The wind howled past Elias's ears as he fell.
For a moment, he felt nothing.
Only the sensation of flight — of weightlessness. Like the world had finally let him go.
Then—
Impact.
The river swallowed him whole.
The cold was a shock to every nerve, a scream beneath the skin. Water crushed into his chest, his limbs, his skull. He sank deep, pulled by a current that refused to let go.
His eyes snapped open.
The Jougan lit up beneath the water.
Even here — in the dark — it worked. It showed the flow of chakra in the riverbed, the pressure points in the current, the rocks he'd slam into if he didn't move.
Swim. Move. Now.
He kicked hard, twisting sideways to avoid a jagged stone. The river slammed against him in relentless waves, the roar above now a constant drumbeat below the surface.
His lungs screamed for air.
But the river had no mercy.
It dragged him downward again, spinning his body like a discarded leaf. His thoughts scattered — moments of childhood, of reincarnation, of his first night in this strange world.
Am I going to die here? Like this?
The water spun him again, smashing him into something. He felt pain crack down his shoulder, but adrenaline dulled the worst of it.
He clawed upward.
Light.
He reached for it.
And then — breached.
Gasping, coughing, choking on the bitter taste of river water, Elias broke the surface with a desperate cry. He thrashed until his feet touched slick rock beneath.
He stumbled toward the bank, half-swimming, half-crawling, then collapsed on the shore.
His chest heaved.
His body shook.
His thoughts blurred.
He lay there, shivering, eyes unfocused.
But he was alive.
⸻
Time passed — he didn't know how long. The sun had risen, burning through the morning mist. The cliffs behind him still towered like ancient monuments. The waterfall thundered without pause.
He rolled onto his back, breathing hard.
And he laughed.
It was ragged. Broken. Somewhere between joy and delirium.
I made it.
I lived.
No one had followed him. The Senju hadn't dared jump. He had gambled everything on that.
And won.
But survival came with a price.
Elias sat up slowly, wincing at the pain in his shoulder — dislocated, maybe fractured. He checked his body: bruised ribs, shallow cuts, one foot swollen. But nothing fatal.
His Jougan flickered — dimmer now, but still active.
It guided his attention upriver. A few faint chakra signatures — small animals, maybe. Nothing human.
Then…
He felt something else.
Further downstream.
A presence.
Old. Not in age, but in feeling.
It wasn't chasing him. But it was waiting.
Elias forced himself to stand.
I didn't come this far to hesitate now.
⸻
He followed the river.
His clothes were soaked, torn, and heavy. Every step sent pain crackling through his limbs. His feet bled from sharp stones. Still, he walked.
As he moved, the landscape began to change.
The jagged cliffs softened into rolling hills. The trees grew thicker. Moss covered the trunks in pale green. Birds called above. The river whispered beside him like an old friend.
And then he saw it.
Nestled between the trees ahead — a crumbling torii gate, half-swallowed by vines.
Beyond it, a shrine.
Not like the last one. Smaller. Humble.
But old.
Very old.
Elias stepped through the gate.
The Jougan pulsed.
Inside the shrine sat a lone figure — cloaked in pale gray, their face hidden by a wide-brimmed hat.
Elias froze.
The person didn't move. Didn't look up.
But he felt them. Their chakra was unlike anything he had sensed before. Ancient. Dormant. Like a mountain that hadn't shifted in centuries.
The figure spoke without turning.
"You have her eyes."
Elias swallowed hard. "Who?"
"The Watcher who died at the first shrine. She was the last."
"…Was."
A pause. Then the figure turned.
And beneath the hat, Elias saw nothing but white bandages where eyes should have been.
"I was her brother."
⸻
Elias didn't speak.
The river behind him roared on, uncaring.
The bandaged man tilted his head. "You're not from this land."
"I'm not," Elias said. "But I'm here now. And that eye… it's mine."
"You've barely begun to awaken it. The Jougan shows you movement, truth, danger. But eventually… it will show you paths."
"Paths?"
"To fate. To memory. To conflict you can't yet understand."
Elias stepped forward. "Then teach me."
The man chuckled — low, dry.
"You're not ready."
"I don't care."
"You should."
Silence.
Then the bandaged man rose — taller than Elias expected. His presence pressed down like storm clouds.
But he said nothing more.
He simply turned — and walked into the shrine's deeper shadows.
⸻
Elias stood alone.
The Jougan faded at last.
But he didn't feel weaker.
He felt… closer.
To something.
Maybe this river didn't carry me away.
Maybe it carried me forward.
.
.
.
The shrine was quiet.
Not the kind of silence found in abandoned ruins or empty forests — but a living stillness. As if the walls themselves were listening. Breathing.
Elias sat cross-legged near a pool of water fed by the same river he had nearly died in. Its steady trickle echoed softly through the moss-covered chamber. The shrine's ceiling had long since cracked open, letting pale beams of light fall like ghostly curtains through the mist.
He breathed in.
Held it.
Released.
Again.
Again.
The Jougan was open.
Not glowing. Not pulsing. But watching. Like it, too, had learned to breathe.
"Good," came the voice behind him. Calm. Distant. Carved from gravel.
The blind man — the Watcher's brother — stepped closer, tapping his walking stick once against the stone floor. "You're listening now. Not just hearing. Listening."
Elias didn't respond. He'd learned not to.
The man rarely gave praise. But his silence, when it came, was louder than approval.
Still, Elias's jaw tensed.
The Jougan had become more… present. It no longer flared only during danger. Now it murmured in the back of his mind like a second heartbeat. He could sense chakra more clearly — like colors in the air. Shapes in the soul.
Sometimes he caught glimpses of emotions, too. Or intentions.
And that terrified him.
"You're resisting," the old man said.
Elias opened his eyes. "How do you know?"
"I don't. But the shrine does. This place speaks to chakra. When yours trembles, the floor echoes. When your will tightens, the water stills."
Elias looked down. The pool had indeed frozen in its ripple.
"I'm not resisting," he said after a pause. "I'm… afraid."
"Same thing."
The man sat beside him without a sound, folding himself down with the ease of a monk. His face remained wrapped in bandages, his skin pale beneath the cloth.
"I was afraid, too," he said quietly. "When my sister awakened her eye — before the Uchiha came — we thought it would make us gods. That we would finally see the world as it truly was. But there's a price."
Elias's hand twitched. "What kind of price?"
"Truth." The man turned his head toward him. "All of it. The Jougan doesn't show you what you want to see. It shows what is. And once you see it, you can't pretend not to."
Elias looked into the water. He remembered the faces of the dying clan. The coldness of the Uchiha. The dead weight of the man who had spared him.
"I saw things during the attack," he whispered. "I knew where they'd strike. I knew which ones were afraid, which were calm, which were… enjoying it."
He clenched his fists.
"But I couldn't do anything."
The blind man tilted his head. "And you think that means you failed?"
"Didn't I?"
"No." He leaned forward, voice quieter. "It means you're human. The Jougan gives vision, not power. Not yet."
Elias turned to him. "Then what now? What am I training for?"
The man gestured to the water.
"Balance."
⸻
Training was simple.
Deceptively so.
The man did not teach jutsu. He didn't train Elias in swordplay or seals. Instead, they walked. They breathed. They observed.
He had Elias sit for hours near the riverbank, blindfolded.
"Sense the roots beneath the earth."
"Feel the chakra of the bird above your head."
"Count your heartbeat without touching your chest."
He pushed Elias to let go of sight — even the Jougan's.
And slowly, Elias began to sense the edges of things. Like outlines in the dark. He began to hear the rhythm of a leaf's fall. The subtle tug of an animal's presence before it broke a twig.
It wasn't flashy. It wasn't dramatic.
But it was awakening.
⸻
One night, under a canopy of stars, Elias sat outside the shrine. The fire crackled beside him, but he barely noticed. His Jougan was open — not straining, but watching.
And then… something changed.
Not around him.
Within.
The air grew cold. Still.
He saw the river — but not as it was.
He saw it in layers.
The current.
The sediment.
The chakra of fish sleeping beneath the surface.
And then — beyond it — something else.
A flicker. A distortion.
A momentary flash of himself, leaping from the cliff again.
But this time, there was someone else standing at the bottom.
Watching.
The vision shattered.
Elias gasped, the Jougan closing with a jolt.
"What was that?" he breathed.
The blind man stepped from the trees.
"You saw a path."
Elias stood up slowly. "A memory?"
"Not quite. The Jougan shows threads. Possibilities. Fractures in time's current."
"Why now?"
The man tilted his head toward the sky. "Because you're beginning to swim."
⸻
Over the next week, the visions came again.
Sometimes clear. Sometimes blurred.
Always different.
He saw flashes of blood-red skies. A child crying in the ruins of a village. A woman with bandages over her eyes, whispering something he couldn't hear.
One night, he saw himself — older — standing in front of a burning tree.
And behind him… an army.
He woke from that one shaking.
The blind man never explained the visions.
He only said this:
"Chakra connects all things. Space. Time. Soul. The Jougan doesn't rewrite fate — it reveals the threads between fates."
Elias nodded slowly.
He was beginning to understand.
Not the meanings.
But the weight.
⸻
By the end of the month, Elias's chakra had changed.
He could feel it.
More fluid. More attuned.
When he walked, he could sense animals hiding in the brush before he saw them. When he focused, he could see the flickers of suppressed chakra behind stone.
But most of all…
He could feel the land.
The way the river spoke.
The way the trees watched.
He sat beside the old shrine's gate one morning, staring at the valley below. Mist rolled through the trees, the waterfall in the distance catching the early light.
That's where it will happen, he thought. Where they'll fight.
He didn't know how he knew.
But he did.
And the Jougan pulsed in agreement.
⸻
The blind man joined him.
"You'll leave soon," he said.
It wasn't a question.
Elias nodded. "I think I have to."
"You're not ready."
"I know."
"But you're willing."
Elias turned to him. "What do I do out there?"
The man was quiet for a long time. Then he said:
"You watch."
"Watch?"
"Not to judge. Not to fear. Just… see."
He gestured toward the valley.
"The world is about to change. The clans will burn. New powers will rise. And in that chaos, your eye will become more than just a mirror."
Elias closed his eyes, letting the breeze hit his face.
"I'll watch," he said. "But one day… I'll act."
The man smiled — just a little.
"Good."