Night deepened as Shiro and Arashi crossed the invisible boundary line into Shiroi territory. The moment they stepped past it, Shiro felt something shift in the air—subtle, like the faint hum of energy vibrating along his skin.
Arashi noticed his expression.
"Yeah," she said, "that's the clan barrier. Prevents outsiders from using sensory techniques or Gi detection. One of our proud inventions."
Shiro took in the surroundings. The forest here was different—taller, thicker trees with pale leaves that shimmered softly under the moonlight. The air smelled cleaner, tinged with metal, as though the very earth had been infused with Weapon Gi.
Arashi nudged him.
"Don't slow down. We're not home free yet."
Shiro tore his gaze away from the trees and nodded, though his legs felt heavy. Not from exhaustion—he had run farther during academy drills.
From fear.
From loss.
The image of the exploding ridge still pulsed behind his eyelids. He kept hearing the echoes of the blasts, the crackle of Gi clashing, the final thunderous explosion that swallowed the slope.
He kept hearing Renshiro's last words—Trust me—and finding nothing to hold onto.
Arashi led him through the dense woods with surprising stealth. She didn't walk like a warrior or a soldier. She moved like a dancer in the middle of a battlefield—every step precise, fluid, deliberate.
Shiro said nothing for a long while.
Arashi finally sighed. "If you're thinking about jumping back over that ridge—don't."
Shiro's fists tightened. "I wasn't going to."
"Liar."
He didn't deny it.
Arashi continued, "Look… Renshiro isn't an amateur. The fact he fought three elites and one Meiji captain at the same time means he's probably still alive."
Shiro shot her a doubtful look.
She shrugged. "Or he's already dead and rallied those psychos away from the ridge before kicking the bucket."
Shiro's face twisted with disbelief. "You're not helping."
"Hey, honesty is better than false hope."
"No," Shiro snapped, "honesty would be saying you don't know. Not predicting the worst."
Arashi stopped walking and turned to face him fully. Moonlight reflected off her pale hair, giving her an almost ethereal glow.
"Listen," she said quietly, "you can't drown in what-ifs. If Renshiro died protecting you, then honor it. If he lived, he'll find you. Either way, staring into the smoke won't change anything."
Shiro's breath hitched.
She wasn't trying to be cruel this time. She was trying to keep him moving.
"I don't want him to die," Shiro said softly.
Arashi didn't respond for a while.
Then she said, "Nobody wants to lose the person who saved their life. Not even a wannabe ninja lord."
A weak smile tugged at the corner of Shiro's mouth.
They walked again. The forest gradually thinned as the terrain smoothed into a gentle valley. Ahead, lights flickered between tree trunks—soft white and pale blue glows, not fire but something calmer.
Arashi tapped Shiro's arm. "We're here."
He stepped out of the trees and froze.
A village sprawled across the valley, tucked between two sloping hills. Unlike normal settlements, the Shiroi Reserve was fortified with sleek walls made of silver-gray metal plates arranged like layered feathers. Lanterns shaped like spearheads lined the walkways, glowing with soft Gi-infused light.
Warriors patrolled the perimeter—men and women clad in white armor trimmed with steel. Their movements were precise, coordinated, almost eerie in their uniformity.
Shiro exhaled softly. "This is… beautiful."
"Took centuries to build," Arashi said proudly. "And unlike other clans, we don't burn our own history for political points."
Shiro gave her a side glance. "You say that like the Meiji do."
Arashi smirked. "They do."
As they approached the entrance, two guards stepped forward, crossing their spears.
"Arashi Shiroi," one guard said stiffly. "You left without permission."
Arashi waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, give me the lecture later. Let us through."
The other guard eyed Shiro. "And who is the boy?"
"Guest," Arashi said.
The guards hesitated. "From which clan?"
"None of your business."
The guards stiffened. "Arashi—"
She clicked her tongue impatiently. "If you want to argue, take it up with my grandfather. He's the one who sent me."
That shut them up.
Their expressions soured, but they lowered their spears and stepped aside.
Shiro leaned close and whispered, "Your grandfather must be scary."
"You have no idea," Arashi muttered.
They passed through the feathered steel gates and entered the village proper.
Inside, artisans worked at long tables, crafting weapons that gleamed under lantern light—blades, spears, kunai, chain sickles, even strange experimental tools Shiro couldn't name. Children practiced weapon drills in the courtyard, their forms sharp even at their age.
Shiro whispered, "Everyone here fights with weapons?"
"Shiroi tradition," Arashi said. "If we can't kill you with bare hands, we kill you with metal."
"That's… comforting."
Arashi flashed a grin. "It should be comforting for you. You're under our protection, remember?"
A few villagers glanced at Shiro as they passed. Some with curiosity. Others with confusion. None with hostility.
Still, Shiro felt exposed in a place he didn't belong.
"Come on," Arashi said, grabbing his sleeve. "Elder Hall is this way."
They weaved through the main avenue toward a tall structure at the center of the village. Unlike the other buildings, this one was carved from polished stone and decorated with golden-tipped spears embedded into the walls.
Inside, the hall was dim. Soft white flames flickered in metal bowls along the sides. Arashi led him to a raised platform where a single elderly man sat cross-legged.
He wore a long white robe with steel patches stitched into the sleeves, and his long hair—white as snowfall—was tied behind his head. A single massive spear rested across his knees, glowing faintly.
When he finally opened his eyes, Shiro felt the weight of an entire lifetime stare back at him.
"Grandfather," Arashi said, bowing. "I brought him."
The elder nodded slowly. "Thank you, Arashi. Leave us."
She froze. "Wait—alone? With him? You trust him that much?"
"He is the Kage heir," the elder said simply. "And he has walked far enough."
Arashi looked between them, clearly unhappy, but bowed again. "Yes, Elder Shinta."
She backed away, leaving the hall.
Silence filled the space.
Shiro swallowed. "You… know who I am?"
Shinta Shiroi nodded. "I have known since the moment your concealment charm crossed our border."
Shiro blinked. "But—how?"
Shinta's eyes were old, but sharp. "Shadow Gi has a distinct resonance. Concealment can hide it from most, but not from someone who has lived through the purging of your clan."
Shiro felt his stomach drop. "So you know what happened to them."
Shinta rested both hands on the spear across his knees.
"I know more than you can imagine."
The hall felt suffocating.
Shinta continued, "The Meiji and Akuma clans did not destroy the Kage merely out of fear."
His voice grew low, heavy.
"There was a secret. A truth the Kage uncovered. Something Metsudo Meiji could not allow to exist."
Shiro's heartbeat thundered. "What truth?"
Shinta leaned forward.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"The Kage Clan discovered the origin of Gi itself."
The flames flickered violently.
Shiro's breath froze.
Shinta's next words felt like a blade sliding into darkness.
"And that secret was powerful enough to topple every clan in Ninshu."
Shiro stared, wide-eyed.
"What… what did they discover?"
Shinta closed his eyes, as if remembering something distant and terrible.
"That," he said quietly, "is what Metsudo Meiji destroyed them to hide."
He looked directly at Shiro, his gaze piercing.
"And now that you've awakened, he will burn the world to stop you from learning it."
Shiro felt the weight of a destiny he never asked for press against his chest.
Shinta rose slowly, gripping his spear.
"You have a long road ahead, boy. Longer and darker than most men ever walk."
He stepped closer, placing a hand on Shiro's shoulder.
"But if you survive… if you learn… if you become what your clan intended you to become…"
His voice deepened.
"You will stand above all ninja."
Shiro swallowed hard.
Shinta's grip tightened.
"And Metsudo Meiji will tremble."