The days that followed were heavy with silence, though not the silence of peace. Across the shinobi world, whispers turned into rumors, rumors into warnings, and warnings into fear. The title had already spread beyond Amegakure, beyond the frontlines of the Second Great Ninja War, carried on the tongues of fleeing scouts, shaken survivors, and even merchants who had caught fragments of blood-soaked tales:
"Two red-haired demons."
In Sunagakure, the elders sat uneasily in their chambers. They did not fear many things—Suna was a land built on scarcity, hardened by endless dunes and the cruelty of survival—but the mention of Uzumaki blood set their teeth on edge. The Uzumaki clan was said to be extinct, scattered, broken. And yet, if two children were capable of butchering trained shinobi from three great villages, then they were not children at all. They were storms in human form.
In the mist-shrouded alleys of Kirigakure, paranoia already thickened. The Bloody Mist did not forgive weakness, and the Mizukage's advisors whispered whether these Uzumaki would one day appear in the Land of Water, carving their way through Kiri's bloody traditions. Kirigakure was brutal, merciless—but even they knew better than to ignore rumors of red chains and strange, oppressive powers.
The world was stirring, sharpening its blades. And yet, in a small clearing deep within the endless trees, the two so-called demons sat cross-legged, chewing roasted venison over a crackling fire.
Kaito leaned back against a log, sweat glistening across his forehead despite the cool shade. His bandages still clung tightly around his torso, stained faintly with dried blood, though he barely paid it any mind. Soka sat across from him, her eyes narrowed in mock irritation as she tore into a strip of meat.
For a moment, it looked almost normal. Two children eating together. Laughing between bites. A world away from the battlefields and the rivers of blood they had left behind.
But beneath Kaito's calm expression, his mind churned like a storm.
The Mind's Eye of Reality. That power had revealed itself only for an instant, yet in that instant he had seen the battlefield as if every shadow, every heartbeat, every particle of chakra was part of him. It was beyond Kagura's Mind Eye, beyond the reach of ordinary perception. But what was it, really? A blessing? A curse? He could feel it lingering like an ember at the edge of his soul, dangerous and untamed.
And the chains. The Crimson Adamantine Chains that tore through jōnin like paper when he was pushed past desperation. The Uzumaki gift—no, the Uzumaki curse. Power born of vitality and sealed in their blood, something only a handful of their clan had ever been able to wield. Kushina was said to possess golden chains; his were red, seething with rage and hunger, alive in ways even he could not yet comprehend.
He clenched his fists around the bone of the half-eaten venison. If I don't master this power, it will consume me. If I don't learn to control it, one day it will break free, and when it does, it won't matter if it's enemy or friend in its path.
Across the fire, Soka tilted her head, sensing the heaviness in his silence. She didn't press him, though. That was the strength of their bond—they didn't need words to know when the other was drowning in thoughts. She only smiled faintly, her lips smudged with oil, and said softly:
"You're thinking too much again, Kaito."
He laughed under his breath, though it came out more bitter than amused. "If I don't, we'll both end up corpses in the dirt."
Soka shrugged, but her eyes carried the same weight. She knew it as well as he did—the world was hunting them now. Every great village wanted their heads, and mercenaries would soon smell the blood-money of bounties. They couldn't just survive anymore. They had to transcend.
Kaito set down the bone and wiped his hands against his clothes. His gaze lifted toward the canopy, where light filtered through the leaves in broken shards.
"There's something I've been thinking about."
Soka leaned forward. "What is it?"
He hesitated only a moment, then spoke. "Sage Mode."
Her brows furrowed. She knew of it, of course—every child of the shinobi world had heard of the whispers. The fabled modes of the Toads, the Snakes, and the Slugs. A power that surpassed ordinary chakra, drawing from the very essence of nature itself. A path only the chosen few could walk.
"You want to go to Mount Myōboku?" she asked carefully.
Kaito shook his head. "No. Those paths aren't for me."
His voice was calm, but inside, his thoughts spiraled, dissecting the idea piece by piece. Sage Mode was balance—absolute balance between spiritual energy, physical energy, and the natural energy of the world. Too little, and nothing happened. Too much, and the user turned to stone, forever frozen as a monument to failure.
But Kaito felt it in his bones: the toads, the snakes, the slugs—they were not his destiny. Their contracts, their traditions, their ways of channeling energy would never resonate with him. He was Uzumaki, a being of sealing, of chains, of endless vitality. His path had to be his own.
I will forge a Sage Mode not borrowed from another, but born from myself. Not the wisdom of beasts, but the wisdom of blood and will. The Uzumaki way.
He could almost feel it calling to him from the edges of his mind—the rhythm of the forest, the pulse of the ground beneath him, the hum of chakra in every living thing. If he could align that rhythm with his own heartbeat, weave it into the Crimson Chains and the Mind's Eye, then maybe… just maybe… he could create something the world had never seen.
His lips curved into a small smile, sharp with determination.
Soka saw it and sighed, already guessing what it meant. "You're planning something insane again, aren't you?"
"Always," Kaito answered simply.
She groaned and tossed a bone at him, but the warmth in her eyes betrayed her pride. She knew him well enough to understand: this was how he survived. He dreamed beyond the impossible, and then clawed his way toward it with bloodied hands.
After their meal, they rose together. The clearing became their training ground, the soft earth soon carved with footprints and cracks.
Kaito closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, trying to feel the flow of the air, the subtle vibrations of the earth, the faint warmth of life all around. He pushed his chakra outward, but instead of molding it into a jutsu, he tried to let it dissolve, let it blend with the invisible current of nature.
It burned. His body rejected it, screaming as if every cell understood this was a force not meant to be contained. He staggered, sweat pouring down his face, his heart hammering in his chest. The balance slipped, and his skin prickled with an unnatural heaviness, almost like stone creeping up his arms.
"Kaito!" Soka rushed forward, but he raised a hand to stop her. His eyes snapped open, bloodshot but steady.
"Not yet… I almost had it."
Soka bit her lip. She could heal wounds, mend organs, seal bleeding veins—but she couldn't mend the kind of madness that drove Kaito to stand again and again, throwing himself into the abyss just to see if he could climb out stronger.
And yet, she didn't stop him. She couldn't. Because deep down, she believed in him. She believed that his madness might just change the world.
She steadied her own stance, focusing chakra into her hands until the faint glow of a medical scalpel sharpened in the air. If Kaito was pushing past his limits, then so would she.
Together they moved, clashing against each other, against the trees, against the very air itself. Kaito swung his tanto, channeling bursts of wind and lightning chakra until sparks and gusts erupted with every strike. Soka ducked low, countering with water bullets and bursts of fire, her body twisting gracefully as she weaved in medical chakra to amplify her reflexes.
The forest became their crucible. Trees toppled. Earth cracked. Air shimmered with heat and pressure. Their bodies screamed, their lungs burned, but neither stopped.
And in that exhaustion, something new was born. Not power, not victory, but understanding. The understanding that they were no longer just children running from death—they were forces carving their names into the world, with every drop of blood, every scar, every breath.
Kaito fell to one knee, panting, his tanto buried in the dirt to hold himself upright. Across from him, Soka leaned against a broken trunk, her chest heaving, her clothes torn and soaked with sweat.
And then they laughed. Broken, breathless, delirious laughter.
"Idiots," Soka wheezed.
"Always," Kaito replied again.
But his smile was real. And for the first time, he believed—truly believed—that their bond, their will, and their relentless hunger might one day be enough to shake the entire shinobi world.