when disabling the outer sanctuary's puppet guardians was astonishing. Had she not done so with such calm, grace, and decisiveness, he would have dismissed her claims as madness. Instead, her every action unsettled him with its precision.
When the family emerged from the chambers Haru had provided, he saw Hiashi approach. The man's intentions were clear. Haru felt the Hyūga activating his Byakugan repeatedly; it was far more powerful than their lunar equivalent, and surely, he had already seen far more than he admitted to his daughters. In Hiashi's gaze, Haru saw a mirror of his own expression—how he had once tried to protect his own children from the coming war, before they were taken from him.
Hiashi asked what had led to this moment.
Haru knew he had no choice. Hiashi and Hanabi carried the purest blood he had ever sensed; even his own eyes trembled from the excitement of seeing them. Yet, when he looked at Hinata—standing quietly next to her sister—he felt nothing. Only grace. Precision. And sorrow. There was a weight behind her gaze when she stared out the windows.
He told them his story—his tragedy—in brief. Once a scholar, he became a witness to betrayal, as the patriarchs of each lunar city were eliminated in secret. A cult emerged, devoted to the destruction of Hagoromo's world. The war that followed twisted the impossible into reality. The cultists gained control of the moon's Tenseigan, the sacred legacy of Hamura himself. Turned against its own, their power devastated the resistance. Now, the last city on the moon stood on the edge of annihilation, a puppet army marching steadily toward it.
It was then that Hinata acted. In front of all of them, she defied gravity. Floating upward and outward from a window, she moved with impossible serenity. Silver lines shimmered in the air, appearing and vanishing in her wake. Her speed increased until she vanished from sight. Her sister and father rushed out after her, and Haru could do nothing but follow.
They reached the city's outer walls.
And there, they saw her.
Hinata spoke words no one should know—words Haru already feared. As she spoke, the vast golden wave of the puppet army halted. It flickered and died. The death field vanished in an instant.
Haru's knees gave way. He collapsed.
Only then did he realize his legs were prosthetic—puppet constructs. Around him, others struggled, disconnected from their own mechanical limbs. This too was Hinata's doing, her influence stretching to a scale Haru could scarcely believe.
Moments later, the limbs reactivated. The army stirred—but did not attack. Instead, it began to withdraw. In its place, three of the enemy's animated flying birds descended.
And with them floated Hinata.
When they landed, one of the birds carried Toneri and his grandfather, bound and unconscious. The other two were empty, save for their assigned puppet pilots.
Hinata's voice rang clear:
"Things could have ended differently… but for now, it's better to hold the meeting as soon as possible. Why don't you board the birds so we can head to the Temple of Hamura?"
Haru's legs still trembled. But when he saw Hiashi and Hanabi stepping onto the birds—Hinata descending gracefully to join her sister—he caught Hiashi's gaze.
That look said everything: he had a meeting to attend.
<<<< o >>>>
The Temple of Hamura—the sacred resting place of the Sage who had once guided the moon and its people—lay hidden behind the artificial sun's barrier, a radiant wall forged through the might of the Tenseigan. As we approached, the puppet army, once poised to destroy us, parted silently before our passage. Toneri, now cooperating with Hinata, rode one of the summoned birds; his grandfather remained unconscious and bound beside him—just in case he awoke with ill intent.
At Toneri's gesture, the blazing orb before us pulsed. The bubble of the sun peeled open, and for the first time in years, I glimpsed what lay inside the heart of the lunar sun.
Floating stones drifted in all directions—weightless and solemn, remnants of countless years. Suspended at their center, a majestic castle loomed in silence, constructed by the descendants of the moon long after Hamura's death. It had been built with reverence, to preserve the sanctity of the true sanctuary at its core.
There, untouched by time, stood the original Temple of Hamura. Ancient stone as old as the moon itself. The spiritual energy within it was overwhelming—radiating from every surface, every mote of light, saturating the artificial sun. The temple floated slowly, endlessly, in orbit around the glowing core: the Tenseigan. Hamura's greatest legacy. His very eyes, gifted to the moon's children, passed down through the generations as a symbol of hope, unity, and strength.
And yet… that very gift had been twisted.
The sect Toneri once belonged to had defiled it—weaponized it against their own kin. I could feel it more clearly the closer we came: the warmth of Hamura's presence, hidden beneath layers of hatred, fear, and devastation. Whatever the cult had done to the Tenseigan was a sacrilege beyond words.
And yet… I dared to hope. Because beside us flew Hinata Gin, the girl who had made the impossible seem ordinary. The one whose silver eyes pierced illusions and unveiled truths.
With the birds, we reached the temple and dismounted. We left them at the entrance, advancing into the structure's ancient halls. Hiashi carried Toneri's grandfather over his shoulder, while Toneri moved ahead, disarming traps his former allies had installed to defile Hamura's shrine.
We arrived at the main hall.
There, resting atop a dais carved from moonrock, lay the sarcophagus of Hamura. An imposing slab of stone etched with forgotten scripts. The moment Hinata saw it, she stopped. Her silver eyes narrowed, shining.
She saw something none of us could.
"I doubt even Hagoromo expected this," she said softly. "Don't worry. I'll free you, ancestor."
She unsheathed her sword.
In a blur of motion, she leapt across the chamber, slashing through the air in wide arcs. Each stroke sliced not at stone or flesh—but at something unseen. For a heartbeat after each strike, golden and gray threads shimmered briefly in the air, taut and trembling, then vanished.
When her dance ended, she descended before the tomb.
With quiet resolve, she cut her own palm.
Droplets of blood fell—but did not land. Instead, threads of silver light emerged, guiding the drops as they hovered, then spiraled. Dozens of crimson beads formed a precise ring upon the floor, forming a glowing pattern of impossible complexity.
Hinata's eyes flared with radiant silver.
The circle activated.
From its heart, a figure rose.... No, the figure was always there, whatever Hinata did made it visible to all of us, made the spiritual physical.
Ancient. Majestic. His form suspended in the air, weightless as moonlight. His eyes—hollow—yet his presence crushed the room with sheer gravity. A spectral man… timeless… powerful… and utterly divine.
Hamura's will had awakened.