Daylight was slowly retreating behind the treetops.
Shadows stretched, devouring the Sanctuary and its surroundings bit by bit.
Madara moved alone, his steps gliding soundlessly between the trees.
The forest was calm—almost too calm—disturbed only by the rustle of wind through the branches.
Nothing caught his attention… until he reached a clearing.
There, at its center, stood a forgotten structure.
Stone columns, eroded by time, leaning as though they had bent beneath the weight of the years.
Behind them, a wide opening carved directly into the rock, topped by a cracked lintel.
The carved stone still bore the traces of ancient knowledge, though the engraved symbols had nearly vanished—erased by moss and weather.
It reminded him of the old temple he had seen earlier… but this one seemed even more forsaken, as if nature itself had fully reclaimed it.
A thick, suffocating silence hung over the clearing.
Without hesitation, Madara stepped forward.
His footsteps echoed faintly over the stone as he crossed the opening and disappeared into the darkness of the forgotten structure.
As he moved deeper inside, the air grew heavier.
The central corridor, roughly carved into the rock, stretched like a scar into the dark.
On each side, small square recesses opened—empty rooms, all identical.
No decoration. No furniture. Just four bare, cold walls, like cells that had never been inhabited, or storage chambers abandoned for centuries.
No traces of fire, no wooden dust, not even recent tool marks: everything reeked of abandonment.
A thin layer of gray sand covered the floor, and each step raised a faint echo—as if the air itself refused to forget this place.
The farther he went, the more it felt like walking through an ossuary without bones, a tomb that had never housed the dead.
At the end of the corridor, the monotony of stone broke.
A wider opening took shape—a main chamber carved into the rock, circular, from which emanated a light.
Not natural light—too pure, too cold—but a blue glow, faintly pulsing like the heartbeat of something asleep.
The polished walls, as if shaped by invisible hands, reflected shards of azure here and there.
The room seemed to wait, suspended beyond time, and that solitary glow gave it an almost sacred weight—
as though the secret of this structure existed only to protect that single light.
The central hall opened like a stone maw.
An ancient breath swept through it, carrying the scent of dust and dormant magic.
Columns carved from the same rock supported a cracked vault where droplets of moisture formed and fell in slow rhythm.
And at the center, he saw it.
A crystal.
Vast—shaped by human hands, yet beating faintly, like a living heart.
Its blue light pulsed, bright then dim, as if it breathed.
And within that frozen transparency… a silhouette.
A woman, delicate, still.
Madara did not move.
His gaze sank into the crystal.
Each magical pulse struck his mind like a drumbeat.
At first, he thought it an illusion—but no.
It was too tangible, too heavy to be a mirage.
"…A body… no. A vessel," he thought, disturbed.
For the first time since his arrival in this world, his certainty faltered.
Madara stepped closer, his footsteps echoing through the empty chamber.
His shadow fell over the bluish stone.
He raised his hand—almost against his will—and touched the cold surface with his fingers.
The light reacted instantly.
A brighter flash, like a heart suddenly racing.
The woman's shadow shifted within the crystal.
His eyes widened for a mere instant.
Then, as always, his composure returned.
Something tightened in his chest.
Was it pity? Anger?
Or a fascination he refused to name?
Slowly, he withdrew his hand.
Everything went still again, as though even the stone itself refused to breathe.
Madara crossed the threshold once more, leaving behind the cold air and the faint blue glow of the crystal.
Outside, the air felt heavier—laden with the forest's damp breath and the quiet rustle of leaves.
He took a few steps. His red eyes narrowed.
There.
A presence.
Faint, almost erased—but real.
Small. Light. Hidden in the shadows near the trees.
A breath barely perceptible, an aura weak yet distinct.
Madara did not move immediately.
He turned his head slowly, his Sharingan slicing through the dark.
Between two roots, sheltered beneath the branches, a small figure was curled up.
Too small for an adult, too calm for an animal.
A child.
Or something that merely wore that shape.
Their gazes met for an instant.
The stranger did not flee, nor advance.
Simply watched.
Madara's lips curved into a thin, cold smile.
— "...A watchdog, then?" he murmured.
He did nothing more.
His steps resumed, heavy and deliberate, as though accepting the unseen gaze that followed him.
After all, he was an intruder in a place that wasn't his.
And in this world, shadows always had eyes.
The forest swallowed him once again.
High above, the moon filtered through the canopy, scattering pale glimmers across his crimson armor.
His footsteps echoed softly over the damp soil—slow, steady—and with each beat, the night seemed to deepen.
He walked for a long time, without searching for any path.
Darkness engulfed him, lit only by the moon's faint shimmer.
And still, behind him, he could feel that gaze — silent, constant, and unblinking.
Madara advanced through the night, his pace measured, guided by a memory still burning within him.
That temple.
That mass of stone buried beneath the hill, filled with an energy unlike anything he had ever felt in this world.
Not a ruin. Not a remnant.
No—something alive. A pulse.
As if the rock itself still breathed… as if the place was calling to him.
So he walked. Slowly, but without hesitation.
Each step was weighed; each rustle of grass died before it was born.
The forest seemed suspended in breathless stillness, as though every branch held its silence.
He was already part of its shadow.
An exercise — that's what he made of it.
Years of battle had taught him that an enemy was not always seen, but always present.
Here, he didn't know what was watching… or listening.
So he chose to disappear.
His breathing slowed.
His muscles, relaxed, flowed with the terrain.
Even the insects seemed to ignore his presence.
Moonlight pierced the leaves in fleeting intervals, but he was nothing more than a reflection —
a faint red glimmer buried in the forest's depths.
And still, that gaze behind him — faint, patient, clinging to him like a loyal shadow.
Madara betrayed nothing.
He even smiled, quietly to himself.
"Let them watch… If they wish to understand me, they'll need more than a single glance."
The closer he came, the stronger the resonance grew — a low vibration rising from the ground to his skull.
The source. The origin.
And with it, a certainty: that temple hadn't merely intrigued him.
It had been waiting for him.
At the edge of the clearing, Madara stopped.
His body melted into the dark, as though it had never existed.
Only his red eyes remained, glowing faintly beneath the night's veil.
Before the temple, a small group stood gathered a few dozen meters away.
Subaru.
Emilia — trembling, exhausted, her breath short.
A girl with pink hair — Ram, likely — frozen in place, her face hard as stone.
And Garfiel — silent, his rage seemingly restrained by an unseen hand.
But it wasn't them that Madara observed the longest.
His eyes locked on Subaru.
That look… it wasn't the same.
Hours earlier, this man had fidgeted, spoken too quickly, nearly shaking at every surprise.
But now, in his eyes, something different burned — a steady flame, raw and bare, out of place amidst the chaos around him.
Emilia drained, Ram unmoving, Garfiel on the verge — and yet Subaru showed neither panic nor confusion.
No. It was something else.
Madara narrowed his eyes.
"That look…"
Nothing more. No explanation. No interpretation.
He remained still — the observer — and filed the thought away.
A faint, imperceptible smile crossed his lips.
Hidden within the dark, Madara became one with the night.
His eyes followed the small group as they disappeared into the forest.
Their silhouettes faded between the trees, swallowed by shadow, until only the faint rustle of leaves remained.
He waited.
For moments — or perhaps longer.
Silence reclaimed its reign, heavy and oppressive.
Only then did Madara move.
One step. Then another.
The wet grass betrayed no sound. His cloak melted into shadow.
He stopped once more at the center of the clearing, where the moonlight struck the temple's face.
At this hour, the structure looked older still — carved from raw stone, worn by time.
And yet… something within it endured. Alive.
Madara placed his hand upon the cold surface.
A faint vibration rippled beneath his fingers — almost imperceptible.
This was no ordinary ruin.
The memory of the crystal flashed back to him — that blue light, that face frozen within it.
An enigma that refused to sleep.
What if the answers were here?
He drew a slow breath. His gaze hardened.
"To understand this world… that is what I seek. And this Sanctuary… may well hold one of its keys."
Without a sound, he crossed the threshold.
And the darkness of the temple closed behind him.