"Karin, if you don't come sit down, your tea will get cold," Kanna called as we sat in the shadow of a small pavilion and watched little Karin run around. Her footsteps echoed softly across the polished stones that made up the paths between the different garden features.
"Yes, yes!" Karin shouted back—but showed no intention of stopping her play, jumping, running, and skipping from stone to stone.
"Ahhh," Kanna sighed. "She is really starting to rebel… never listening to what I'm saying."
"She's just finding herself. It's perfectly normal, I assure you," I comforted her the best I could. Kids always had a few rebellious phases—though the number of children that turned fully against their mothers, trying to kill or seal them away over the words of a toad, was very small.
Little Karin, at least, wouldn't be doing anything like that.
I had ensured that she disliked toads. Instead, she liked rabbits.
I had, after all, once been known as the Rabbit Goddess, so I gave her rabbit-themed toys over the years, and she grew to like the animal.
It certainly also helped that rabbits were cute—and toads were horrid monsters and liars.
"You only say that because she listens to you," Kanna complained.
"Think of it like this." I paused to take a sip of my tea. "She knows you love her, and will still love her even if she's a brat. She trusts that you will always love her, no matter what. She listens to me because she is afraid I will abandon her."
Kanna stiffened at that.
She turned to look at me, brows knitting together. "You wouldn't."
I tilted my head slightly, the porcelain cup warm between my fingers. "Of course not."
"That's not what you said."
"No," I agreed calmly. "It is what she believes."
Kanna fell quiet.
She watched Karin leap from one stone to the next, arms spread wide for balance, laughter ringing freely through the garden. There was no fear in her movements, no hesitation—only trust that the ground would be there when her foot came down.
"That's… cruel," Kanna said finally, though her voice lacked any real accusation.
"It is honest," I corrected. "Children understand power long before they understand love. Karin knows you are her mother. She knows you will stay." I paused. "I am something else."
Kanna didn't argue.
She knew it was true.
Karin skidded to a stop at the edge of the pavilion, peeking around one of the wooden pillars with an exaggerated attempt at stealth. "Are you talking about me?"
"No," Kanna said immediately.
"Yes," I said at the same time.
Karin grinned, utterly unrepentant, and marched over to us. She clambered onto the cushion beside Kanna, grabbed her cup with both hands, and took a dramatic sip—only to recoil instantly.
"It's cold!"
"That's what happens," Kanna said pointedly, "when you don't listen."
Karin stuck her tongue out, then held the cup out toward me. "Please, Sensei, could you heat it for me?" she asked, her eyes instantly getting wet and soft, really giving me the puppy eyes.
She was good at those. There wasn't a single servant in the entire palace who hadn't fallen before her begging.
Despite spending some of her more formative years surrounded by other noble children, Karin still preferred to ask for things rather than demand them.
Kanna still doubted her ability as a mother, but she was good.
Karin was a good child, and that was thanks to Kanna's effort. But despite the amount of time that had passed since her days in Kusagakure, the shadow from that time had never fully left her.
Even now, she struggled to accept the noble identity she had gained.
But the Uzumaki clan was noble; none could deny that. They had once ruled a country—sure, not a large one—but they had been rulers of one nonetheless.
And a lot more recently than the other ninja clans, at that.
"Fine, but only because you asked nicely." I reached a hand over her cup, and with a bit of chakra, I had the tea steaming a moment later. "Now remember—it's hot, so be careful," I warned her as I pulled my hand back.
"Thanks!" Karin said, and sipped her tea right away. "AH! It's hot!" she cried out.
Kanna sighed so deeply it bordered on theatrical. "She told you to be careful."
Karin huffed, blowing at the tea with exaggerated seriousness before taking a much smaller sip. This time she nodded approvingly. "Perfect."
I allowed myself a small smile.
Children learned quickly when consequences were immediate.
Kanna watched her for a moment longer, then glanced back at me. "You didn't have to."
"I did," I replied mildly. "It would have been cruel to let it stay cold."
She snorted softly. "But not cruel to let her burn her tongue?"
"That was entirely her own fault," I corrected.
Karin, entirely unbothered, swung her legs happily from the cushion, humming to herself as she drank. The faint ripple of chakra beneath her skin was stronger now—still unfocused, still wild, but undeniably present.
At four years old, she had only just started to be able to use her chakra. She couldn't do much yet, but it was growing stronger daily.
And for now, that was all that mattered. She was an Uzumaki, so she already had a lot of chakra, and it would only continue to grow.
"Kaguya-hime," Kanna said softly, breaking the silence. "How long are we staying here?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Instead, I watched the steam curl from Karin's cup, thinning as it rose, vanishing into the air. Everything did that eventually—heat, comfort, peace.
Time did not pause simply because one wished it to.
"Not much longer," I said at last.
Kanna's fingers tightened around her own cup. "Something's going to happen."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
She nodded, unsurprised. Living beside me had cured her of expecting otherwise. "Will it be dangerous?"
"For others," I said.
That answer satisfied her far less than it should have.
Karin slid off the cushion again, cup forgotten, and trotted back toward the stones. "I'm going to jump all the way across this time!"
"Don't run," Kanna called automatically.
"I'm not running!" Karin shouted back—already running.
I closed my eyes beneath the blindfold.
I had been following the news of recent events closely, and after years of posturing and a few small fights, peace once more seemed likely.
That was at least what everyone was saying—what everyone was hoping.
But I knew the truth. I knew of a secret that few knew about.
I knew that the Kumo delegation heading toward Konoha wasn't there just to sign the new treaty.
Unless my actions had changed things beyond what I anticipated, they would kidnap Hinata—and in turn, the kidnapper would be slain by Hiashi.
A heroic act, to save one's daughter from a fate worse than death.
Yet, rather than something that would be celebrated, that act would condemn another man to death, and another child to grow up without a parent.
I knew Hizashi. While my relationship with him was nowhere near as close as what I had with Hiashi, I still knew he was a good man.
And while I knew that he would choose to die there—making a choice in freedom—I still doubted he wouldn't rather just live, even if that was the life of a slave.
After all, I knew that he wasn't mistreated. Hiashi cared for his brother even if he failed to show it.
I had already decided that I wouldn't allow this to happen.
I hadn't been able to stop Minato and Kushina's deaths… but that didn't mean I couldn't stop Hizashi's.
(End of chapter)
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