The Rabbit Goddess equally cursed and blessed her grandchildren
The Hyuga to bear Witness
Hiashi Hyuga was not a kind man. He could not afford to be, as he looked over his daughters. Hinata was trying, but she lacked the ability to harden herself properly. In many ways, she lacked the capability to use the deeper and true uses of the Byakugan. The resolve to do as she must. She was too kind and would be moved, when she must remain apart, remain cold. Remain impartial and without judgement.
At the levels that all knew of, that the training that was allowed to be revealed even inside the family, their eyes could see Chakra more deeply and clearly than any other, seeing the essence of existence in clarity that no others can match. The rumors, the tales, reveal something of the second step. To see so deeply and clearly into someone as to reading their thought as one might read a scroll. To read their energy so clearly and well as to grasp all that they were. Much of that, even in the clan, was simply cold reading to those that did not need to know.
The true purpose of the gentle fist, as Hinata hesitated, as Hanabi claimed victory in that moment of weakness, was tied to the true purpose of the Byakugan, his eyes active in all their weight. He watched. He saw his daughters. From the moment of their conception to the moment they ceased to live. He saw all times. All choices they could make along their paths, as they came from and returned to the wheel. Several of him shifted, hands moving and striking across time and space, ghosts and karma returned to the wheel.
He bore witness to his daughters Fate. She would not lead the clan. No, as he killed the pity in his heart, she would burn and dance among the stars, feeding herself to her love as he fed himself to her. And so, he spoke with the weight of the ages.
The Uchiha to Record and Remember
Itachi did not speak, as he looked over the locale where he walked. There was no need, even as he examined all the little details, the stories and the tales long forgotten. He was not important, an outsider, mattering only in that they deserved to be remembered, to exist in memory. It was a small thing, as he walked along the path. It was a lonely road that had the same ending as all roads. Another would continue on where his own ended. Though he wondered, as he looked at Obito, why his cousin chose to remember a record of his own devising?
He wondered, as he looked at Nagato, why he chose to only understand pain and suffering, locking himself with the dead in the dark. His eyes spin, as the brush of his mind crosses his soul, or was it that he thought that he had all the answers? He supposed it mattered little in the end. It is. And he would remember until he bestowed the records back to the clan. That they may remember in his place.
If one looked at his footsteps from above and searched for him, they would never find him, as Itachi marched forward into the past.
The Senju to Embody
Orochimaru has seen some of the greatest of the Senju. And more and more, he is convinced that it has nothing to do with bloodlines as he looks on the returned forms of the former Hokage, little Naruto having taken the tags off their foreheads. Which is when he realizes something important, as the village beats, as it pulses like a heart, the trees and the leaves turning to a new point. Because it is not a man on the rooftop with him. It is the village. It is the forest itself. It only looks like a man, as dead flesh is consumed by mushrooms and moss, loam and rot broken down by roots, fresh sprouts emerging as the first stretches and breathes.
Beside him there is a lake. A perfectly still lake that is heart rending in how pristine it is, how clear the waters are. And yet, even as the bottom is clear, it is an illusion, reflecting the sky above, for that lake reaches deeper than mortal man was meant to know. Life and death and stranger places as the waters drilled ever downwards, towards places where the darkness was not a lack of light, but something in its own right, interacting with other laws to create realms utterly alien and mundane. Perfectly still waters sink and rise, dredging those depths as ripples dance, risinmng to form mist and clouds, a thunderstorm brewing.
Elsewhere, he can hear her roar, a jug of poison in one hand, life in the other. The earth shakes as a crone pretending at maidenhood storms closer. She is a mountain with carefully cultivated herb gardens, medicine and poison as one along her flanks as she moves in a landslide. It may be that he has miscalculated.
And the Uzumaki to Understand
They shivered again, as they pondered the real reason they could not simply leave their host. They could have left a while ago, but now, as they adopted a much smaller shape and sat on the chair, laying down and looking up at the roof of the temple? They found that it was good to simple talk to one that listened, that was able to actually feel and understand. To know them, and not to judge, as small hands wrapped around them, giving the greatest of the tailed beasts a hug as they bitched about the many, many problems they had developed over their long lives.
Oh, and there was the fact that there was flesh and blood and one forming the temple, entire carpets and tapestries made of eyes that blinked and followed them around, corridors were space and time operated on different kinds of logic. There was the fact that Naruto's soul was a knotted string and a rubix cube folded in and over itself as he penned each discovery down, unfolding into itself in ways that stretched the very definition of the word.
There was a box, and the boys mind circled the box which unpacked to become a cow in a sphere in a diamond, occasionally reaching in for something that related to the rest of the world.