POV: Tekka
Lying in a shared bed, half-undressed, Tekka gently stroked Akemi's red hair. The silence that filled the room was intimate—a brief refuge amid the instability they lived in.
"Akemi..." Tekka began, still running his fingers through her strands. "What happened to Riki? He's changed so much in these past six months. His body is more developed, muscles defined, and he's only five years old. But he seems so much older… And his eyes… his Ketsuryūgan has changed so drastically. There's a ferocity in them I've never seen in other children."
"That's what happens when you spend so much time away from your family, Tekka," Akemi replied, her voice laced with cold restraint. "You end up missing important moments."
"I know I've missed a lot," he answered, lowering his voice, exhausted. "But the war is nearly over, and soon I'll be able to take you all to Konoha. I won't miss anything else."
Akemi let out a short laugh, humorless but oddly curious.
"My dear... you still haven't let go of the idea of dragging all of us to Konoha, have you? Don't be foolish."
Tekka smiled faintly, eyes still closed. He continued tracing imaginary shapes on her scalp, noticing the lingering scent of herbs and kitchen smoke in her hair—a rare comfort in a life marked by constant battles.
"I'm not being foolish," he insisted, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and held-back emotion. "I'm being… practical."
Akemi turned in his arms, resting her chin on his chest. Her red eyes gazed at him with calm intensity—impenetrable.
"Practicality would be keeping our freedom, far from deals that would only chain us," she whispered, as if explaining something to a stubborn child. "Tekka… haven't you understood yet?"
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, searching for answers that didn't exist in that moment.
"I just want… safety for him, for you. For us." His voice trembled slightly at the end. It was always harder to admit his fears when Akemi looked at him like she knew everything.
Akemi ran her fingers over a thin scar on his shoulder, a reminder of a mission he'd rather forget.
"Safety in Konoha, Tekka, is a beautiful illusion… until the day they no longer need you," she said softly, almost maternally. "I'd rather face the real world with my eyes completely open."
Silence returned, heavy and dense. Outside, the distant sounds of young warriors training in the village reached them, like echoes of a future already being shaped without their consent.
After a long pause, Tekka spoke in a low tone:
"And Riki? Have you seen what he's become? He's no longer just a child. If he stays here, Akemi… sooner or later, they'll hunt him."
Akemi closed her eyes, as if those words reopened old wounds:
"He already knows that," she replied, so quietly Tekka barely heard. "And he doesn't plan on being hunted, Tekka."
She then lifted her face and kissed him gently, as if sealing a silent farewell. She knew that subject still held many battles ahead, many endless arguments.
Inside, Tekka felt a chill. For the first time, he understood without a shadow of doubt: Riki wasn't just a special boy. He was part of something far greater—and already playing his own game, far from his parents' hands.
Akemi slowly stood up and walked to a small dresser. She pulled a thin notebook from a drawer, one that resembled a diary. Returning to the bed, she sat beside Tekka and handed him the object in silence.
"Tekka, read this."
He took the notebook, flipping through the pages one by one. The expression on his face changed slightly with each line, with each unexpected revelation. Tension gathered in his brow, and his eyes widened as he grasped the weight of what he was reading.
"Akemi... what is this?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern.
Akemi let out a deep sigh, pulling her hair back in a distracted gesture that revealed all the weariness in her body.
"This isn't everything yet," she said calmly, though a dark weight hung between her words. "Beyond what's written here, there's his talent and aptitude. Everyone in the clan is impressed by Riki's abilities. He's mastered everything we've taught him: taijutsu, fūinjutsu..."
She paused briefly, locking eyes with Tekka with a seriousness heavier than any ancestral blade.
"He has ten times more chakra than an ordinary child his age. Even among the Uzumaki, that's extremely rare. The elders say his physical constitution is the best they've seen in generations."
Akemi looked away, and her voice softened slightly:
"Even so, he struggles to control the Ketsuryūgan... But, considering he only awakened that lineage six months ago, there's still time to learn."
She pointed subtly to the final pages of the notebook.
"Read to the end…" she murmured so quietly it seemed she feared even the walls might hear.
Tekka hesitated for a moment but then turned the pages with almost reverent care. There, in uneven handwriting—almost childlike, yet filled with a dark tone—lay scattered titles, fragments of a destiny that felt inevitable:
"The traps that claimed the white wolf.""The bridge where hope will collapse.""The puppets who'll stain the sand with blood.""The eyeless crow and the dance of black flames."
Each line weighed tons on Tekka's shoulders. He shut his eyes for fractions of a second, trying to shake the feeling that a cold whisper haunted every word.
When he finally reached the last entry, his hand was trembling:
"The heart of iron that will be broken by lightning."