Far away, beneath the shadow of the mountains, Indra walked alone. His footsteps were heavy, his eyes still glowing faintly red from the Sharingan, but his face was pale. The silence of the forest pressed down on him—until suddenly, he stopped.
With a violent roar, Indra clenched his fist and drove it into the ground, the earth cracking beneath his strength.
"WHY?! WHY DID I DO IT?!" he shouted, voice breaking as tears spilled freely down his face. His body trembled, caught between rage and regret.
For the first time, the mask of coldness he always wore shattered. He dropped to his knees, fists digging into the dirt, his shoulders shaking.
"I'm sorry… Danava… brother," he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with guilt. The words were carried away by the night air, as though even the forest itself would not hold them.
Then, overwhelmed, Indra tilted his head back and screamed—raw, unrestrained pain tearing out of his throat.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The cry echoed across the darkened woods, a scream of sadness, fury, and self-hatred all twisted together. For a moment, he looked less like the prodigy heir of Hagoromo… and more like a broken boy, drowning in his own choices.
And then—
His eyes burned.
The tomoe of his Sharingan spun wildly, faster and faster, until they bled into one another. The pattern twisted, reshaped—no longer the eyes of a prodigy, but something far darker, far heavier.
His pupils settled into the jagged, shuriken-like design of the Mangekyō Sharingan—the same fearsome eyes history would later remember.
The glow of that crimson power clashed violently with the tears still streaming down his face. Each drop fell onto the dirt below, mixing with the blood from his fists. His lips trembled as he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken:
"Danava… I never wanted this… I never wanted to hurt you…"
But the forest gave him no answer—only the echo of his sobs and the silent witness of the moonlight on his new, cursed eyes.
Indra's breath hitched as he clutched at his face, his mind overwhelmed by the surge of power and clarity. But this was no triumph. His awakening wasn't born from ambition or battle—it was carved from grief, from the unbearable guilt of raising his hand against the brother he once cherished.
On his knees, his new eyes glowed crimson in the moonlight, and his whisper broke into the night:
"Danava… forgive me…"
Ashura carefully slipped his arm under Danava's shoulder, steadying him as he helped him rise.
"Ah—!" Danava grunted, his face twisting with pain as he pressed his free hand against the freshly healed wound.
Ashura flinched, guilt flashing across his features. "S-sorry, elder brother," he said quickly, his voice laced with worry.
Danava gave him a faint, weary smile despite the strain. "It's fine, Ashura… You did well. If not for you, I'd probably still be bleeding out on the ground."
Ashura shook his head, his grip firm though his eyes were still watery. "Don't say that… I could never let anything happen to you, elder brother. Not ever."
For a moment, silence lingered between them, broken only by the night breeze rustling the trees. Danava's eyes softened, but there was still a lingering heaviness in them, the weight of betrayal and heartbreak he couldn't shake.
Ashura steadied him a little more, his small hands clutching tightly, as if afraid that letting go would mean losing Danava forever.
They both started walking back to the village.
"Elder brother, about elder brother Ind—" Ashura began softly.
"Ashura… I really don't want to talk about it," Danava said in a tired voice, his eyes half-closed, filled with pain.
Ashura looked at him for a moment, then nodded quietly. The two of them walked on in silence. The forest around them was calm, with birds flying from tree to tree and the wind blowing lightly. But in their hearts, there was no peace.
Danava dragged his feet a little, his mind heavy. He kept replaying Indra's face in his head, that moment when he struck him, and it cut him deeper than any wound. Ashura noticed and gently put his hand on his brother's shoulder, giving support without words.
"Elder brother… Even if you feel like everything is breaking, I'll stand with you," Ashura said softly, eyes shining with worry.
Danava gave him a faint smile, but it was weak. "Thank you, Ashura… You're the only one I can still rely on."
Step by step, the lights of the village began to appear in the distance. People were moving about, the evening fire torches glowing warm. As the two brothers came closer, villagers noticed them.
"Danava-sama! Ashura-sama!" Some called out, rushing forward. Their faces showed relief but also shock when they saw Danava's condition, his clothes torn, his body still marked with battle wounds.
"Are you alright?" one of the elders asked, concern heavy in his voice.
Ashura quickly spoke before Danava could answer. "He's fine. He just needs rest."
Danava stayed silent, his hollow eyes avoiding everyone. The villagers could sense something had happened, but no one dared to ask. They only bowed deeply, letting the brothers pass.
As Danava and Ashura walked through the village path, the warmth of home surrounded them, but inside Danava's heart, it still felt like a storm was raging.
The two brothers reached their home. Danava's steps were heavy, but he forced himself to straighten his back so no one else would worry.
Once they were finally inside, away from everyone's eyes, Danava turned to Ashura. His voice was quiet but serious.
"Ashura… Don't tell anything to Father, okay? After I change my clothes, it'll be as if nothing happened."
Ashura's eyes widened. "But, elder brother—" he began, his voice trembling with protest.
Danava cut him off, his gaze sharp though tired. "Please. Just do this for me. I don't want Father to know… not now."
Ashura looked at him, torn between worry and loyalty. He could see the pain behind Danava's eyes, and in the end, he only nodded.
"...Alright, elder brother. I won't say a word."
Danava let out a faint sigh, closing his eyes for a moment, as if the weight of everything pressed down even harder. Then he turned and slowly walked toward his room, his figure seeming older and heavier than before.
Ashura watched silently, his fists clenched. He hated hiding things, but more than that, he hated seeing his brother carry so much sorrow alone.
Indra sat slumped against the roots of an old tree, his breaths heavy, his fists still shaking from the storm of emotions. His Mangekyō eyes glowed faintly through the tears that refused to stop falling.
From the shadows, a voice slithered through the silence.
"So, Indra… You have awakened the Mangekyō power of your eyes."
Indra stiffened, his head snapping up. "Mangekyō? What is that?" His voice was still rough, broken from screaming, but anger and sorrow laced every word.
The dark figure emerged from the gloom—Black Zetsu, cloaked in mystery and malice, though hiding his true identity. His voice was calm, almost too smooth.
"The ultimate power of the Sharingan," he explained, tone steady and persuasive. "As I told you before… I was the one who first brought that gift to this world. Those eyes of yours can only awaken when you lose someone dear. And though you did not lose your brother… you came close. That fear, that guilt, that pain was enough to push you into evolution. Truly… impressive."
Indra's jaw clenched, his fists curling. His voice came out low, muttered, as if he barely wanted to say it aloud.
"…You have to lose someone… for these eyes?"
The words tasted bitter, his mind flashing back to Danava's face—his younger brother clutching his shoulder, eyes full of shock, pain, and betrayal. The image carved itself into his heart like a wound that would never heal.
And so, in that moment, the truth of the Mangekyō was revealed. Indra Ōtsutsuki, consumed by grief and guilt, awakened eyes unlike any seen before—the Mangekyō Sharingan. It was not the death of a loved one that drew forth this power, but the unbearable weight of nearly losing his younger brother, Danava.
From that day onward, it was believed among Indra's descendants that to awaken the Mangekyō, one must lose someone close. The anguish of separation, the sorrow of loss—whether real or near enough to tear the soul—became the key to unlocking those eyes.
What began with Indra's tragedy would echo throughout generations, shaping the curse of the Uchiha.
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Can read up to 13 chapters ahead. (For now, don't worry; I will increase the chapter count soon, and you can read chapters of Tensura: True Dragon of Sun as well. It has somewhere around 25 or so chapters ahead, maybe? Yeah, but not less than 25, so go ahead.)