Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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“Without peace, all other dreams vanish and are reduced to ashes.”

The wind blew through what was left of Uzushiogakure, carrying the sharp scent of salt and sea. Sakura stood on the edge of a broken wall, staring out at the dark stretch of ocean.

Ruins behind her. Water ahead. Nothing in between.

She thought there’d be…something. A feeling. Echoes of the past, maybe. But it was just quiet. Dead quiet.

Fitting.

Her chest felt the same — hollow, heavy. Like something had been scooped out and never filled back in properly.

She shifted her pack on her shoulder and kept walking. The gravel crunched under her sandals, loud in the silence. She didn’t know what she was looking for. Just knew that standing still made it worse. Gave the memories too much room to breathe.

Neji’s lifeless body. Rin’s bittersweet farewell. Sai walking away without a word. 

Herself, standing in the midst of blood and corpses, feeling nothing.

Yeah. Memories had a way of crawling in when there was nothing else to block them out.

She ducked under the remains of a stone arch and laid a hand on the cool surface. Leaving Konoha was supposed to help. Supposed to give her space to breathe. But all it did was strip everything away. No noise. No distractions. Just her. And everything she didn’t want to think about.

She exhaled, watching the tide pull in and out. The wind was cold, biting against her skin. She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

She’d been through worse. Hell, she was worse.

The thought made her jaw clench.

Anger stirred — old and familiar. At the world, at herself, at everything she couldn’t fix. At the emptiness that still lingered no matter how far she ran. 

People she couldn’t save. People she’d lost. People she’d killed.

And under it all, that heavy, choking weight. Guilt. Grief.

She opened her eyes and looked around again. This place was supposed to matter. Her grandmother’s homeland. A piece of her she never knew.

Didn’t feel like anything now. Just stone and cold air.

Still, she stayed.

Because there was nowhere else to go.

A quiet tune slipped from her lips, barely more than a whisper against the wind. She sat on the cliff’s edge, legs swinging idly, watching the waves below. The melody trembled in the air, a song meant for ghosts.

“The stormy waves come to and fro,
The sleeping child will never know
The stormy waters of Uzushio,
How deep it goes, how deep it goes.”

She hadn’t sung that in years. Not since the war. Not since Neji.

The lullaby belonged to another time, a better time. Something Rei-baachan would hum as she stroked her hair, something simple and safe, meant to chase away bad dreams. Something to pull Neji’s tears away when the nights were too long and the world felt too heavy.

Her voice wavered on the next verse, the lullaby catching in her throat.

“So heed the call of crashing waves,
Lest the children won’t behave.
For men and women oh so brave,
Take secrets to their ocean grave.”

Then nothing. Just the wind. The waves.

Sakura closed her eyes. Let the sound of the sea fill her up for a second. The lyrics hit different now. Heavier. She used to think they were just words.

Now she knew better.

Secrets did go to the grave. And grief didn’t disappear just because you were quiet about it.

She didn’t believe in lullabies anymore. They didn’t bring people back. Didn’t undo choices. But just for a second, she let herself pretend.

Pretend she was still that girl, curled up in her grandmother’s arms.

Pretend Neji was beside her, listening the way he always had.

Pretend Rin was still laughing, that Sai stayed

Pretend she hadn’t become someone she barely recognized.

The moment passed. It always did.

She opened her eyes. Watched the waves again.

The sea didn’t care. It just kept going. Like nothing ever happened.

Then she felt it.

A chill. Subtle, slipping through the warm breeze, just enough to raise the hairs on her arms.

The ruins were still silent, but something had changed. The quiet felt heavy now. Waiting.

She let out a slow breath, hand brushing her chest. Probably nothing. Probably just tired.

Then—

Whispers. Light, distant, almost playful.

“Mitama-chan…”

“It’s been so long.”

“She’s one of us,” another voice giggled.

Sakura froze. Her pulse kicked up as she turned, scanning the empty ruins. Nothing. Just broken stone and the restless sea beyond.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. She listened, heartbeat pounding in her ears.

"Who’s there?" she called, voice steady despite the unease curling in her stomach. "Show yourselves."

More laughter, echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once. Not cruel. Just…amused. Too light for a place like this.

"We can’t, silly!"

"We don’t have selves anymore," another explained, as if it were obvious.

Sakura’s gaze swept the ruins again, sharper this time. And then—

A flicker of light.

Not solid, not quite real. Just faint, shifting outlines in the air, flickering like mist caught in the wind. Small figures, no taller than her waist. Children.

"She doesn’t know what she is."

"A child of Mitama," they whispered, their voices weaving together in a lilting, singsong chorus.

Sakura frowned, a strange unease curling in her stomach. That name. Mitama. It stirred something in the back of her mind, something she couldn’t quite grasp. It felt familiar, like the remnants of a half-forgotten dream.

She licked her lips. “Mitama…” It felt familiar and wrong at the same time. Like something she should know.

“Who is that?” she asked cautiously. “And what do you mean, I’m one of you?”

"Mitama is Mitama," one voice answered simply, unhelpfully.

"A child born of waves, bound to what’s lost," another murmured.

"You belong to the sea. To Uzushio, like us.”

Sakura’s breath hitched. 

Yūrei.

Not just voices. Not just whispers in the wind.

Spirits. The lost children of Uzushio.

Her fingers curled into fists. It wasn’t fear that gripped her; it was something else. Something deeper. A strange, bitter sadness at the thought of these children, trapped here, forgotten by time.

“I’m not one of you,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered slightly at the end. “I’m alive.”

"For now."

"But you hear us, don’t you?"

"You feel it. The call of the sea, the pull of what’s been lost."

A shiver crept down her spine. That itch under her skin — sharp, insistent — was back. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to feel anything. She’d come here to get away. To stop remembering. Not to get tangled up in something she didn’t understand.

“Leave me alone,” she muttered, turning away. “You’re just…ghosts.”

"Ghosts, yes!" they giggled.

"But we’ll be watching, nee-chan," one whispered, their voice fading like the wind.

And then, silence.

The air felt lighter again, like they’d never been there at all. But she knew better. She could still feel them. Just barely. Clinging to the edges of her awareness.

She stood at the cliff’s edge, staring out at the sea. The lullaby drifted back to her, the words soft and strange now.

Take secrets to their ocean grave…

She let out a slow breath, forcing the unease down.

Child of Mitama.

It meant nothing.

And yet…

Some part of her knew it wouldn’t be the last time she heard that name.

Below her, Uzushio stretched out like a skeleton, picked clean by time. 

From here, she could see it — something she hadn’t noticed before. The winding streets, the remnants of walls, the layout itself…all spiraled inward, coiling toward a single point.

At the heart of it stood a building. Bigger than the rest. Still standing, somehow. Its stone walls battered but stubborn, covered in old seals — faded, cracked, but not gone.

The sight of them sent another shiver through her.

For a second, she almost saw it.

Children laughing as they ran through the streets. Merchants calling out their wares. Families lingering by market stalls. Voices. Laughter.

Now, just wind and stone.

The spiral meant something. It wasn’t just for show. It was a story, built into the bones of this place. But what the hell was it trying to say?

Sakura adjusted her bag and pulled in a slow breath.

She didn’t come here just to stand around.

Her sandals scraped against the broken streets as she moved, the sound too loud in the stillness.

Most of the buildings were piles of rubble now, half-swallowed by vines and rain. But the center building — it held.

It shouldn’t have. Everything else was falling apart. But it stood like it was waiting.

She stepped through the doorway.

The air inside was wrong. Heavy. Cold. The kind of quiet that pressed in on you, filled up your lungs, made it hard to breathe.

No gulls. No wind.

Just silence.

Then—

Whispers.

"Find it…" one voice sang, playful and distant.

"She doesn’t know…" another murmured, closer this time.

"She’s one of us," a third whispered, just behind her.

Sakura’s heart kicked hard against her ribs, but she didn’t turn.

Wouldn’t matter if she did.

"Find what?" she asked, keeping her voice even. "What do you want me to find?"

The voices giggled again, curling around her like mist.

"There’s a secret."

"You have to find it," another added, laughter threading through their words.

Sakura scanned the room, scowling.

The yūrei weren’t going to hand her answers. Fine. She’d figure it out herself.

Whatever they wanted her to find, she’d have to figure out on her own. And she knew better than to assume their intentions were good.

She moved slowly over the broken floor, ignoring the whispers brushing past her like dry leaves. The place was huge — grand once, but stripped bare now. Still, something about it felt untouched. On purpose.

Her eyes caught the grooves in the stone floor, spiraling toward a raised platform in the center. Not just for show. Too clean. Too exact.

It reminded her of something Rei-baachan used to say about Uzushio’s defenses — layered, tricky, impossible to break unless you knew exactly where to look.

The whispers pressed in, restless. She shut them out.

Step by step, she crossed the floor.

At the platform’s base, she crouched, brushing dust away with her fingers. Carvings — faint, but there.

Seals.

The whispers grew louder, more insistent.  

"Almost there…"

Sakura kept her face blank, even as her pulse picked up.

These seals weren’t decoration. They were Uzushio’s trademark — dense, locked tight, made to hide something. And right at the center, a shallow, circular dent.

A blood lock.

Her grip tightened. She knew how Uzushio’s seals worked. Blood was more than just a key here. It was identity. And a lock like this wouldn’t open for just anyone.

The yūrei laughed, a little sharper now.

"She knows…"

"She hesitates…"

"She’s one of us."

Sakura exhaled slowly. No turning back now. The yūrei wouldn’t have led her here if they didn’t think she could open it.

She pulled a kunai from her pouch and pressed the tip against her thumb. A thin bead of crimson welled up. She let it fall into the indentation.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the stone shuddered. 

The seals flared to life, pulsing green as energy rippled outward. Dust misted through the air as part of the platform slid aside, revealing a dark staircase spiraling down into the earth. A gust of cold air rushed up, carrying the scent of salt and damp stone.

The whispers grew eager.

"Down, down you go…"

"To the heart of Uzushio."

Sakura wiped her thumb on her sleeve, staring into the dark.

Something was waiting below. She could feel it.

For the first time in a long time, she felt something other than grief: curiosity.

She hesitated at the top of the stairs.

The darkness breathed against her skin, thick and cold. The yūrei had gone quiet now — watching, maybe. Waiting.

Sakura adjusted her grip on the kunai and started down. Slow. Careful.

The further she went, the colder it got. Each step deeper felt like wading into something that didn’t want to be disturbed. The air pressed in, heavy, wrong.

At the bottom, she paused.

A faint, broken light filtered through cracks above, just enough to see by. She blinked, letting her eyes adjust.

And what she saw knocked the breath out of her.

A library. No — an archive.

Shelves were carved into the stone walls, packed with scrolls, brittle tomes, and parchment stacks. The weight of history pressed against her senses, heavy even in the stillness. 

It wasn’t just storage. It was a graveyard. A monument. Everything Uzushio had been, packed into these walls and left to rot in the dark.

Sakura moved forward slowly, half-afraid to breathe. Her fingers hovered over the spines of books, the curled edges of scrolls. So much knowledge. So much loss.

She reached out, brushing one of the scrolls, and the ink bled under her fingertips, like wet paint smearing across the parchment.

The seals flickered, then darkened.

A rejection.

Sakura’s jaw tightened.

Sealed. All of it.

A heavy, dull weight settled in her chest. Whatever Uzushio had left behind — its secrets, its history — it wasn't meant for her.

She exhaled sharply, frustration simmering under her skin. She turned, ready to leave—

A sound behind her froze her in place.

She spun, kunai raised, muscles tight and ready.

An old woman stood before her. 

Small, slightly hunched, but holding herself with a quiet, steady presence. Silver hair — faded from what must have once been red — was tied back in a loose, careless bun. Her skin was pale, stretched thin over sharp bones, but her eyes were clear. Sharp. Knowing.

Sakura didn’t lower her weapon.

“Who are you?” she snapped.

The woman didn’t flinch. She lifted one hand, palm outward, in a slow, deliberate gesture of peace. Her lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more like recognition.

“Calm yourself, girl. I mean you no harm.”

Sakura’s gaze didn’t waver, suspicion etched into every line of her posture. “That’s not an answer.”

The woman tilted her head slightly, amused. "Uzumaki Tena," she said, voice steady. "The last Keeper of Uzushiogakure."

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here," Sakura said, unmoving. "Or why you’re watching me."

Tena studied her for a moment, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly, as though weighing Sakura’s worth. 

“You’re Rei’s granddaughter, aren’t you?”

The name hit Sakura harder than she expected.

Sakura’s fingers tightened around the kunai, but she didn’t raise it. Couldn’t. Something about the old woman’s words rooted her in place, made the air around her feel heavier.

Rei. Her grandmother.

A woman she barely remembered — just impressions, really.

Warm hands smoothing down her hair.

The scent of salt and parchment.

A voice that always felt like home.

Sakura swallowed down  the sudden tightness in her throat.

“How do you know that?”

Tena took a slow step forward. 

“Because you wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise,” she said. “Uzushio doesn’t let outsiders wander freely. It guards itself. You stand here, untouched, because you carry its blood.” 

She tilted her head. Her gaze softened, just a little.

"You’re here because you belong to this place. More deeply than you realize."

Sakura took a step back, pulse hammering in her ears.

"I don’t belong to anything," she bit out. "My grandmother was from here, that’s it. I came for answers, not—" she gestured vaguely at the crumbling archive around them, "—whatever this is.”

Tena exhaled, something like quiet amusement in the sound. 

"You think blood carries no weight?" she asked, watching her carefully. “You stand in a place that rejects most who try to claim it. That’s not a coincidence.”

“I didn’t come for a history lesson.”

"Good," Tena said simply. "That’s not what I’m here to give you."

“Then what do you want?” Sakura pressed, frustration creeping into her voice.

“I want nothing from you,” Tena replied. 

She turned, looking towards the towering shelves around them. Even beneath layers of dust, the books and scrolls seemed to hum with something alive. Some bindings glowed faintly, sealed against time itself.

“Uzushio is gone,” she said. “And with it, any duty to rebuild what was lost. But the knowledge here…” 

She reached out, fingertips brushing the spine of a tome that sparked faintly under her touch.

“…It was never meant to die with us. These records hold history. Warnings. Power. Left in the wrong hands, they could destroy. But in the right ones…” she paused. “They could change everything.”

Sakura drew a slow breath, her eyes scanning the shelves again.

"You said this place rejects outsiders," she said. "Why not let it stay that way? Let it fade."

Tena scoffed, as if she had been waiting for that question.

"Because knowledge doesn’t belong to the dead."

She turned back toward Sakura, gaze steady.

"It belongs to those who can use it. You may not think of yourself as an heir," she said, voice quieter now. "But you are. Not to a throne. Not to a name. To something far more important."

Sakura swallowed, unsure why something about those words made her chest feel tight.

"Uzushio was never just a place," Tena said. "It was a testament to resilience. To survival. That spirit lives in you, whether you admit it or not."

She flicked her fingers, breaking a seal on a nearby book, and tossed it to Sakura.

Sakura caught it easily, but kept her grip tight. She flipped through the pages, the text clear now — accounts of Uzushio’s founding, names she didn’t recognize, stories she didn’t care about.

With a quiet thud, she shut it.

"Why me?" she asked. "Why not do this yourself?"

Tena exhaled, a tired sound. “I’ve done what I can. But my time is nearly up, and Ashina and Mito are waiting for me.” 

There was something almost fond in the way she said it, like speaking of old friends. 

“I stayed to guard what was left. Hoping, maybe foolishly, that someone would come who understood its worth.”

“I’m not interested in being part of some legacy. I came here because—” She hesitated. 

This woman didn’t need to know about Konoha, about the war, about everything she’d lost. 

“—because I needed to get away. I don’t feel anything for this place, and I don’t see why I should care about any of this.”

Tena didn’t argue. She only watched, unreadable. 

"No," Tena agreed. "You came to run. But Uzushio doesn’t let just anyone in. You’re here because you belong more than you know."

Then, with a quiet sigh, she turned back to the shelves. “Maybe you’ll leave. Maybe it all fades. But knowledge has a way of staying with you. Especially when you’re not looking for it.”

After a pause, Sakura muttered, “I’ll think about it.”

Tena inclined her head, a small knowing smile on her lips. “Do as you will. The library will remain, whether you stay or go, girl.”

“...Sakura. My name is Haruno Sakura.”

The smile deepened. “A pleasure, Haruno Sakura of the Mitama.”

Tena walked off, and Sakura was alone again.

She looked at the book in her hands.

She didn’t trust the woman. Or the ghosts. Or the place.

But she would stay.

She would read.

She would decide what came next — on her terms.

Because if there was one thing she did trust, it was herself.

Excerpt from “The Curse of the Mitama”:

“In the distant past, a goddess by the name of Kaya-no-hime graced the earth. She was also known as Kusano-hime and Nozuchi, revered for her role as the deity of grass and fields. Though she was born of the powerful union between Izanami and Izanagi, she remained in the shadows cast by her more famous and accomplished siblings, such as Amaterasu and Susanoo.

Feeling overlooked and unfulfilled, Kaya-no-hime often roamed the mortal realms in search of purpose. On one such journey, she encountered a mortal man — a humble farmer who devotedly prayed to her for bountiful harvests. Moved by his unwavering faith, she sought to win his heart.

The man, whose heart had already been promised to another mortal woman, rejected the advances of Kaya-no-hime. In a fit of anger and jealousy, she cursed not only the man's wife but also all of her female descendants. Their souls were split in half — one side representing yin and the other yang. Unable to bear the weight of this fractured existence, the woman slowly descended into madness.

Finally, Kaya-no-hime was with the man she desired, and together they bore a son named ██████ Tamiyo. But divine beings are fickle, and she soon tired of mortal life. Without regret, she abandoned her family and returned to the realm of the gods, leaving behind a husband who could not understand her and a son burdened with a heritage he had not chosen.

And what became of the forsaken mortal woman who was cursed for no fault of her own? 

She lived out her days under the shadow of the goddess’s curse. She cast aside the name she once bore, taking instead a new one, one that would be passed down through generations as both a name and a legacy.

She called herself Mitama.”

Chapter Text

Sakura spent days in the library, reading whatever wasn’t sealed. Most of it was useless — old maps, daily records, scraps of fūinjutsu theory. She stayed because she needed something to focus on, something to drown out the weight of her memories.

Tena hovered nearby most days, bustling around the library, dusting shelves, or repairing torn scrolls. And she talked, spinning tales about Uzushio’s glory days.

Sakura mostly ignored her. At least, that’s what she told herself. Tena’s voice became a backdrop, something easy to tune out while her focus stayed glued to the pages in front of her. But there was something disarming about the woman’s easy chatter. 

She didn’t ask for anything. She didn’t push too hard. She just…existed, content with Sakura’s presence even when Sakura offered nothing in return.

“You know,” Tena said one afternoon, running a finger along the faded edge of a scroll, “Uzushio wasn’t just a village of seal masters. We were much more than that.” Her tone was wistful, her words tinged with pride.

Sakura didn’t look up from the tome in her lap, but her ears pricked despite herself.

“Three families built it,” Tena continued, as if she hadn’t noticed — or didn’t care — that Sakura wasn’t engaging. “Each with its own gifts and responsibilities. Together, we built this place, made it more than just a collection of buildings. It was alive.”

“Three?” Sakura’s voice broke the stillness of the room. She didn’t look up, didn’t shift her posture, but her curiosity slipped through anyway.

“Of course, the Uzumaki,” she began, her face lighting up as though she’d been waiting for Sakura to bite. “We were the backbone of Uzushio — masters of fūinjutsu, protectors of knowledge, allies to Konoha. My husband, Ashina, led the clan. You’ve probably read about him in those dusty old history books.”

Sakura turned a page, keeping her expression neutral, though her fingers lingered on the paper.

“The Yakuzawa were medics. Saved more lives than they took.”

A pause. “And the third?”

Tena smiled knowingly, as if expecting the question. “The Mitama. Sea priestesses. Spirit-talkers. They kept the balance between the living and the dead.”

The name struck something deep within Sakura. Her hands stilled, her mind replaying the yūrei’s words: child of Mitama. She schooled her expression, but her thoughts churned.

“What kind of power?”

Tena leaned back. “The Mitama were born with a gift — or a curse. They could hear the spirits of Uzushio. Some say the sea chose them.”

Sakura frowned. She didn’t believe in old legends or mystical nonsense, but the mention of spirits hit too close to home. The yūrei she had encountered earlier…they hadn’t felt like ordinary spirits, not that she’d met any before. And then there was the lullaby her grandmother used to sing. Had Rei baachan known something about this supposed lineage?

“When a Mitama is born,” Tena went on, “a spirit is born with them. Incomplete, like two halves. When the child turns five, they undergo a ritual to merge.”

Sakura’s gaze sharpened. “What if they don’t?”

Tena’s voice was quieter now. “Then the spirit stays untethered. Wanders. The High Priestess is supposed to help it cross over to the Pure Lands.”

Sakura’s fists clenched. Her grandmother died before she turned five. No ritual. No priestess.

“...And what happens if the ritual isn’t performed? If the child lives without it?"

“The spirit grows stronger, influencing the child’s mind. They begin to lose touch with themselves. Emotions fade, replaced by something colder, something…disconnected. Eventually, the spirit may take control entirely, leaving the child little more than a vessel.”

Sakura froze. Her pulse quickened, a cold knot tightening in her stomach.

Disconnected. Cold. Like something else was always just beneath her skin.

It was her.

All those years of numbness, of apathy, of doing unspeakable things without hesitation or remorse — things she had thought were simply a result of war, of survival…Had it all been because of this? Because of a spirit inside her, slowly taking control of her mind?

Sakura frowned. “I don’t hear it anymore,” she said quietly. “No voice. No presence. And… I feel things again. Like I woke up.”

"That’s…unusual," Tena murmured. "Even for a Mitama child."

Sakura hesitated. “You said the spirit takes over the mind. So why did it stop? Why did it leave?”

Tena didn’t answer right away. She leaned in, thoughtful. “Some things even I don’t know. The Mitama kept their secrets close. But if I had to guess…maybe you fought it off.”

Sakura blinked. “Fought it?”

“Something must’ve shaken it loose,” Tena said. “A powerful emotion — grief, rage, love. Anything strong enough to break the bond.”

Sakura’s heart skipped a beat. She remembered the war. The grief, the anger, the overwhelming weight of loss when Neji died, when Sai betrayed her, and when she received news of Rin’s death — the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

Could it have been then, when her emotions became so strong they shattered through the void inside her?

“If it left me,” she asked quietly, “where did it go?”

Tena’s expression darkened, her gaze dropping to the candlelight. “That’s the troubling part. Without a proper ritual to guide it, the spirit wouldn’t have crossed over. It might’ve been destroyed…or it could have taken on a form of its own.”

“A form of its own…?”

“It may exist somewhere in this world, fragmented but alive. An ikiryō. And if that’s the case, it’s no longer bound to you. It’s its own entity now.”

“That’s not possible,” Sakura said, but her voice lacked conviction.

“It shouldn’t be,” Tena agreed. “But when something is forced apart — especially something as deeply connected as a Mitama and her yūrei — it leaves scars. On both sides.” She hesitated, her voice softening. “If the ikiryō is still out there, it could be searching for answers, for purpose…or for revenge.”

“I feel like I’ve lost something,” she admitted. “Something I can’t get back.”

“You have,” Tena said simply. “A yūrei is half your soul, after all — half of what made you whole.”

Sakura stared at her, a cold chill settling over her. Half of her soul missing. It explained the emptiness she sometimes felt, even now, even after being able to process and understand emotions. When she should have felt more than just fragments of herself piecing back together.

"But…I’m still here.”

"You are.”

She didn’t answer. Just sat there, silent, trying to ignore the hollow ache in her chest.

Tena rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think. And what’s lost…might not be gone forever.”

Sakura didn’t look up.

Maybe, she thought. Maybe not.

🌸

Tena wasn’t what Sakura expected of an Uzumaki. Then again, the only Uzumaki she really knew was Naruto — loud, chaotic, impossible to ignore.

Tena was the opposite. Sharp-tongued, blunt, and endlessly opinionated. But underneath the tough exterior, there was a kind of steady warmth. She didn’t coddle. She taught, corrected, challenged — and somehow made Sakura want to be better.

“You call that a seal?” Tena barked one afternoon, pointing at Sakura’s sloppy attempt at a containment formula. “That scribble wouldn’t trap a fish, much less hold chakra!”

Sakura scowled. “It’s just the handwriting,” she muttered. “I understand the theory perfectly.”

“Good theory means nothing without execution, girl,” Tena shot back, though her voice softened just a bit. “But at least you’re stubborn. That’s something.”

Under Tena’s sharp eye, she nailed the basics: tags, storage seals, simple barriers. The rest? Still way over her head. 

Despite the grueling pace of her lessons and the constant critique, Sakura found herself drawn to fūinjutsu. It was a far cry from the brutal simplicity of combat, requiring not just strength but precision, intellect, and creativity. The complexity fascinated her, even if her calligraphy often made her want to tear her hair out. It wasn’t like the battlefield was a place for her to practice her handwriting, after all.

Her hands cramped, her shoulders ached, and she ruined more scrolls than she completed. But she kept going. But the challenge was soothing in a strange way. There was a rhythm to it, a methodical process that quieted her restless mind.

One night, hunched over an old scroll, her mind drifted to Naruto. The boy who sat at Minato’s table, full of life and fire. She traced the spiral etched into the parchment — the same one on Konoha’s flak vests. A symbol of alliance. Of history.

Did Naruto even know what it meant?

Maybe, one day, she’d tell him. Teach him what she was learning now. It could be a way to connect — to him, to Minato, to the past she wasn’t ready to let go of.

But not yet. For now, she stayed. Studied. Learned.

In the ruins of a forgotten village, Sakura was slowly putting herself back together.

🌸

When she wasn’t buried in scrolls, Sakura trained.

Out here, surrounded by crumbling ruins and sea winds, she didn’t have to hold back. Her twin tantō cut through the air again and again, each strike crisp and brutal. The wind hissed around her, but otherwise, there was silence — no judgment, no eyes watching.

Only movement. Only breath.

Until a voice cut through it.

“Why is your sword so full of rage, girl?”

She froze. Blades mid-swing, chest heaving. Sweat dripped down her neck, and for a moment, she didn’t turn around.

Then she did — slowly — and found Tena standing at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“It’s not rage,” Sakura muttered, wiping her brow. “It’s control. Precision.”

Tena gave her a look — the kind that saw too much. “No. It’s rage. You fight like you’re trying to outrun something.”

Sakura’s jaw tightened. She said nothing.

Because it was true. Every movement came from somewhere dark — anger, grief, guilt. The ghosts she carried didn’t leave her. They followed, clung to her skin, whispered in the edges of her memory.

She turned back to the clearing, blades still in hand, and moved again — faster, harder.

Neji’s voice echoed in her head: “Again. No hesitation. Precision matters. Or you die.”

She used to hate those drills. Hated how Sai picked things up faster. Hated how Neji never let up.

But she missed them now — because they were gone. And she wasn’t.

That’s what stung the most.

She thrusted her blade forward again, this time with more force, picturing Sai’s face in her mind. Not because of his betrayal — though that was still a wound that hadn’t even begun to heal — but because he’d been there. Because he’d survived when Neji hadn’t, and that filled her with a bitterness she didn’t know how to let go of.

Her movements became rougher, sloppier, each strike coming harder than the last, until her rhythm was lost entirely. 

She stopped, breath heavy, lowering her tantō.

The blades glinted in the fading light, slick with sweat and grief. She didn’t pick them up to fight — not really. She picked them up because stillness felt like death. Because moving forward, perhaps even backwards, was easier than the weight of nothing.

Why was her sword so full of rage? 

And if she stripped away that rage, what would be left?

“Fine, I’ll bite,” she muttered, turning toward Tena with a flash of irritation. “If I’m doing it wrong, what do you suggest?”

Tena didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the snark in Sakura’s voice. The old woman walked closer, hands clasped behind her back, her eyes glinting with something like amusement. 

“For one,” Tena said, calm as ever, “those swords don’t suit you.”

“What do you mean? They feel…” she hesitated, glancing at the tantō in her hands. “They feel right.”

Kenjutsu had always been something she admired from afar. Neji had suggested she try it seriously, but she’d stuck to her kunai, more out of comfort than skill. The kunai had been her crutch for so long — reliable, familiar, efficient. 

It wasn’t until after the war that she truly began experimenting with the twin tantō she now carried, blending them into her old routines. At first, the weapons felt awkward in her hands, too heavy and foreign. But now, they felt like extensions of herself, natural and deadly.

“They feel familiar, yes,” Tena corrected, circling her slowly like a teacher assessing a student. “But familiarity isn’t the same as suitability. You wield them as if they’re kunai — quick, precise, lethal in close quarters. That’s not the purpose of a sword.”

Sakura scowled, feeling the sting of criticism. “Then what?”

“A wakizashi.”

She blinked. “Seriously? That’s barely longer.”

“Exactly,” Tena said, nodding. “Long enough to give you reach, short enough to stay fast. A companion blade — but still capable on its own. Balanced. Adaptable. Like someone who doesn’t fit one mold.”

She gave Sakura a look — the kind that saw far too much.

“Not a soldier. Not a priestess. Not a healer. Not quite anything, but trying to be everything. That’s who you are. So get a blade that matches.”

Sakura didn’t answer at first. She hated how much sense that made. She’d poured months into these tantō, into turning her fury into something sharp. But the truth lodged deep.

She wasn’t the same girl who picked them up.

“And where exactly am I supposed to find a wakizashi?” she asked, voice dry.

Tena smiled, already turning toward the ruins beyond. “Follow me. There’s something I want you to see.”

They crossed the ruins into the underground archives. At the far wall, Tena pressed her palm against a faintly glowing seal. The stone parted with a low groan, revealing a hidden armory.

Dust clung to the air. The room was lined with blades — some rusted, others gleaming despite the years. At the center sat an empty stand.

“That’s where my husband’s ōdachi once laid,” Tena said softly, her voice tinged with a quiet sadness.

Sakura stepped closer but didn’t speak. Tena’s eyes stayed on the empty mount.

“It was stolen,” she said simply, then fell silent.

Sakura let the moment pass, gaze shifting to the blade beside it — a wakizashi, black steel etched with delicate floral patterns. Its hilt was wrapped in black and crimson cord, a tassel swaying gently at its end.

Sakura's Wakizashi

“This,” Tena said, her voice quieter now, “was a gift from Ashina. He had it made for me when we were young.”

Her hand hovered over the sword like she wasn’t sure whether to touch it or not. 

“I was never as skilled with a blade as he was, but I learned what I could. Watched him fight. Picked things up over time.”

Sakura stepped closer, eyes on the wakizashi. She’d read about Uzumaki Ashina in the library, his prowess in both fūinjutsu and kenjutsu renowned across the Elemental Nations. The idea that this blade had come from his time made something inside her go still.

She reached out and lifted it. The weight was right. Balanced. She gave it a cautious swing, the edge singing through the air with a smoothness her tantō never had.

Tena watched her carefully. “Ashina used to say a sword reflects the soul. And yours?”

A pause. 

“You fight like you’re still trying to figure out who you are. Nothing’s really yours; it’s all borrowed, patched together with no foundation.”

Sakura said nothing. She couldn’t deny it. Her style was a mess — old academy drills, Hyūga techniques she learned from Neji, random scrolls she’d pieced together. No foundation. No clear shape. Just survival.

Just a clumsy, unpolished amalgamation of techniques that lacked refinement and didn’t quite fit together. 

But perhaps that was why it suited her. After all, she, too, was a patchwork of broken pieces, a survivor of a thousand battles that had left her scarred and incomplete.

Sakura’s grip on the wakizashi tightened. “And?”

“And it’s sloppy,” Tena said bluntly. “You force it to work because you’re too stubborn to quit. But you’re not moving with the blade. You’re dragging it along.”

She hated how true that felt.

“If you get control of yourself,” Tena said, “I’ll teach you Ashina’s style. I don’t say that lightly. But I see something in you. More than just anger.”

“I can’t just…turn it off.”

“No,” Tena said. “But you can learn to use it without letting it control you.”

Sakura looked down at the blade. She’d spent so long fighting just to keep moving, built herself out of rage and necessity. Could she really find peace in a world that had shown her none?

"Find peace within your blade, not war,” Tena murmured, as if reading Sakura’s mind. 

Sakura let out a dry laugh. “There’s never been peace in my life.”

“That’s the problem,” Tena said. “You’ve survived. But you’ve never lived. And that anger? It’ll drive you. But it’ll burn through you too.”

Sakura stayed quiet. The truth sat heavy in her chest.

“What if I can’t let go?”

“I didn’t say let go.” Tena’s voice was calm. “I said control it. There’s a difference.”

She turned to leave but stopped at the door. “Figure out which parts of it are helping you…and which are just dragging you down.”

Then she left.

Sakura stood there, blade in hand, thoughts too loud.

Would letting go of her anger make her stronger? Or would it strip away the only thing that had kept her standing this long?

🌸

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⋆˖⁺‧₊────🌸────₊‧⁺˖⋆

Sakura watched the sun dip below the horizon. The sky burned with streaks of orange and pink. A final kiss between sea and sky. Too familiar. Too raw.

Barefoot, she pressed her toes into the sand. The coolness of it grounded her. Like if she anchored her body, she could keep her mind from drifting into the past. The waves whispered at her feet. Calm. Steady. 

For a fleeting second, she felt that elusive sense of peace Tena had spoken about, brushing against her skin like the wind weaving through her hair.

But it didn’t last. It never did.

Her mind, traitorous as always, conjured the image of Neji’s lifeless eyes, empty and forever closed to the sunset he would never see again.

And Sai would have loved this. He always did. Sunsets, of all things. A fascination that used to seem odd. Now it just hurt.

The moment soured in her throat, bitter and unbearable. She impulsively bolted toward the water. Wild. Frantic. 

She needed to escape, needed to feel something other than the hollow ache in her chest. 

The chill cut through her skin, clothes clinging to her body like a second layer as she waded deeper, waves rising to meet her. She didn’t stop until the water engulfed her shoulders, until it lapped at her chin and blurred the horizon into a line she could barely see. 

And then she just…screamed.

It tore through her. Primal. Raw. Her fists pounded the water, over and over. The waves fought back, mocking her, as if daring her to keep going. She did. Each strike met with resistance. Each scream burned her throat.

The ocean didn’t care. It never did. It didn’t care about Neji, or Sai, or anyone she had lost. It didn’t care about her grief or her rage or her guilt. It only fought back with an indifference she both hated and envied.

She sobbed, her strength fading. The saltwater mixed with her tears, the ache in her chest swallowing her whole. Her body trembled, but not from the cold. From exhaustion that ran deeper than muscle.

When the fight left her completely, she floated on her back, her limbs heavy, her breaths shallow. The water cradled her like the oblivion she craved, carrying her wherever it pleased. 

Maybe she should let it take her. Maybe she should let go.

But instinct pulled her back. The burning in her lungs reminded her that she still wanted to breathe, that something in her wasn’t ready to let go just yet. That she was still here, still alive, still fucking fighting.

She forced herself to claw her way back to shore like some pathetic creature washed up on land. When she finally collapsed onto the sand, she laid there, shivering in the cold, too drained to move. The night air bit at her damp skin, the warmth of the earlier sun long gone. 

She didn’t care. She didn’t deserve comfort. Not after what she’d done. Not after what she’d failed to do.

She lay there in the cold, the warmth of the sand long gone, wrapped in nothing but a thin blanket that offered no protection from the night’s chill. She gazed up at the endless sky above her, the stars radiating and ever-seeing like the pearlescent irises of Neji’s eyes. 

Somewhere in the tangled mess of her mind, she drifted into fragmented thoughts, half-formed dreams that offered no respite.

Of Uzushio and Konoha.

Of Neji and Sai.

Of Rin and Kakashi.

Of Naruto and Sasuke.

And she wondered, as she always did, where she truly belonged in the midst of it all. No matter how many battles she fought, no matter how many wounds she endured, she always found herself here, on the outside looking in. A part of everything, yet separate from it all.

Alone. Always alone.

Excerpt from Logs 227, 240, 289:

“Log 227

I believed I’d finally found the key to healing Misako's mind. But despite my efforts, she remains unwilling to seek treatment.

But I stumbled upon a new approach through my research and experiments. If I can replicate the voice techniques of the Koetaka Clan, I’m certain it will break the curse that plagues our family.

Log 240

The Koetaka woman refuses to cooperate, despite my attempts to reason with her. Perhaps if I let her out of the basement, a change of scenery will make her more pliable to my demands.

No, it’s too risky. I may have to go back for her son.

Log 289

I did it. I finally did it. Misako…my sweet daughter is whole again.

But why doesn’t she want anything to do with me?”

Chapter Text

⋆˖⁺‧₊────🌸────₊‧⁺˖⋆

⋆˖⁺‧₊────🌸────₊‧⁺˖⋆

Sakura’s eyes snapped open.

For a moment, she didn’t move, just listened. The distant cry of a seabird. The rustle of leaves in the morning breeze. No footsteps. No shifting weight. No unnatural silence.

Still, something felt off.

She pushed out a controlled pulse of chakra, letting it roll through the landscape in thin, deliberate waves. It came back clean. No threats. No hidden figures watching from the trees. Just her own paranoia, digging its claws in deep.

With a slow exhale, she forced her muscles to loosen. No danger. Just another morning.

Sitting up, she ran a hand through her hair, fingers catching in the salt-crusted strands. Sand clung stubbornly to her clothes, the price of sleeping too close to shore. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a thin stream of water, letting it wash over her skin in quick, efficient passes. The chill helped ground her, but the unease still pressed at the back of her mind, familiar as an old scar.

It didn’t fade until she was moving, packing up her tools, slipping into the tree line, setting her sights on breakfast. Even then, the tension never fully left. It never did.

Sakura worked quickly, gutting and cleaning the fish with steady hands. The scent of fresh meat mixed with the sharp tang of wild herbs as she seasoned it, the motions familiar, almost automatic. When it was done, she ate in silence, finishing her meal faster than she probably should have. Only when her stomach stopped protesting did she realize: she hadn’t saved any for Tena.

Not that Tena ever seemed to need food. Or sleep, for that matter.

Senjutsu, she claimed. The result of years spent mastering the art, drawing energy straight from the land to sustain herself. Uzushio, she’d once told Sakura, was rich in natural chakra, one of the reasons the Uzumaki clan had lived so long.

Still, Sakura had gotten into the habit of bringing her something. A quiet gesture, never acknowledged outright, but understood.

Too late now.

With a shake of her head, she pushed to her feet and made her way back to the underground library.

Tena was already outside, perched on the edge of the wooden porch, her posture as effortless as ever. She smiled as Sakura approached, something knowing in her expression, as if she had already guessed the conversation before it started.

“Good morning, child.”

Sakura exhaled and sat beside her. “Morning. Didn’t bring anything today.”

Tena waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve no need for it, as you well know.” Then, after a beat, “But the thought is always appreciated.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the soft rustling of parchment as Tena sorted through an old scroll and the steady scratch of Sakura’s brush as she painted sealing arrays onto blank paper.

Then, Tena began to speak.

She told the story of Uzushio’s rise and fall, the same tale Sakura had heard several times before. The founding of the village, the Uzumaki clan’s unmatched skill in fūinjutsu, the alliances they forged. And, of course, the betrayal.

“They were supposed to be our allies,” Tena murmured, eyes distant. “Konoha owed us their very existence, yet when the war came, they turned their backs.”

Sakura half-listened, her focus split between the familiar words and the delicate strokes of her brush. But today, Tena added something she hadn’t mentioned before.

“Your grandmother was one of the few who left before the end,” she said. “Not out of fear, but defiance. She rejected the life set out for her, refused the marriage they arranged, and instead ran off to be with a man from a lesser branch of the Yakuzawa clan.”

Sakura glanced up, surprised. “She…ran away?”

Tena’s lips curled into something almost like amusement. “Oh yes. Stubborn as they came. The elders disapproved, of course, but in the end, their disapproval saved her. If she had stayed…” She let the thought hang, unfinished.

Sakura frowned, brushing the tip of her brush against the rim of her ink pot. It was strange to think of her grandmother as anything other than a distant memory from childhood — softer, kinder, not the kind of person who would defy tradition.

She dipped her brush again and spoke without looking up. 

“What about the other survivors? You said some got away.”

“A few,” Tena admitted. “You already know of Namikaze Naruto, the son of Uzumaki Kushina. A shame he carries his father’s name instead of his mother’s.”

“Yeah, I’ve met Naruto. And his dad.”

“Then there was Uzumaki Nagato,” she went on. “But I believe he perished in the last war. Others hid—some in Iron Country, passing themselves off as samurai.” She paused, then added, “And there was one more. A young Mitama. She visited me a few years ago, before you.”

Sakura’s brush stilled over the parchment. “A Mitama?”

Tena nodded, watching her closely. “Yes. She was looking for answers. Much like you.”

“What happened to her?”

"I called her Gin because of her hair. Silver, like moonlight." Tena’s voice carried a hint of bitterness. "She had those striking cyan eyes, too. Sharp. Calculating."

She exhaled, rubbing her temple as if recalling an old ache. 

"She came looking for knowledge, for power. I gave her what I could, but once she had what she wanted, she left. Took Ashina’s ōdachi with her." Tena shook her head. "I had half a mind to disappear after that, but..." She trailed off, her gaze distant. "I couldn’t leave the children behind."

Soft, airy giggles floated through the cavern, the sound light and fleeting as the wisps of chakra drifting through the underground chamber. The ghostly forms shimmered faintly in the dim glow, their presence both haunting and oddly comforting.

Sakura glanced at Tena, who couldn’t see them — at least, not in the way she could. Still, the old woman smiled, as if she could feel their warmth.

"How do you even know what’s happening outside of Uzushio?"

Tena's eyes glinted with something close to amusement. 

"Just because I’ve chosen to stay here doesn’t mean I’m blind to the world. I have my ways."

Sakura raised a brow. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

"My summons bring me supplies, news…and the occasional interesting tidbit," Tena said, voice light.

"You have summons?"

Tena chuckled. "Of course. In fact, they’re the reason I even knew you were here before you stepped foot in Uzushio."

Sakura narrowed her eyes. "Wait, you spied on me?"

"Watched over you," Tena corrected smoothly. "Had they sensed anything dangerous about you, they would’ve led you away. But something about you caught their interest…just as you caught mine."

Sakura wasn’t sure how she felt about that. 

"Right. So what are they? Wolves? Lions? Something rare and exotic, I bet."

Tena only smiled, offering no answer. Instead, her gaze flicked to the scroll in Sakura’s hands. "Start over. Your chakra weave is uneven. Try activating it, and it’ll backfire."

Sakura groaned but dipped her brush back into the ink, carefully retracing the delicate strokes under Tena’s watchful eye. The old woman continued speaking, her tone casual, almost like she was trying to keep Sakura from dwelling too much on her mistakes.

"Summons are personal. They’re tied to the chakra and soul of the summoner. Every Uzushion of age embarks on a trial to forge their own contract. They come to you when they decide you’re ready."

"Why’d you wait so long to tell me this? When do I get my own summon?"

Tena smirked. "You never asked."

Sakura stared at her, resisting the urge to throw something. "Are you kidding me?"

"If you spent less time glaring and more time working, you might already be on your way."

Sakura groaned. "Okay, fine. What are we waiting for, then?"

"For starters," Tena said, not missing a beat, "for you to get that damned seal right."

Sakura muttered something under her breath but bent over her work again, smoothing out the uneven strokes. Despite her frustration, the thought of a personal summon — something tied to her, and her alone — sent a thrill through her.

Tena watched her finish the last stroke before nodding. 

"Better. Now do it again. Repetition is key. When you can craft that seal perfectly, we’ll talk about your trial."

Sakura scowled, dropping her brush with an exasperated sigh. 

"What’s the point of this stupid seal, anyway? I’ve been at this for hours, and all I’ve got are a bunch of meaningless squiggles!"

Across from her, Tena took a slow sip of tea, completely unfazed by her outburst. She set her cup down with a small clink, then arched a brow. 

"I thought you were smart, girl."

Sakura bristled, shooting Tena a scathing glare.

Tena gestured lazily at the half-finished seal. 

"Then tell me, what does that function do?"

Sakura frowned, dragging her finger over the seal again, this time with intent. The patterns that had frustrated her moments ago suddenly made more sense. She muttered to herself, breaking them down piece by piece.

"Chakra intake module…that's standard," she mused. It was a basic function, meant to pull chakra from the user, but what followed was different — more intricate. The way the chakra pathways were structured wasn’t just guiding energy; it was modifying it.

Her brows furrowed as the realization clicked. 

"Wait…this is altering chakra flow. No — it's amplifying something." She squinted at the central array before her eyes widened slightly. "Is this…affecting gravity?"

Tena gave a small, approving nod. "Keep going."

Sakura’s mind worked quickly now, filling in the gaps. 

"This symbol here—" she pointed at a mark near the array's center, "controls the gravity multiplier. And this one—" her finger moved to another section, "regulates chakra input, probably to prevent it from overloading and, you know, crushing the user."

Tena chuckled. "Smart girl."

Sakura rolled her eyes. "Could've told me I was making a gravity seal before I nearly lost my mind over it."

"And rob you of the joy of discovery?" Tena took a slow sip of her tea, looking far too pleased with herself. "Where's the fun in that?"

Sakura leaned in, her curiosity fully piqued. 

"Okay, so what's the actual purpose? How do you use it?"

"Primarily for training," Tena said, watching her closely. "Apply the seal to your body, and it increases the gravitational force acting on you. Your muscles adapt over time, so when the seal is removed, you’re stronger and faster."

Sakura blinked. "Wait…so you’re telling me I can get stronger without hauling around weighted vests or strapping bricks to my ankles?"

Tena’s lips quirked. "Exactly. It has combat applications too. Imagine wielding a sword that feels weightless in your hands but lands with the force of a boulder."

Sakura let out a low whistle. 

"That’s…actually brilliant." Her mind was already spinning with possibilities.

Tena nodded. "That’s Uzushio’s sealing arts for you. A single well-placed seal can change the tide of a battle."

"So, what? You stitch it into your clothes or something?"

"That’s one way." Tena hummed thoughtfully, her chakra stirring. A soft glow spread across her skin — blue, like deep ocean water — shifting and twisting into intricate spirals and symbols.

Sakura stared, drawn in by the pulsing ink-like patterns. Without thinking, she reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over the markings on Tena’s arm. They were warm. Alive.

"I didn’t know you could put seals on yourself," she murmured, barely above a whisper.

Tena’s eyes sharpened, her voice carrying the same sharpness. “Are you stupid, child? Where do you think the Senju brat’s Byakugō came from? Or the pronged seals of the jinchūriki?”

Heat crawled up Sakura’s neck. "I mean, I knew about those seals," she muttered, defensive. "I just thought…I dunno, that only certain types could be inked onto skin."

Tena’s gaze narrowed with an almost predatory intensity, and her voice carried the same sharpness. 

Tena clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Any seal can be placed on the body. Iwa likes to brand their operatives with an explosive tag variation in case they’re captured. And even your Hyūga friend carried a seal on his skin since childhood."

Sakura’s jaw tightened at the mention of Neji. She knew what Tena was referring to, but the way she said it, so matter-of-factly, made something twist in her stomach. How much did she actually know?

Still, curiosity won out. Neji had only ever spoken about his seal in fragments, never the full story.

Taking a steadying breath, she asked, “What seal?”

“Kago no Tori no Juin.”

“The Caged Bird Seal?”

“One of Konoha’s dirty little secrets,” Tena said wryly. “The Hyūga’s main house brands their branch family with the cursed seal for…disciplinary purposes.”

“Disciplinary purposes?”

"The branded experience excruciating pain if they disobey. And upon death, the seal activates to destroy their Byakugan, so it never falls into enemy hands."

Sakura’s eyes snapped up, something uneasy stirring in her chest. “But…that didn’t happen with Neji. His eyes weren’t destroyed.”

Tena stilled. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed — a sharp, humorless sound. 

“Then someone found a way to break it. Serves those Hyūga bastards right.”

Sakura barely heard her. A gnawing thought took root, questions she hadn’t dared ask before now. About Neji’s death. About that mission. About everything that didn’t add up.

But her gaze flickered back to the glowing patterns still pulsing faintly along Tena’s skin, and for a brief moment, the words slipped away.

“Tell me the purpose of each seal.” Tena’s voice was steady, expectant. 

With deliberate movements, she shrugged off her outer robe, revealing the intricate fūinjutsu etched into her skin, lines and spirals flowing seamlessly across her limbs.

Sakura’s gaze tracked over them, her fingers hovering just above the ink. 

“These,” she said, tapping lightly at the markings on Tena’s legs, “are the gravity seals we’ve been working on.”

Tena gave a small nod.

Her attention drifted to a seal on Tena’s forearm. She studied it, brow furrowing as she traced the pattern with her eyes. 

“And this one...it holds chakra.”

A glimmer of approval flashed in Tena’s eyes. 

“It does. I use it to store natural chakra within my body.” She flexed her fingers, the seal reacting with a faint pulse. “Others use variations of it to store healing chakra for emergencies. Some even embed jutsu into it, ready to be released when needed.”

Sakura exhaled, fascinated. “It’s incredible. There’s so much potential with a seal like this. Isn’t it just a better version of the Byakugō?”

Tena tilted her head, considering. “Yes and no. The Byakugō stores pure chakra, making it more versatile, whereas this seal converts and holds chakra from different sources. But unlike the Byakugō, it has a limit.”

Sakura’s gaze drifted lower, landing on a faded, blackened seal on Tena’s chest. Unlike the others, it didn’t glow. It felt...dormant. Different. Her fingers hovered over it. 

“And this one...is it a pair? It looks like a transference seal.”

Tena’s lips curled slightly, a rare softness settling over her features. 

“It is. It linked my chakra to Ashina’s.” She paused, the warmth in her voice unmistakable. “We could share chakra across distances, give and take as needed.”

Sakura watched as Tena’s fingertips ghosted over the mark, the memory of its purpose lingering even after its use had ended.

Her gaze drifted to Tena’s back, where the most intricate seal yet pulsed faintly, as if alive.  

"What does this seal do?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper as she circled Tena slowly, unable to tear her gaze away.

Her fingers twitched at her side. “And this one?” she asked, circling Tena slowly.

“It has a dangerous ability.”

Sakura waited, but the pause stretched. “Which is…?”

“It uses the user’s soul as fuel.”

Her stomach dropped. “That’s—” She exhaled sharply. “That’s impossible.”

Tena finally faced her, expression unreadable. “It’s an old kinjutsu from Uzushio. When activated, the soul disrupts the space-time continuum, creating a temporal lock. It freezes the movements of anyone within range, except those bound to it by blood.”

Sakura’s mind reeled. A technique that could halt time itself? A single seal with that kind of power…

Her gaze moved over the marks below the seal — each one different, she realized. Each one must be a different Uzushion.

“Ashina and I created it to stop the invasions from Iwa, Kumo, and Kiri,” she said, her voice quieter now. “The elders refused to let him use it.” A bitter smile curled at her lips. “What good that did.”

Then, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, she added, “One day, I’ll add you to the seal.”

Sakura stiffened. “That’s not—”

Tena exhaled, cutting her off. The moment had passed. She reached for her robes, tugging them back over her shoulders with swift, efficient movements. 

“Come, lass,” she said, suddenly brisk. “No point in working on the gravity seal now. You’re too damn strung up.”

Sakura hesitated, but the tension in the air had shifted.

Tena was already walking.

“Let’s get you a summon, shall we?”

Excerpt from “Case Studies on the Yurei”:

“The yūrei and us are one and the same, two halves of a whole. Together, we represent the duality of yang chakra, the physical energy that governs vitality and life, while the yūrei represent yin chakra, spiritual energy that controls the mind and heart. Without one another, we cannot exist, but neither can we survive when the two halves are separated. As a human needs both yin and yang chakra, the unification ritual is essential for our existence.

There have been rare cases of individuals who managed to live without undergoing the unification ritual. It has been theorized that these people possessed the ability to produce their own yin energy, freeing them from reliance on the yūrei. However, they all died before adulthood for various unrelated (?) reasons.

Case Study One: Mitama Ichigo

Born from an act of rape and abandoned as a baby in Enkagakure, Ichigo was taken in by an unknown couple. By the age of five, she had yet to undergo the unification ritual and her fragile mind and body could not withstand the strain of being separate entities. The surrogate parents soon abandoned her as well.

Ichigo later revealed that her desperate rage at being left behind once again was what caused her yūrei's presence to fade away.

She tragically drowned at 11 years old.

…

Case Study Five: Mitama Rengoku

After the death of her husband, Rengoku's mother made the decision to leave Uzushiogakure. She was an immigrant from Hayashi no Kuni and had never been fully aware of the customs and traditions of the Mitama people. Unbeknownst to her, she was pregnant at the time of her departure.

As a result, Rengoku was never able to receive the unification ritual that would have connected him to his yūrei. Without this crucial bond, Rengoku began to behave erratically, muttering to himself and exhibiting violent tendencies towards small animals. Rengoku’s mother tried to kill him in disgust, but in a moment of desperation and rage, he lashed out and killed his own mother.

Rengoku cited the betrayal that he felt from his mother for the reason that he completely disconnected from his yūrei.

He died at age 14 from suicide. 

…

Where do the yūrei go when they disappeared from these people? Some speculate that they may transform into mononoke, vengeful spirits who bring misfortune upon those who wronged them in life. Could this be the fate that befell Rengoku and others like him, leading to their untimely deaths?”

Chapter Text

Tena moved through a quick set of hand seals — clean, practiced, no wasted motion. A puff of smoke burst out in front of them, and when it cleared, a massive seagull stood where nothing had been.

Sakura blinked. “That’s…huge.”

The bird — white feathers, amber eyes, easily the size of a small house — tilted its head. It tucked its wings in neatly, like it was used to making space for itself.

“Hello, Tena-chan,” it said, voice low and surprisingly calm. “It’s been a while. My daughters say you’re still breathing.”

Tena snorted. “Barely. Still too stubborn to keel over.”

The bird’s gaze drifted to Sakura. It studied her in silence for a long moment.

“This one’s new,” it said. “Disciple?”

Tena nodded. “Something like that. I’m showing her the ropes. And...figured it was time she met you. Probably the last time I’ll call upon you.”

That earned a pause. The seagull, Kabushima, didn’t say anything for a beat. Then it sighed. A sound like waves crashing on a distant shore.

“Come here, girl.”

Sakura stepped forward, slower than she meant to. Kabushima lowered its beak and tapped her forearm — not hard, but enough to sting. A tiny bead of blood welled up. She flinched, more surprised than hurt.

Kabushima looked amused. “Hn. Interesting.”

“The fuck?” Sakura asked, baffled.

"Hm, I see," it mused. "Your summon will certainly be an interesting one."

“You can tell by just…tasting my blood?”

Tena chuckled. “That’s her way of saying hello. She already knows more than you think.”

Sakura rubbed her arm but didn’t back away. “So…now what?”

Tena motioned her over and began demonstrating the summoning hand signs. “No chakra yet. Just get the sequence right.”

Sakura mirrored her movements, careful not to rush.

“You’ll be reverse summoned,” Tena said, watching closely. “Sent to the realm where your summons live. They’ll find you there.”

Sakura hesitated. “Will there be…a trial? Something I have to pass?”

“Maybe. Depends on what kind of summon you pull.” Tena gave her a look. “But listen close. You can say no.”

“What happens if I do?”

“You don’t get another shot.”

Sakura blinked. “At all?”

Tena shrugged. “Better to walk away than be stuck with something you hate. That bond’s for life.”

Sakura swallowed, the weight of it settling in. She glanced at Kabushima, then back to Tena.

Tena clapped her hands. “Alright then. Get to it, child.”

Sakura took a breath, focused her chakra, and formed the seals. The jutsu pulled her instantly — like something yanked her by the chest — and everything went white.

🌸

⋆˖⁺‧₊────🌸────₊‧⁺˖⋆

⋆˖⁺‧₊────🌸────₊‧⁺˖⋆

She landed softly. No sound. No ground, no sky. Just endless white. She stood still, trying to steady her breathing, pretending she wasn’t panicking.

Was this right? Had she messed it up?

She was trying to stay calm, but her gut twisted. Maybe she’d messed it up. Maybe she was already failing some unspoken test.

Then the air shifted. Heavier. Cold crept in, slow and thin. Something smelled…earthy. Damp.

A soft, rhythmic sound cut through the quiet.

Skittering.

Sakura’s spine stiffened.

Eyes blinked into view. Red, glowing. Dozens. Then hundreds. Watching.

Then came the shapes. Huge, silent forms unfurling from the shadows. Long legs. Hard angles. The clicking of limbs against the ground, methodical and slow.

Spiders.

They moved like they had all the time in the world, surrounding her with unsettling calm. Her heart thudded, but she didn’t flinch.

“You summoned us, human,” a voice said.

It came from everywhere and nowhere, low and layered, like a chorus speaking through one mouth. The tone wasn’t angry. Just...neutral. Like they didn’t care if she lived or died.

“I wasn’t expecting—” she stopped. Swallowed. “—this.”

A few of them chittered, amused. One, larger than the rest, crept forward. Its body shimmered faintly in the pale light, covered in fine, spindly hairs. It lowered itself to her level, staring with rows of glowing red eyes.

“Why?” it asked. “Why call to us?”

She hesitated, then answered honestly. “I’m looking for a companion. Someone to fight with me, to stand by me. Someone who will understand what it means to survive, to struggle…to live ."

The spider didn’t move. “Live,” it echoed. “You’ve known pain. But you’re still standing.”

Around her, the others shifted, murmuring with faint clicks and rustles. The lead one spoke again, quieter now.

“We hear what you want,” the voice continued. “But do you understand what you’re asking?”

Sakura frowned slightly. “You mean the contract?”

“It’s more than a contract, human. It’s a covenant,” it said. “Once you accept us, we don’t leave. Ever.”

Another pause.

“So. Do you?”

With a deep, steadying breath, she nodded.

"I do."

The spider’s eyes narrowed, and something like approval passed between them.

“Then it’s done,” it said. “You’re ours now.”

The great spider loomed over her in silence.

Then, without warning, its body began to shift.

The limbs retracted inward with smooth, deliberate clicks. The dark, bristled mass folded in on itself, the sound like silk tearing in reverse. And from the center of it all, a shape emerged — tall, humanoid, unmistakably graceful.

What stood before Sakura now was a woman.

Her black kimono shimmered in the dim light, embroidered with silver threads that danced like spider silk. Short black hair framed her sharp, pale face, the strands cut at precise angles like they had been sculpted with that very same blade. But it was her eyes that held Sakura still.

Red. Unblinking. Patient.

"Jorōgumo," she said simply, her voice low and calm. “You may call me Jorō.”

Sakura swallowed, her throat dry. “Are you the queen?”

"I am the matriarch of this realm. Every thread, every breath, belongs to me. And now, perhaps, to you."

Jorō’s red eyes flicked down, then back to Sakura’s face.

"You did well not to run," she added, almost as an afterthought.

“Was that...a test?”

Jorō’s lips curved faintly — not quite a smile. “Everything is. But this one was mostly for show.”

“And if I’d run?”

Jorō's eyes narrowed just slightly.

“You wouldn’t be here.”

There was no malice in her tone. Just fact.

“I don’t care what it takes,” Sakura said quietly. “Make me stronger.”

Jorō watched her for a long moment, then tilted her head. The faintest shimmer of amusement passed across her face.

“Strength,” she repeated, tasting the word like something old and familiar. “That’s what you came for.”

“Yes.”

Jorō’s red eyes flicked down, then back to Sakura’s face.

“You’ll need to learn control. Patience. Hunger will be your enemy.”

She stepped closer, bare feet silent against the nothingness underfoot.

“Then you’ll stay. You’ll train. And you’ll bleed. Power here isn’t given — it’s earned.”

Another beat.

“Do you still want this, girl?”

Sakura’s voice didn’t waver this time.

“Yes.”

Jorō held out her hand — long fingers, nails like glass.

“Then come. And don’t look away.”

🌸

Sakura’s eyes snapped open.

The blinding white of the summoning realm was gone. No more glowing red eyes. No more looming shadows. Just the sound of waves crashing against the shore and sand shifting beneath her feet. Kabushima had disappeared too, the giant seagull now just a memory on the wind.

She blinked, adjusting to the light. 

Spiders.

Not exactly what she’d imagined.

Dragons, maybe. A giant tiger. Something big, dramatic — something that screamed power.

But spiders? They didn’t scream anything. They crept.

And maybe that was the point.

They weren’t about brute strength. They survived in the margins, unnoticed, underestimated. Quiet. Patient. Clever. And adaptable.

Kind of like her.

Tena’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Well? What’d you get?”

Sakura didn’t answer right away. She inhaled, let the breath steady her. Then she ran through the seals again — precise, focused, letting her chakra flow. It felt different this time. Grounded.

With a faint pop of chakra, the summon appeared.

A spider — small, no larger than her palm. Jet black legs, silver markings across its body, and a pair of ruby-red eyes that watched her with unnerving calm.

Sakura crouched, studying it.

It didn’t try to impress. It didn’t need to.

“Welcome,” Sakura murmured, her voice soft. She crouched down slightly, her fingers brushing the tiny creature’s back. “I’ll call you...Hoshi.”

The spider tilted its head, then clicked softly as it crawled up her arm, stopping at her shoulder like it had always belonged there.

Tena raised a brow. “Spiders, huh?” she said, half amused. “Fitting.”

Sakura didn’t respond. She just watched as Hoshi settled in, small and still.

Tena stepped forward, eyeing the tiny creature perched on Sakura’s shoulder. “Let’s see what your little friend can do.”

Sakura tilted her head slightly. “Hoshi? Can you…show us something?”

The spider shifted, one leg twitching in response. Then, with startling speed, it leapt from her shoulder and landed silently in the sand. A heartbeat passed — then thin silver threads laced the air in a blur, stretching impossibly fast between two pieces of driftwood further down the beach. In less than a second, a perfect geometric web shimmered in the sunlight. The silk glowed faintly with chakra, almost humming.

Tena gave a low whistle. “Fast little bastard.”

Sakura took a cautious step toward the web, curiosity tugging at her. “It looks...reinforced. Like it's woven with chakra.”

“Don’t touch it,” Tena said quickly, grabbing her wrist. “That’s not just for catching flies. Could slice through a Jōnin clean if they weren’t paying attention.”

Sakura blinked. “It’s that strong?”

“Strong enough to hold your spine in place. Or tear it out.” Tena sounded more impressed than worried.

Hoshi scuttled back over, hopping up onto Sakura’s outstretched hand with a soft click-click of delicate legs. It climbed back up her arm, settling again on her shoulder like it hadn’t just weaponized nature in under five seconds.

Sakura raised an eyebrow. “You better not lay eggs in my room.”

The spider made a faint chittering sound.

Tena smirked. “That sounded like a ‘don’t check your shoes tomorrow.’”

Sakura sighed, brushing a finger along one of Hoshi’s legs. “Great. I’m going to be that person now. The weird spider girl.”

“Have you ever been normal? ”

Sakura shot her a flat look. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

Tena turned away with a chuckle. “Come on. Let’s see if you can get that thing to listen to commands before it cocoons one of my birds.”

🌸

Sakura’s hands gripped the hilts of her wakizashi and tanto, chakra threads keeping them suspended in the air. The rhythm was off. Everything felt tight, forced.

Jorō watched her quietly. “You’re too stiff.”

Sakura frowned. “I’m following the movements.”

“You’re overthinking it. Trying to make every step perfect.”

Sakura hesitated. “If I don’t, I’ll mess up.”

Jorō raised a brow. “Ever seen a spider fix every strand before it starts weaving?”

“…No.”

“It spins. Adjusts as it goes. It doesn’t stop to question itself.” She crossed her arms. “That’s your problem. You don’t trust yourself.”

Sakura looked away, her jaw tight. There was a time she hadn’t needed to. She used to just know what to do. Back then, it was survival. No second-guessing. Just act.

But now, everything felt different. She cared more. Thought more. And with that came doubt.

Jorō watched her, unblinking. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice sharper. "You’re not who you were. That’s why you hesitate."

Sakura didn’t answer, but her hands dropped slightly.

Jorō stepped forward, her gaze never leaving Sakura. "The web you spun then doesn’t fit anymore. So? Just make a new one.”

Sakura stayed still for a long moment, letting the weight of Jorō’s words settle. Then, slowly, she exhaled. The threads responded better — less like stiff wires, more like extensions of her own hands. The blades hovered, shifted, spun. Not perfect, but better.

Jorō gave a small nod. “That’s it.”

Sakura exhaled through her nose, focused.

“You won’t get it right all at once,” Jorō said. “But you’ll get there.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Just…settled. Comfortable in the way that only came with effort.

Then, a small skittering noise broke the quiet.

Hoshi crawled down from the ceiling, perching on Sakura’s shoulder. It clicked softly — almost like a nudge of encouragement.

Sakura smirked. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Don’t get smug.”

Jorō’s expression flickered with something close to amusement. “You’re learning.”

Sakura rolled her shoulder to shift Hoshi into a better spot. “Guess I’ve got good teachers.”

Jorō didn’t respond at first. Just studied her for a beat. Then, softly: “You’ll need that control soon.”

Sakura’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“There’s something coming. A shift.”

“War?”

“Not yet. But the web’s shaking.”

Sakura didn’t ask what she meant. She just stood a little straighter, hands ready.

“Then we keep training.”

Jorō nodded approvingly. “We do.”

Excerpt from Mitama Ichigo’s Diary:

“It’s so quiet without the voice. Everyone abandons me. I should have known that she would eventually leave me too.

But I’ve made a new friend recently. She’s beautiful but very sad. She loves the water. We play together a lot in the ocean. But baachan always reminds me not to go too far into the waters.

My new friend becomes agitated when I listen to baachan's warnings, but I know better than to disobey. I need a house to live under, after all, and baachan will abandon me too if I don’t listen.

But tonight, I’m sneaking out to meet my friend, and we can be in the deep sea together. She told me not to tell anyone, so I’m only telling you. Help me keep it a secret, will you?”

Chapter Text

"Play with us, Sakura!" a spirit called, zipping around her.

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden burst of energy. The spirits shimmered, light and quick, their voices like wind through leaves.

"I really should be reading," she said, glancing at her scrolls.

A green spirit giggled, brushing her hand. It tingled — alive and strange.

"Breaks are good!"

“Come on, just one game!”

Sakura sighed. “Fine. One game. Then I’m getting back to work.”

Cheers echoed as the spirits spun in excitement.

"Hide and seek!”

“You're it!"

Sakura closed her eyes, a reluctant smile on her face despite herself. 

"Three...two...one."

The ruins stretched out in every direction, crumbling walls and mossy stone catching the moonlight. She moved through them quietly, scanning shadows.

"Where are you?" she called out lightly.

A faint giggle to the left. She followed it, weaving between pillars. A flash of light slipped behind a broken arch.

"I see you!" she laughed, lunging — but caught nothing. It vanished, laughing.

They led her deeper into the ruins, laughter trailing like breadcrumbs. 

She rounded a corner and spotted movement inside a collapsed building. Moonlight streamed through holes in the roof.

"Found you!" she called and stepped inside.

But something shifted. The air changed — heavier, colder. Her smile faded.

⋆˖⁺‧₊────🌸────₊‧⁺˖⋆

⋆˖⁺‧₊────🌸────₊‧⁺˖⋆

It was quiet now. Too quiet.

The spirits were gone.

She scanned the room. In the far corner, shadows curled unnaturally. A figure stood there, still and silent.

Not a spirit.

Her hand went to her wakizashi. “Who’s there?”

The figure stepped out of the shadows.

She looked around Sakura’s age — beautiful, but in a sharp, unsettling way. Her eyes were blood-red, too bright, too familiar. Her choppy, black hair moved like it was alive, shifting with every step she took. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous.

Sakura’s pulse jumped. There was something about her — the shape of her face, the way she held herself. It was like looking into a cracked mirror.

Not just familiar.

Her.

The girl stopped a few steps away, tilted her head, and smirked.

“Took you long enough, Saku-chan.”

The dark and mocking voice sent a chill down Sakura’s spine. It was her voice, twisted and warped in a way she couldn’t quite place, but it was undeniably her own. It was the voice she’d buried years ago, the one she’d tried to forget. But now, hearing it again, it was like it had never left.

Sakura’s throat went dry. “What…?”

“Forgot me already?” the girl asked, smiling without warmth. “After everything we’ve been through?”

Sakura took a step back. Her voice was barely a breath. “My yūrei.”

“Bingo.” The girl’s grin widened. “I go by Fuyuno Saki now. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Cold where you’re warm. Sharp where you hesitate.”

Fuyuno Saki

Sakura's breath caught, mind racing to process what stood in front of her.

Her yūrei, the voice that had been both a torment and a comfort, had taken physical form. All those years, it had whispered to her — dark thoughts, sweet comforts, venomous promises…And now it was flesh and blood right in front of her.

“That’s not possible,” she said, voice low. “You were—”

“A voice in your head?” Saki cut in, smirking as she leaned against a cracked pillar. “Yeah, well. I upgraded. Try to keep up.”

Sakura’s grip on her blade loosened slightly. “What do you want?”

Saki shrugged, the movement languid, indifferent, as though it didn’t matter in the slightest. 

“What do I want? Dunno.” Her voice dropped into a playful hum, the words slithering out. “Maybe it’s to see how far you’ll go to keep running from me. Or maybe I just wanted to say hello. Who knows?”

Sakura breathed deep, steadying herself. 

“I’ve read a lot about cases like this,” Sakura began, her voice slightly firmer, though still laced with hesitation. “Most Mitama don’t survive long once they’re separated from their yūrei.”

The look in Saki’s eyes shifted — not playful anymore. Sharper. A little colder.

“So what?” Her voice lowered, thickening with disdain. “You think I’m here to kill you?”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” Sakura said softly. 

Saki flinched — just for a second. Then the smirk came back, brittle around the edges.

“Wow. Touching,” she muttered. “But I’m not here to monologue about revenge, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

Sakura hesitated. “Do you hate me?”

Saki laughed. It was dry, bitter, no humor in it.

“Hate you?” she echoed, eyes narrowing. “I am you.”

She stepped closer. The glow in her eyes sharpened, her smile tight with something more painful than mockery.

"You really don’t get it, do you?" Saki said bitterly. "I was the one who stayed. When everyone else left, when you were breaking and no one noticed — I was there. I watched them walk away. I listened when they called you weak. I was the part you buried, the part you didn’t want anyone to see.”

Another step closer. Her words picked up speed, sharper now.

“I held all the anger. The pain. I kept it all so you could survive. And what did you do?”

Saki’s voice cracked, just slightly.

“You moved on. You forgot me.”

The silence after that felt thick enough to choke on.

Sakura’s voice barely came out. “I didn’t mean to. I just…didn’t know how to face you.”

Saki’s jaw twitched. The fight in her faded, just a little.

“I don’t hate you,” she said quietly. “But yeah...I’m angry. Still. Being left behind sucks.”

Sakura’s breath hitched. Her throat tightened, heavy with words she didn’t know how to say.

“Well, I hated you, Saki,” Sakura said quietly, voice tight and trembling. “After you were gone, I blamed you. For everything. The things I did. The people I hurt. The ones I killed.”

She felt a bitter twist in her stomach, the memories of her past flashing in her mind, sharp and painful. 

“I didn’t even care at the time,” she went on. “Not really. Not until I could feel again. Until I actually saw what I’d done.”

She shook her head. Like that could shake the guilt loose. It didn’t.

“The anger you fed me…the rage...I thought it was all me. Thought that I’d become this on my own, that it was all my fault. A weapon. A monster. And you—” she swallowed hard, “you let it happen.”

Her fists clenched, her whole body stiff.

“I didn’t need you to stay, Saki. I needed you to stop me. I needed someone — anyone — to say no.”

Sakura took a breath that barely reached her lungs.

“But then you vanished. And I told myself I was better without you. That I didn’t need you.” She looked at her hands like they weren’t hers. “And I hated what I became. I hated that you let me become it.”

Saki’s eyes burned.

“I didn’t make you do anything,” she snapped. “You let me in. You liked the power. The control. You made every damn choice, Sakura. Don’t blame me just because it’s easier than blaming yourself.”

“I know that now,” Sakura said quietly. “I know it wasn’t all you. I know that I made those choices, but I can’t undo what I’ve done. I can’t fix it.” 

She looked down for a moment, fingers brushing the hilt of her blade. 

“And now...” Sakura’s eyes lifted, locking with Saki’s once more, and the uncertainty was clear in her expression. “I’m not who I was with you. But I’m not sure who I am without you either.”

Saki’s gaze softened for a moment, her anger melting into something more unreadable, more complex. But then, with a sharp flick of her hair and a cruel smile, she spoke, her voice quiet but sharp.

“So what do you want, Saku-chan?” she asked, voice cool. “Forgiveness? Closure? A do-over?”

Sakura exhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts. 

“You’re right. I left you behind.” Her voice was steady now. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even understand what was happening. I was scared. Of you. Of myself.”

She paused, then added quietly, “I’m sorry. For how it ended.”

The apology felt awkward, like she was speaking a language she hadn’t used in years. 

“But things are different now,” she went on. “We’re not stuck in that anymore. We get to figure out who we are. Not as parts of the same person. Just…us.”

She met Saki’s eyes.

“I want to get to know you. Not as my yūrei. As you.”

Saki’s laugh was bitter, filled with mockery. She crossed her arms, her eyes glinting with disbelief. 

“You think a pretty apology fixes all this? That you can just rewrite the past with a heartfelt speech?”

She crossed her arms, eyes glinting.

“You’re softer without me.”

“Maybe,” Sakura said, “or maybe I’m just not afraid to hope anymore.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, thick with everything they hadn’t said and maybe never would. Saki just stared, those red eyes unreadable, sharp as ever.

Then she shrugged.

Her mouth curved into something like a smile — close, but not quite.

“Fine,” she muttered. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no either.

Sakura’s chest tightened. That was all she needed.

She gave a slow nod. “Yeah. We will.”

Saki gave a lazy salute. “Catch you later, Saku-chan.”

And just like that, she vanished — no sound, no light. Just gone. Like she’d never been there at all.

But the air still felt heavier somehow. Like the echo of something that refused to leave.

🌸

Sakura sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, the weak lantern light casting flickering shadows across the room.

Tena was across from her, perched on a broken pillar like it was made for her. She didn’t say anything — just watched. Waiting.

But Sakura hesitated. The words felt heavy on her tongue, and her hands fidgeted with the edges of her sleeves.

The silence dragged.

Finally, Tena broke it. “What’s on your mind, girl? You’re not usually this quiet.”

Sakura let out a slow breath. “I saw her.”

Tena didn’t flinch, but her fingers twitched on her wakizashi. “Her?”

Sakura nodded. “Saki.”

That got a reaction. Tena straightened, her eyes sharp now. “Your yūrei.”

“She’s different,” Sakura said. “She has a body. She’s real. Not just a voice anymore.”

Tena leaned forward slightly, her expression unreadable. “Real, you say?”

“Yes. She looked like me — like how I used to be. But not exactly. She called herself Fuyuno Saki. She said...she said she’s not my yūrei anymore. She’s her own person now.”

Tena didn’t speak right away. Her brow furrowed as she processed. “What does she want?”

“She said she didn’t know.” She looked down, her voice quieter now. “But she’s angry, Tena. At me. At everything. Said she resented me for leaving her behind.”

Tena’s eyes softened, though her tone remained measured. “Of course she’s angry. You were her anchor, Sakura. You’re the reason she existed. Losing you — it’s like losing the ground beneath her feet.”

Sakura clenched her jaw, her voice cracking as she said, “I didn’t mean to leave her. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t even know what she was.”

Tena slid off the pillar, her footsteps echoing as she approached Sakura. She crouched in front of her, resting a hand lightly on the girl’s shoulder. 

“You were a kid,” Tena said quietly. “A scared, confused kid who didn’t understand what she was dealing with. No one’s blaming you for that.”

Sakura looked up at her, tears welling in her eyes but refusing to fall. 

“ She does. And she’s not wrong. I did leave her. I was scared, and I didn’t fight to understand her. I just wanted her gone.”

Tena sighed, her expression softening in a way that was rare for her. 

“Maybe you did. But it’s not all on you, Sakura. She has her own choices to make now, just like you do. The question is — what are you going to do about it?”

Sakura’s gaze hardened, the tears drying in her eyes as resolve took their place. 

“I don’t know yet. But...I want to try. I want to get to know her. I owe her that much.”

Tena studied her for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Be careful. Yūrei, real or not, don’t just let go of grudges. She might not even know what she wants, but if she decides it’s your blood, you’ll need to be ready.”

Sakura’s hand brushed the hilt of Tena’s blade. The chill of it steadied her. “I will be. But…I don’t think she wants to hurt me. Not really.”

Tena raised an eyebrow, a skeptical smile tugging at her lips. “Let’s hope you’re right. But don’t count on hope alone to keep you alive, girl.”

Sakura nodded, her grip tightening on her weapon. “I won’t.”

Tena stood, her sharp gaze lingering on Sakura for a moment longer before turning toward the doorway. “Get some rest. If she shows up again, you’ll need your strength.”

🌸

Saki appeared again during one of Sakura's training sessions, lounging on a flat slab of rock nearby.

“What the hell is your kenjutsu style? It’s terrible,” she remarked, watching Sakura’s movements with a bored expression.

Sakura frowned, adjusting her stance. “Tena won’t teach me one yet. I’m just making do.”

Saki rolled her eyes dramatically. “‘Course she won’t. The old hag’s too stubborn for her own good.” She hopped down from her perch, landing with ease. “Lucky for you, I know a thing or two about swordplay.”

“You do?”

“Obviously. I’m you, remember? Or at least, I was.” Saki’s eyes gleamed as she sized Sakura up. “I’ve watched every fight you’ve been in. Every time you fucked up.”

Sakura lowered her tantō, glinting in the sunlight. She turned toward Saki, a playful smirk on her lips. “Well, you wanna spar?”

Saki’s grin widened, and Sakura couldn’t help but notice the sleek black gauntlets she wore — metal, with sharp edges and a minimalistic design. 

“Like ‘em?” she asked, catching Sakura’s stare.

Without warning, Saki lunged at Sakura with lightning speed, her gauntlets extended, long claw-like blades gleaming. The strike aimed for Sakura’s throat.

Sakura reacted instantly, her wakizashi blocking the attack, the clash of metal ringing out. She slid back, just in time to avoid a follow-up slash from Saki’s gauntlet.

Saki laughed, her movements fluid and fast, claws flicking in and out. She came at Sakura again, faster this time, her footwork a blur. Sakura blocked, parrying with quick, controlled strikes, her pink hair whipping behind her.

Saki twisted and ducked, landing a glancing blow to Sakura’s shoulder, but Sakura countered with a low, sweeping cut. Saki jumped back just in time, grinning wildly.

They circled each other, blades clashing in rapid succession. Sakura’s attacks were sharp, precise — each strike aimed to disable, but Saki was faster, wilder, her claws cutting the air with vicious speed.

Sakura blocked another strike, then spun, using her momentum to send a powerful slash toward Saki’s midsection. But Saki dodged with a laugh, twisting to the side, and came at Sakura from above.

Sakura barely managed to block, her blades sparking against Saki’s gauntlets. She jumped back, heart pounding, eyes locked on her opponent.

Saki grinned, clearly enjoying herself. “You’re better. But still too slow.”

Finally, they broke apart, both panting heavily from the spar. Sakura wiped sweat from her brow, her chest heaving.

“You want to insult my style?” she panted, hands on her hips. “Where’d you learn to fight, a bar?”

Saki grinned, wiping down her gauntlets. “Underground fighting rings. Gotta fund my foodie adventures somehow.” She flicked a claw, eyeing Sakura. “Not bad for a beginner.”

Sakura rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. She sank down onto a nearby rock and took a long swig from her flask before tossing it over to Saki. 

“That…explains a lot.”

“It’s not so bad. Got to eat a lot of good food. Damn better than fish and coconuts,” she said, jabbing at Sakura’s choice of dinner.

Sakura shrugged. “Not much else to eat here. Unless you fancy seagull. But I’m pretty sure Tena would have a problem with that,” she added with a grin.

Saki snorted, shaking her head. “Bet she would. That old bat and her damn birds.” She took another drink before handing the flask back. “So, what’s this new summon of yours? Spiders, right?”

Sakura nodded, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. The Jorōgumo clan. They’re…interesting. Powerful, but they come with a lot of demands.”

Saki raised an eyebrow. “Sounds about right for summons. At least they’re not as stuck-up as those slugs Tsunade uses.”

Sakura couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve met the Sannin?”

“Yeah. Beat her ass in poker. No clue why she still gambles when she always loses.” Saki’s grin widened.

A comfortable silence settled between them, the quiet broken only by their heavy breathing. Sakura sat back and watched Saki, her eyes tracing the familiar yet different features. Despite the wild hair and glowing crimson eyes, the similarities were there — like a mirror image distorted just enough to make it unsettling.

Saki radiated confidence, a dangerous aura that seemed to dare anyone to challenge her. 

Sakura, on the other hand, wore a more laid-back expression, but beneath it, there was something sharper, guarded. It was as if she kept herself wrapped in layers, hiding the parts she wasn’t ready to show.

“I’ve felt you on the island before, haven’t I?” Sakura asked finally, breaking the peaceful silence between them.

"I've been around. Keeping an eye on you, making sure you don't do anything too stupid."

Sakura frowned slightly. "You could have shown yourself sooner. I...I worried about you."

There was a brief flicker of surprise in Saki’s eyes, but it was quickly masked by her usual indifference. “Worried about me? That’s rich, coming from the one who cast me aside.”

Sakura flinched at the accusation. "I told you, I didn't mean to. I didn't understand what was happening."

“No point in dwelling on it now. I’m not here for a tearful reunion.” She stood up and stretched, her movements fluid. “Besides, I’ve had fun exploring the world on my own. Did I ever tell you about the time I snuck into Iwa's vaults?”

Sakura blinked, intrigued despite herself. “You did what?”

Saki’s grin widened, the glint in her eyes mischievous. “They keep all kinds of interesting things in there. Ancient scrolls, forbidden jutsu...and a whole stash of rare tea. I got my hands on a few, though I had to make a hasty exit when their security detected me.”

“You snuck into an enemy nation’s highly secure vault to steal…tea,” she deadpanned, eyebrow raised.

“Not just any tea,” Saki replied with a pointed look. “The kind that makes even the most hardened ninja forget they’re in the middle of a secret mission. Not bad for a day’s work, right?”

Sakura couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it. “You’re insane.”

Saki shrugged. “Maybe. But it keeps life interesting.”

“I can’t imagine doing something like that for fun.”

Saki leaned against a nearby rock, crossing her arms. “That’s because you’ve always played it safe, Saku-chan. There’s a whole world out there beyond just following orders and being the perfect little kunoichi.”

A flicker of annoyance passed over Sakura’s face. “I’m not trying to be perfect. I’m trying to be myself.”

Saki raised an eyebrow, her voice cool. “You don’t even know who you are.” The words hit harder than intended, echoing a sentiment she’d voiced before.

Sakura swallowed, a knot forming in her throat. She looked down, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

Saki’s gaze softened just a fraction, but she quickly masked it with a smirk. “That’s your problem, Saku-chan. You’re still figuring it out. I know who I am.”

Sakura felt the pang of jealousy twist in her chest. Saki was sure of herself. Confident. Strong. And Sakura wasn’t sure she’d ever be that certain about herself. 

Excerpt from Taki Times, “Tragic Incident in the Suburbs: Young Boy Allegedly Kills Family After Emotional Breakdown”:

“A heart-wrenching tragedy unfolded in the civilian district yesterday when a young boy reportedly killed his entire family following an emotional breakdown. The 12-year-old, identified only as Yūto, allegedly attacked his parents and two younger siblings with a kitchen knife in their family home.

According to neighbors, Yūto had shown signs of distress over the past few years, not long after his adoption by his deceased family, but the severity of his actions shocked the community. Authorities arrived at the scene to find the family of four deceased, with Yūto found sitting in a daze in the living room.

Authorities have launched an investigation into the incident, seeking to understand the circumstances that led to the boy's violent outburst. Preliminary reports suggest Yūto may have been struggling with severe emotional and psychological issues, though details are still emerging.

Mental health professionals are calling for increased support for young individuals facing emotional crises and urging families to seek help if they notice signs of distress in their children.

The tragedy has left the local community in mourning, grappling with the loss and the unsettling reality of such an event occurring in their midst.”