Reika sat stiffly in the narrow boat, the salt air tugging at her hair.
For the first time since they'd left the ruins, her thoughts turned inward.
Her mother had often spoken of the Uzumaki.
Of their vitality, their mastery of seals, and their unmatched strength as a clan.
She used to say the Uzumaki were living proof that bloodlines could shape history, that even entire nations had once bent around them.
Reika had clung to those stories as a child, dreaming that one day she might find some trace of that heritage in herself.
It was what had drawn her to the ruins after her mother's death.
That desperate detour before the planned crossing into the Land of Fire.
In Fire Country, at least, Kirigakure couldn't move so brazenly.
There, she might even risk offering her talents to Konoha.
Even if they used her as a tool, even if they bound her, it would still be better than hiding in the shadows until another hunter squad cut her down.
She had no hope left in the Land of Water.
Any village could betray her.
Any civilian could report her.
She hated them all now, the entire country, every shoreline, and every whispering harbor.
But now, on the open sea, she realized how foolish her plans had been.
If not for Kimimaro, she might already be dead.
She could sense chakra, yes, her mother had trained her in that discipline… but never so far, never so clearly.
She hadn't noticed the pursuit until it was too late, and she had no arrangements for escape, no seals, no preparations.
The ruins would have become her grave.
Her gaze shifted, cautious, to the boy at her side.
Kimimaro sat at the oar, posture straight, strokes calm, his eyes fixed on the distance.
He hadn't spoken since they'd left, but she noticed the changes in his face, the way his gaze sometimes sharpened, as if chasing thoughts far beyond the horizon.
Ambition burned there, but controlled, never spilling over into recklessness.
His silence wasn't emptiness. It was weight.
Reika pressed her lips together, trying not to betray the unease rising in her chest.
He was younger than her, yet he had already built what she could not.
Preparations, contingencies, discipline that looked almost effortless.
He didn't panic when the storm came; he guided them through it.
She hated admitting it, even in her own mind, but her pride had already cracked.
Compared to him, her plans were nothing.
Compared to him, she had been walking blind.
Her cloak brushed lightly against his arm again as the boat rocked with the waves.
She shifted a little, awkward, embarrassed at the closeness, but didn't move away. Not this time.
This time, Kimimaro shifted his gaze from the horizon and glanced at her.
The faint brush of her cloak against his arm had not gone unnoticed.
A small grin tugged at his lips.
"Apologies for the boat," he said, his tone light, almost teasing. "I never planned on suddenly gaining a companion. Space was only ever meant for me."
Reika stiffened, a flicker of embarrassment flashing across her face, but she held her composure.
Kimimaro's smirk lingered a moment before his expression turned thoughtful."So. What were your plans before all this?"
Reika hesitated, then answered quietly.
She spoke of crossing into the Land of Fire, where Kirigakure couldn't act so brazenly.
Perhaps even offering her talents to Konoha in return for protection, even if it meant being used as a tool.
Anywhere was better than Water Country, which she now despised.
At her words, Kimimaro's grin faded.
His eyes darkened, and for once, his tone carried a sharpness that cut.
"Foolish."
Reika blinked, taken aback by the sudden scolding.
"For your own good," Kimimaro added, his voice low but firm. "Don't delude yourself. Konoha is even worse than Kirigakure."
Her eyes widened. "Worse…? But Konoha—"
Kimimaro leaned forward slightly, his smirk returning, twisted into something almost comical.
"Yes. Kirigakure at least admits what it is. Brutal. Blood-soaked. A machine of slaughter. Kumogakure? Greedy, always pushing its borders, but at least honest about its hunger. Iwa, Suna, each is naked in its cruelty. But Konoha?" He snorted.
"Konoha plays saint. Smiles and preaches of friendship, bonds, and light. All the while, they dig knives into allies the moment their usefulness ends. They are the darkest of them all, because they cloak their rot in sanctimony."
Reika stared at him, stunned.
Her mind struggled to reconcile his words with the image she had always held, Konoha as the noblest of the great villages.
Compared to the Bloody Mist she despised, Konoha had seemed like salvation.
Her lips parted, uncertain. 'Perhaps… he says this just to keep me here,' she thought, heat rising in her cheeks again at that thought for some reason. 'But why does he sound so certain?'
Kimimaro sighed, sensing her doubt. His tone softened, though steel lingered beneath it.
"You don't believe me. That's fine. Let me tell you a story then—the story of your own clan."
Reika's eyes sharpened. "The Uzumaki?"
He nodded. And then, slowly, deliberately, he began to recount what Ashina had told him.
The rise of the Uzumaki, their bond with the Senju, their strength, and their sealing arts. How Konoha had sworn brotherhood, yet when the time came, abandoned them. Betrayed them.
Let them burn, let their village be torn apart, their people scattered, all while Konoha prospered on their ashes.
From the pendant, Ashina stirred, his presence flaring as he listened.
The old man's mental voice was heavy with hatred and bloodlust, silent approval lacing each word Kimimaro spoke.
Reika's breath caught. Her face paled. "No… that can't be. The Senju and the Uzumaki were—" She stopped herself, shaken. She had grown up hearing the tale of their eternal brotherhood, nearly as old as time itself. To hear the opposite was unthinkable. Yet…
She was sharp. Sharp enough to catch the cracks, the inconsistencies she'd never questioned before.
Her mind raced, unwilling yet unable to dismiss it.
Kimimaro's eyes narrowed, his tone even.
"I know you don't believe me. But if you want proof—here."
He reached beneath his cloak and pulled the pendant into view, the carved spiral faintly glinting.
Standing, he held it toward her.
"You wanted to know what I did back in the ruins. Just touch it."
Reika froze, eyes flicking from his face to the pendant.
She flushed faintly at the closeness, at the deliberate gesture, but curiosity burned sharper than embarrassment.
Slowly, she reached out.
Her fingers brushed the bone-white surface.
At once, the air seemed to shift.
A voice, old and grave, thundered not in the air but in her mind.
"…I am Ashina Uzumaki."
Reika's eyes widened, her breath catching as shock jolted through her veins.
For a heartbeat, she thought she had imagined it, grief, exhaustion, perhaps hallucination, but then the pendant pulsed faintly in her palm, like a living thing.
The voice continued, slow and resonant.
"You carry the blood of my people. Quarter Uzumaki. That, I can feel. It is faint, but it exists. A thread connecting you to the clan that was betrayed, slaughtered, erased."
Reika's throat went dry.
Her mother had always spoken of the Uzumaki as legends, but she had never thought she would hear one speak.
A true ancestor, a patriarch of that blood.
Her gaze snapped to Kimimaro, who sat watching her with that calm, unreadable expression.
He hadn't lied.
He hadn't exaggerated.
He had truly awakened something in those ruins and bound it into this strange necklace.
This was the answer to his mystery, and he showed her that so openly.
The voice rumbled again, harsher this time, full of old venom.
"Do not trust Konoha. Never. They smiled at us. They called us kin. And when the storm came, they turned their backs. They let the blades of the nations fall on us until our blood ran into the sea. That is your so-called sanctuary."
Reika shivered, her fists tightening around the pendant.
She wanted to deny it.
Her whole life, she had believed Konoha was the least corrupt of the great villages.
Even her own mother genuinely believed that.
But the bitterness in this voice was too sharp, too heavy to be a simple lie.
Kimimaro's voice broke the silence, calm and pointed.
"Now you understand. It isn't just my opinion. It's the word of the patriarch himself."
Reika looked at him, struggling for words.
For once, her mask of icy composure cracked.
Kimimaro smirked faintly. 'Good. She hears it now, not just from me. From him. Chains tighten best when forged from two directions.'
Meanwhile, Ashina's voice pressed heavier into her mind, dark and bitter.
"If you wish to learn from me… if you want to touch even a fragment of the Uzumaki legacy, then cast away any thought of Konoha. In fact, if you can, please add them to your revenge list, alongside Kirigakure. Hate them. Remember them. For they deserve it just as much."
His words burned with venom, every syllable soaked in old rage.
Reika trembled, her hand still clutching the pendant.
Her lips parted, her voice faint. "…All my life, I thought Konoha was different."
Her eyes lowered, golden irises flashing cold in the starlight.
"But if what you say is true… then fine. I'll hate them too. I'll hate them as much as Kirigakure. I don't care anymore. If they betrayed even their so-called brothers, then they're no different. They'll pay with the rest."
Ashina's rumble echoed, satisfied.
Kimimaro watched her carefully, his smirk faint and unreadable.
'Good. Konoha lost another believer in their 'soft power,' and the world just lost another believer in its illusions.'
Reika exhaled slowly, her shoulders slumping for just a moment before she straightened again. Her face was calm, cold. But her eyes carried a new edge, even harder than before.