Hours passed. The city sank into the silence of the night. Only the sentinels on the walls remained awake, their silhouettes outlined against the starry sky.
In the governor's mansion, Enoc slept deeply, dreaming of stone archives and brown wings.
Then, chaos erupted suddenly.
—FIRE! FIRE IN THE CITY!
The shouts broke the silence like thunder. Jiron leaped to his feet, his hand instinctively reaching for the weapon that always rested beside his bed. In an instant, his wings spread and he shot toward the window.
What he saw left him paralyzed for a second.
The city was burning.
Flames devoured the houses in the lower area, those closest to the wall. Among the dancing shadows of the fire, hundreds of winged figures moved like ants, looting, killing, and burning. Their black wings were unmistakable even in the darkness.
—Dark Feather! —Jiron roared.
—Father! —Enoc burst into the room, still half asleep, his wings instinctively spreading—. What…?
He looked out the window, and his face paled.
—Why? —he murmured—. Why didn't the sentinels raise the alarm? They should have seen them coming!
Jiron gritted his teeth. His mind worked at breakneck speed, piecing things together. Dacian's attitude at the meeting. His mocking smile. His evasive words.
—They didn't raise the alarm —he said in a low voice, with an icy fury— because the one who should have given the orders… betrayed them.
—What? —Enoc looked at him, not understanding.
—There's no time! —Jiron turned to him—. Stay here! Protect your mother if you can!
—But father…!
—THAT'S AN ORDER!
Jiron leaped out the window, his golden wings spread, and launched himself toward the heart of the chaos.
Enoc stood in the frame, watching his father fly away. Then his gaze drifted over the burning city. He saw figures in the distance falling, dying. He heard the screams of his people, the wails of children, the roar of the attackers.
He clenched his fists so hard that his nails dug into his palms.
—Damn it… —he whispered, his voice breaking—. Damn it, damn it, damn it…
But he could do nothing. His body was weak. His wings barely functional. He was not a warrior. He never had been.
He could only watch helplessly as, beneath his feet, the battle raged with fury.
The Golden Feather warriors, caught off guard on their own turf, fought desperately and chaotically. But the attackers numbered over a thousand, and they had chosen the perfect moment. The flames sowed chaos, and in the chaos, death reaped lives without mercy.
Jiron carved his way through the enemies like a whirlwind. His spear danced in the air, and each strike felled an adversary. The orbs of light he launched from his mouth blinded and burned, creating corridors of ash in his wake.
—Dacian! —he roared between fights—. WHEREVER YOU ARE, YOU DAMNED TRAITOR!
But Dacian did not appear.
Jiron began to kill without mercy. His fury was an unstoppable engine, and the Dark Feather fell like flies before his power.
Until three figures blocked his path.
The black wings of the three spread, blocking any escape route. The first was a young man, with twin axes and a fanatical gaze. The second, a tall, scarred man, with a spear in his hand. The third, a stocky middle-aged man, his chest crossed with scars and an aura of authority.
—Jiron, governor of Spring —said the eldest, with a cruel smile—. Long time no see.
—Karg —Jiron replied, recognizing the leader of the Dark Feather clan branch he had fought before—. And I suppose these are your dogs.
—Gromm —the scarred one introduced himself—. And this —he pointed to the young man with the axes— is Orkus.
Orkus flashed a fierce smile.
—You are going to die, Jiron. And your city will burn to the ground.
—Try it.
The battle that followed was brutal.
Three against one, and Jiron, despite his strength, was at a disadvantage. His spear moved like lightning, but Gromm and Karg pressed him relentlessly, while Orkus looked for the precise moments to strike.
A sphere of darkness from Gromm grazed his wing. An axe blow from Orkus opened his side. Karg's spear found his shoulder.
Jiron fought. He killed Gromm with a blast of light that pierced him through and through. He wounded Karg in the chest. But Orkus was relentless.
When Jiron, exhausted and bleeding, staggered for an instant, the young man with the axes seized the moment. His two weapons fell in unison, one on his neck and the other on his chest.
Jiron fell to his knees.
—You do not die from cowardice —Orkus murmured, leaning over him—. A king dies so that another may rise.
The axe descended, ending Jiron's life completely.
From atop the inner wall, Enoc saw it all.
He saw Jiron's body collapse onto the bloodstained stones of his own city.
The world froze.
The echo of the axe's impact resonated in his mind again and again, like a hammer striking an anvil. The way his father's wings, once majestic, lay inert on the ground.
—OOOORRRKKKUUUSSS!
The roar burst from his throat uncontrollably. He took a step forward, into the void. His body trembled. His vision turned red.
In his left eye, something began to change.
The Sharingan spun wildly. Its three tomoe danced in a frantic circle, driven by a fury so pure it burned like liquid fire.
He was about to jump. To throw himself into the void and break through the enemy lines. To try to kill Orkus with his bare hands, with whatever he had, even if he died in the attempt.
But then…
He heard a familiar scream coming from the archive building.
Enoc turned his head and saw Avelia trying to get out through a window, her body half out, her brown wings spread to flee. But a huge hand grabbed her by the neck and dragged her back inside.
—AVELIA!
Without thinking, Enoc jumped. His wings, weak but functional, barely held him enough to glide toward the archive building. The wind lashed his face, the flames crackled around him, but he only saw that window.
He entered, and what he saw paralyzed him.
Dacian, the elder considered practically second-in-command in the city, held Avelia by the neck. His fingers squeezed tightly, and the young woman's face began to turn purple.
—I'll tell you for the last time —Dacian said impatiently—. Where did Jiron hide the Sacred Flame scroll?
—I don't… know… —Avelia gasped.
—Then die.
—AVELIA!
Hearing Enoc's voice, Avelia turned her head toward him. Her eyes looked at him one last time.
And she smiled.
A small, sad smile, as if apologizing for not being able to stay.
Her neck snapped with a dry crack.
At that moment, time stopped.
Enoc felt the world tear apart around him.
Something inside him broke.
And something else… awakened.
The Sharingan in his left eye, which had been spinning furiously, changed. The three tomoe curved inward, merging and transforming. A new pattern emerged: a star-like shape, like a six-pointed shuriken.
Mangekyō Sharingan.
The massacre of hundreds of citizens. The death of his father. The death of the woman he loved. Three emotional stimuli of impossible intensity combined in a single instant, and the hidden power in his Uchiha eye blossomed.
And with it… came the understanding of his ability.
"One second."
Everything around him rewound.
The flames retreated. The bodies moved backward. Time flowed in reverse like a river retracing its course.
And suddenly, Enoc was back at the window.
One second before Dacian squeezed Avelia's neck.