Am I not afraid of death?
At Artoria's question, Itachi's dark eyes flickered faintly before dimming once more.
He had spent so long pondering the meaning of life, yet never once had he considered the meaning of death.
Could it be… that in their final moments, those who died might have felt peace?
Perhaps, though they seemed unwilling to leave this world, deep down they were ready to let go.
The thought crossed his mind—
Maybe death wasn't something to fear.
Maybe he should experience it—slowly, deliberately, and truthfully.
Perhaps… jumping off a cliff would be a fitting way.
To leap from a towering precipice, feeling the wind cradle his body on the way down—
knowing that the air could not save him, only guide him into the stillness below.
And in that fall, to quietly comprehend what it meant to die.
...
"This child… keeps thinking about things no one his age should even understand."
Artoria watched him with a trace of sorrow in her emerald eyes.
Even as one who had borne the blood of dragons, even she could not have remained so calm at such a young age, stranded in a place like this.
What kind of life had molded this child into what he was now?
Ninja. Uchiha. Training. The glory of the clan.
As she searched through the fragments of his memories, she saw nothing but endless drills—learning the ways of survival, hardening his body, refining chakra.
And then it struck her.
Training—yes, it was necessary. To her, discipline was natural.
But she had overlooked something painfully simple:
The boy before her was only five years old.
Realizing this, a quiet sadness welled in her heart.
Five years old, yet his memories contained nothing but the weight of duty.
Where were the joys of childhood?
The laughter? The innocence?
Artoria sat gracefully upon the rough forest floor, folding her legs and resting her hands upon her knees. Even now, her posture remained perfectly upright, her bearing as poised as ever—an embodiment of royalty.
"Tell me, Itachi," she asked softly, her tone gentle yet clear, "why do you wish to ask these things?"
Itachi did not answer right away. He merely stared, his thoughts turning inward.
"You don't have to hide anything from me," she continued calmly. "You know as well as I do—when you were unconscious, we shared each other's memories."
"That means, for the time being… there are no secrets between us."
"Not your restraint, not your silence, not even the way you suppress your emotions."
From the moment he was born, his life had been nothing but cold, unyielding instruction.
His father, Uchiha Fugaku, had taught him only survival—and combat.
Aside from family, Itachi had never known the concept of friends.
And since joining the battlefield months ago, he had long since grown accustomed to witnessing death.
What went on in the heart of a child raised in such an existence?
Artoria wanted to know.
Because in him… she saw herself.
And the truth was painful: this child's reality was far crueler than her own had ever been.
After a long silence, Itachi finally nodded.
"...You're right. There are no secrets between us."
He lifted his gaze, eyes calm and steady.
"So I'll ask you, then."
"To a king—what is war?"
"And to a king—what is life?"
He paused for a moment before continuing, his tone faint but unwavering.
"Up until now, I've come to believe… that life has no meaning."
"My father has always taught me how to survive, how to fight. He wants me to live—
to become a strong shinobi, to bear the pride of the Uchiha name."
"So for a long time, I believed that being alive was what mattered most."
Reaching out from the shadows of the hollow, he extended his hand into the pale moonlight.
Across his small palm, dried blood—someone else's blood—had left a dark crimson mark, like the shape of a withered flower.
"But once I stepped onto the battlefield," he murmured, "I realized that living isn't what's important."
"Everyone seems desperate to live… yet they keep fighting, over and over again."
"As my father said—this is war. Not a conflict between people, but between nations.
Even two strangers, who have never met and share no hatred, are forced to face each other with blades."
"But why? Is it because, beneath the scale of nations and villages, a single life is too brief, too small to matter?"
His voice wavered slightly. There was confusion in it—real, aching confusion.
Artoria's expression grew solemn.
This boy had asked a question that even she, once hailed as King, had never truly confronted.
And in that moment, she stopped seeing him as a child.
He had become… a seeker.
After a long pause, she spoke quietly.
"I have never been a teacher," she said.
"Nor do I claim to guide others toward what is right."
"But if you truly wish to know… I will tell you what I believe."
Her eyes softened slightly.
"After all, with my memories within you, this story isn't much of a secret anymore."
She took a breath.
"War, to me, represents both destruction and rebirth."
"Many things perish in war—yet many others are born anew. It is the eternal cycle, the unending wheel of fate."
"But that does not mean that a single life is insignificant amid the flames."
As she spoke, she rose to her feet.
"Every person, every family, every village and town… together, they form what we call a nation."
"A nation exists because of its people.
And the people, in turn, must sometimes give their lives to protect that nation."
Her voice was firm, her posture unwavering.
Even here—amid the moonlight and the scent of blood—she stood like a queen who had never known fatigue.
Then, her tone shifted.
The air around her sharpened—an invisible pressure radiated outward, stirring her white cloak and making it billow with her presence alone.
Bathed in silver moonlight, her emerald eyes gleamed with unshakable authority as she looked down at the boy in the hollow.
"The first question—what is war to a king? It is destruction and rebirth."
"The second—what is life to a king? It is to protect the kingdom, even at the cost of one's own."
"The third—are lives insignificant before a nation? No. You stand upon this battlefield as its protector."
Her voice cut through the night like steel.
"Itachi, though you are young, you are much like I once was.
I fought beside my knights to defend Britannia, driving invaders from our borders.
You and your clan now fight for the Land of Fire, to defend your home from other nations.
Your lives are not weak."
Her tone had lost its earlier warmth—what remained was cold, commanding, yet filled with a radiant conviction.
And in that voice, Itachi felt something stir deep within him—something he recognized from his father.
Something called… honor.