Konoha had never felt smaller.
As Akari and Raien returned through the western gate, the guards gave curt nods—polite, but tense. News had spread faster than they could've imagined. Whispers followed them through the streets.
> "That's him, right? The one they're watching?"
"I heard he's not even fully human."
"Tobirama should've acted already…"
Akari kept his gaze forward.
Let them speak.
But the mask burned against his back like a second spine—quiet, heavy, waiting.
---
Later that night, Tobirama called him alone to the Hokage's chamber.
No council. No ANBU.
Only truth.
He set a scroll on the table between them. Ancient. Fragile.
> "This came from Uzushio," Tobirama said. "Their records hold knowledge even I fear to name."
Akari unfolded it slowly.
On the parchment: a symbol nearly identical to the one on his skin. But older. Sharper. At its center, a name written in archaic script:
Yamihime.
> "She was not just a shinobi," Tobirama said. "She was a force. A priestess of fire, half-mortal, half-something else. Buried in myth, erased from history. But her bloodline… it didn't end with her."
Akari looked up, his voice calm but strained.
> "You think I'm her descendant."
Tobirama's eyes were sharp. "I think you're her echo. Her vessel. Whether you like it or not."
---
That night, as Akari walked the rooftops to clear his mind, Danzo intercepted him.
No words, no warning—just steel.
Their blades clashed beneath the moonlight, silent and brutal. Danzo was a strategist, not a brawler, but he was fast—calculated, relentless.
> "You're a threat to this village," Danzo hissed.
"You don't belong here."
Akari's flames sparked to life, his eyes glowing faint violet.
> "I am this village. I bleed for it. But I won't be its weapon."
Danzo smirked, wiping blood from his mouth. "Then you're already dead."
He vanished in a cloud of smoke—retreat, not defeat.
But it had been a message.
---
The next morning, Akari stood at the training cliffs, alone.
The mask sat beside him on the ground.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then, for the first time, he placed it on his face.
The world shifted.
His senses sharpened. His pulse slowed. A voice rose within him—not Yamihime's, not the cult's… but his own, unfiltered by fear.
> I am not your heir.
I am not your weapon.
I am what comes next.
---
Back in the hidden shrines, the cult stirred.
The Feathered Priest held up a scroll written in blood.
> "He has accepted the mask. The final flame will rise. And when it does, even Konoha's walls will burn in silence."
Dozens of masked figures bowed low.
> "Glory to the Shadowborn."
---
To be continued...