Itachi opened his eyes and found himself in a place he remembered with a warmth that nested in his chest. His grandmother Emma's house remained intact in his memory: a simple structure with light wooden walls, large windows through which sunlight played over the antique furniture, and the scent of the garden's damp earth mingling with the perfume of wildflowers. In front of the house, a crystal-clear stream flowed calmly, reflecting the sun's rays and the trees along its banks. Small fish swam among the stones at the bottom, their delicate, serene movements a spectacle that Itachi remembered like a childhood melody.
The smell of freshly baked blueberry pie struck him immediately, and his memory flooded with forgotten sensations. It had been his favorite for as long as he could remember; he had tried many others, but none ever reached the perfection his grandmother achieved. The golden crust, the warm, sweet filling, the aroma filling the entire house… everything seemed prepared with a silent and constant love, a love he now felt from the distance of years and different worlds.
He entered the house carefully, fearing something might have changed, but everything remained the same: the antique furniture, the plates hanging on the walls, the tall wooden clock that marked the seconds with almost musical precision. In the armchair, his grandmother Emma read a book with the focus and delicacy that only age could bring.
"You can help yourself and sit with me, Mark, don't be shy," his grandmother said without lifting her eyes from the book, with a tenderness only the elderly possess, which brought an involuntary smile to Itachi's lips.
He sat down carefully across from her and took a piece of pie. Each bite seemed to transport him to the past; the taste was not simply sweet—it was memory, warmth, safety. His grandmother watched him attentively, letting him savor each moment.
"Eat carefully, child. We have plenty of time," she said, putting down the book and removing her reading glasses.
Itachi finished eating under her gaze, and the feeling of being observed by someone who truly knew and understood him was comforting. Finally, his grandmother spoke, with a mixture of patience and firmness:
"Mark, didn't we talk about not rationalizing everything?" she asked, her eyes reflecting the depth of someone who had seen many lives.
"What do you mean?" Itachi replied, a slight suspicion in his voice, as if expecting a riddle in every word.
"Destiny…" she said softly. "Why do you hesitate to leap into the void if you know something will catch you?"
"Destiny…" Itachi repeated in his mind. For a moment, he forgot the green planet, his battles, his old-world logic, and confronted a word that evoked trust, risk, and faith all at once.
His rational mind wanted to seek explanations: physical laws, probabilities, measurable outcomes. But his heart remembered something logic could not touch: the certainty that there were greater forces, invisible threads guiding human steps, perceptible only if one dared to feel, to let go.
"It's time for me to say goodbye, Itachi," his grandmother said, in a tone that mixed sadness and hope. "Remember that I will always be with you."
With a slow gesture, she said farewell, and before he could process it, she disappeared before his eyes. An intense void opened in his chest, as if the loss had repeated in an instant. His eyes burned with unrestrained chakra, and the feelings he had kept under control for so long wanted to escape with force.
The Mangekyo Sharingan awakened at that moment, as if emotion and nostalgia had called it forth. It was a power born from pain, from the loss of a loved one, granting unimaginable abilities:
Intuitively, he knew its capacities: controlling matter at the atomic level, generating energy from air particles, manipulating densities, moving elements with his mind—a total dominion over everything around him.
For others, this might not have been as powerful compared to Amaterasu or Kamui, but for Itachi, the power was a promise of infinite possibilities.
However, he understood he must not rush; there was another awakening pending, one deeper than force alone: spiritual consciousness.
The path to that awakening led him to a nearby forest, where light filtered through the leaves and the air seemed to vibrate with ancient energy. Each step resonated with a calm that contrasted with the storm still raging inside him. There, an Elder Elf waited, standing in a small clearing surrounded by ancient roots and glowing moss.
The Elder had an imposing yet tranquil presence. His eyes, a deep green, seemed to hold centuries of wisdom. His long hair fell like a cascade of silver, and his clothes were simple, made of linen and leather, adorned only with runes that glimmered softly in the light.
"Itachi," he said in a serene voice, one that seemed to penetrate his mind. "You have come seeking answers, but the truth you seek is not outside. It is within you."
Itachi nodded, feeling a knot of anxiety and expectation in his stomach.
"Spiritual consciousness?" he asked in a low voice. "Is this what I must awaken?"
The Elder nodded, stepping closer.
"Yes. Spiritual consciousness is the ability to connect with who we truly are, beyond logic and immediate explanations. It requires meditation, introspection, and the courage to face the truth, even when it is uncomfortable."
Spiritual consciousness can awaken when certain conditions are met; for example, when your soul is strong enough to feel and absorb natural energy. This energy is present in everything around us, in the inert and the living.
Unlike natural energy, there is another type of energy connected to the being itself, to existence as a thinking and living entity. This energy is of a higher level than natural energy and requires that your existence be elevated in order to emit and use it.
Itachi took a deep breath. He had spent his life trusting reason, formulas, and cause-and-effect analysis. This teaching challenged him: he had to release part of himself, embrace the unknown, and learn to feel.
"The first step," continued the Elder, "is to accept that your reason does not have all the answers. Some truths only reveal themselves when we question, experiment, and create our own theories. Do not fear uncertainty."
Itachi closed his eyes, trying to absorb every word. His breathing slowed, and for the first time in a long while, he felt his mind clearing of the constant noise of rational thought. The air felt denser, each leaf and root of the forest vibrating with a silent hum.
"Meditate," the Elder instructed softly. "Feel your chakra, feel the flow of life around you, the natural energy, and how it interacts with your being, with what you are, with what defines you. Do not control it; just observe."
Itachi sat on the grass, legs crossed. He inhaled deeply, noticing the humidity in the air, the freshness brushing his skin, the murmur of the nearby stream, and the songs of birds. His mind, accustomed to ordering, classifying, and analyzing, began to feel.
At first, blurry images appeared: memories of his grandmother, the aroma of the pie, the warmth of the kitchen. Then, more abstract sensations followed: currents of energy flowing beneath his skin, tiny vibrations in every particle around him, invisible connections between him and the forest.
"Let yourself go," the Elder whispered. "Not everything needs explaining. Freedom lies in perceiving without judging."
Itachi opened his eyes for a moment and saw the Elder extend his hands, slowly moving his fingers as if conducting an invisible symphony. Dust particles, air, and water in the stream seemed to respond, moving in harmony. An intuitive understanding struck him: the Mangekyo Sharingan could manipulate all this, but now he had to learn to control it from consciousness, not from emotion or logic.
He began practicing small movements: separating dust particles, making the water swirl in tiny whirlpools, feeling how each action required internal balance. Every attempt was a lesson: mastery was not about imposing, but synchronizing with the nature of each element, with life itself.
The Elder watched, barely moving, occasionally correcting his posture or offering a word of guidance.
"Now perceive the energy within you," he said. "Not just the one you emit, but the one you carry with you—the vitality that comes from your emotions, your memories, your desires, and fears."
Itachi did so, and soon understood that spiritual consciousness was not a magical ability: it was a state of being. Every breath, every thought, every emotion had to be recognized, accepted, and channeled. Only then could the power of the Mangekyo Sharingan become an instrument of creation, not destruction.
The Elder approached and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Remember, Itachi, the first step is to accept that you will not always understand. Complete truth is a horizon never fully reached, but the journey toward it will grant you freedom and strength."
Itachi nodded, silent tears rolling down his face. Sadness, nostalgia, and the emotion held back for years… all mingled in a whirlwind of acceptance. For the first time, he felt that death, loss, and loneliness could be transformed into wisdom and power, not pain.
He rose slowly and saw the forest more alive than ever. Light filtered intensely, each leaf shone with a deeper green, and the stream reflected a clarity reminiscent of his lost home. His first step toward spiritual consciousness had been taken: he would not only learn to manipulate his power but do so from freedom, understanding, and harmony with his inner self and the world around him.
The Elder stepped back, his figure surrounded by a subtle aura of light.
"Return whenever you wish to continue your learning," he said. "Here, between meditation and action, between reason and heart, you will find what you need."
Itachi closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and smiled. For the first time, he understood that true power did not reside in strength, but in self-awareness. And though the path would be long, uncertain, and full of challenges, he was ready to walk it.