47: Ephemeral

Past the border city, they came to a great bridge.

Five or six meters wide, close to a hundred meters long, standing more than ten meters above a rushing river. The far bank was green and clear—a different world from this side.

“Once we cross, we’ll be in the Land of Rivers,” Tsume told Shin.

Standing at the foot of the bridge, Shin felt it—the faint, crawling sensation of being watched. He scanned the area. Behind them lay dense forest, the kind that could swallow a dozen concealed shinobi and never show a trace.

There are watchers here too, he thought. Not just the checkpoint.

The entire caravan crossed without incident. On the other side, there were no inspections, no guards—nothing like the Land of Fire’s security. The Land of Rivers was a small nation wedged between the Land of Fire and the Land of Wind. It had endured the worst of every war fought between its neighbors, and only after the two great nations made peace had it found room to breathe.

The scenery was beautiful—different from Fire Country, but no less so. Rivers and mountains everywhere, winding through a lush landscape that lived up to the nation’s name.

They pressed on without stopping until they reached a sizable town not far from the border. It was large for a frontier settlement, and other merchant caravans had already bedded down here. Street stalls lined every road. The place hummed with commerce.

“Tsume-sama, let’s rest here for the night.” Tomotoshi addressed her with the same careful deference he always used. “We’ve reached the Land of Rivers now. Please allow us to properly show our appreciation for your escort. This may be a remote town, but you’ll find no shortage of local specialties.”

“Of course, if you’d prefer, you’re welcome to continue with us deeper into the country.”

Shin tuned out the pleasantries. His eyes were on the town—the flow of strangers, the foreign goods, the whole different texture of a place built for travelers rather than residents. It wasn’t like Konoha at all.

They found an inn: large, clean, unpretentious. The caravan’s horses and cargo were led to the rear courtyard and storehouses, with hands assigned to watch over them.

Shin and Tsume each got their own room. His was spacious, with a back door that opened onto a communal hot spring—segregated, naturally.

He unpacked, changed, and soaked for a while. Back in the room, the exhaustion hit all at once. A full day of walking on top of no sleep the night before. Someone came to call him for dinner, but he was already out.

He slept without dreaming.

Night. The Uchiha compound.

“Nii-san?!”

Itachi had barely stepped through the front door when Sasuke came running.

“How come you’re so late?” The delight on his face gave way to a pout almost instantly. “I was hoping we could train together today.”

“Sasuke…” Itachi’s gaze was lowered, his voice soft and worn. “The mission ran long. I’m tired. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

He moved past his brother without waiting for an answer.

“Then will you train with me tomorrow?”

Itachi stopped. His back was still turned.

Tomorrow…

“School’s been so boring.” Sasuke scratched the back of his head, a little sheepish. “Shin hasn’t been showing up, so even the taijutsu classes are no fun.”

A beat.

“I want to beat him when he gets back.”

“Shin?” Itachi glanced over his shoulder. The name carried a particular weight—because of Shisui, he’d been paying attention.

“Yeah. Apparently he left the village to go traveling or something. Who knows when he’ll be back.” Sasuke’s lip curled.

“I see…”

“Dad taught him the Great Fireball Jutsu and he learned it on his first try. I’ve got to train way harder, or I’m never going to catch up—” Sasuke was off and running, the words tumbling out one after another.

“Sasuke.”

“Hm?” He blinked.

“You and Shin… you’re close, aren’t you.”

“W-we’re not—” Sasuke’s voice went small. “It’s, you know. Normal.”

“Having a friend is a fortunate thing.” Itachi’s voice was quiet. “Cherish that.”

He stood and left the room.

“Wait—Nii-san! What about training tomorrow?!”

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No answer came.

The living room wasn’t empty. Fugaku sat in his usual place, legs folded beneath him, eyes on the doorway. He’d been waiting.

“Itachi.”

“…Father.” Itachi lowered his head and knelt.

“Where have you been?”

“…The Naka Shrine.”

Something shifted behind Fugaku’s eyes—surprise, perhaps—quickly smoothed away.

“Before that?”

Silence stretched between them.

Before that… the Hokage’s office.

“ANBU have appeared around the compound,” Fugaku continued, as though Itachi’s silence were answer enough. “In considerable numbers.”

“…”

“The Uchiha Military Police patrols—both inside the village and along the outer perimeter—have been pulled. By the Hokage’s direct order.” Fugaku’s gaze had not moved from Itachi’s bowed head. Not once. “All of this happened before the compound was sealed.”

Itachi’s eyes flickered, but his head stayed down.

ANBU. The Hokage’s personal force.

So the Third didn’t intend to trust him after all.

“Is the Hokage finally making his move against us?” A cold smile cut across Fugaku’s face. “Or are you still playing the role of double agent?”

“Itachi?”

Silence.

“…You said you went to the Naka Shrine.” Fugaku shifted tack.

“…”

“What did you see there?”

“…Father.” Itachi raised his head. His eyes met Fugaku’s—flat, carrying neither grief nor anger. “The Uchiha’s path has no future.”

A beat of dead air.

Fugaku let out a low, cold laugh and closed his eyes.

“Then let me show you the Uchiha’s future.”

His eyes snapped open.

Crimson. Three tomoe spun in each iris, then morphed—stretching into interlocking black lines that wove into a complex, shifting design.

The Mangekyō Sharingan.

Itachi had no time to look away.

“Wakahirume!“

……