Like my mother before me, I had a bad habit of making grand claims, before I knew whether I could back them up.
灯
光
28 — LAMPLIGHT AND INK
HOURS LATER, THE BLANK SHEET still stared at him accusingly, and so Naruto slammed his fist against the desk.
The ink pot wobbled dangerously, and he lunged to catch it before it could spill. His fingers, numb from the cold, fumbled against the ceramic.
"Damn it," he muttered, steadying the pot. He rubbed the heel of his palm over his eyes. "Damn it."
His hands were stiff. His mind even more so.
The small room was littered with discarded parchments — scrolls marred with collapsed seals, ink smudges darkening the wood. Others were neatly rolled, sealed with cautionary warnings — 'unstable', 'collapsed', 'failed attempt #17'. A storage seal near the edge of the desk had imploded violently, leaving a dark scorch mark where the dimensional structure had ruptured. A preservation matrix, meant to slow decay, had fizzled into useless scribbles.
Naruto picked up his brush again, willing his hand to steady.
Preservation seals were technically simpler, he reasoned. Yes, better to try that first again.
They didn't require carving out pocket dimensions — just stabilizing temperature… and slowing molecular degradation. But his first stroke wobbled before he even finished the guiding ring. The inner symbols, meant to regulate airflow, were delicate. His hand, stiff from cold, trembled.
The brush hesitated, then skidded. The line came out bloated. Thick. Crude.
He stared at it, his stomach twisting. Proper preservation seals were supposed to be pristine, meticulous, and fine as silk-thread script. What he'd drawn looked like something a half-blind child had scratched out in a fit.
He stared at the ink some more.
A long, slow breath. A steady flex of his fingers.
Fine, he thought shakily. That's fine.
If the preservation seals weren't working, then he'd go back to storage again.
The first guiding spiral ring, a cornerstone of the Uzumaki sealing style, went down smoothly. He had practiced this part so many times that the strokes came instinctively, forming the foundation of the seal.
The second ring was where things got complicated.
Each layer of the array was a nested sub-seal, designed to maintain compartments within the storage matrix, and exponentially more complex to set up. And of course, if the rings were too close together, the pockets would overlap, creating interference that could destabilize the entire seal. If they were too far apart, objects could drift, leading to unpredictable retrieval issues.
His brush hovered over the parchment.
Too fast. He was rushing again. That was never a good thing with sealing. Naruto exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wooden chair.
Surprisingly enough, he was making progress.
Just not fast enough. And every step forward seemed to introduce five more complications. Outside, the wind battered the depot walls, slipping through the gaps in the planks. The cold curled around his ankles, seeped into his skin. And that was exactly the problem — everything was freezing. Not just his fingers and feet. Water. Medicine. Supplies.
The idea of sealing them wasn't complex. Or at least, it shouldn't have been. And the theory had seemed sound.
The practice, however, had been a disaster.
His latest attempt had ended with the boundary collapsing the moment he had placed an object inside. Wood into wood had been simple enough, but he was now trying to do something both more practical and more useful. The inkwork had seemed fine to him, but the dimensional structure within the seal had crumpled, spitting the contents back out onto his desk.
If this had been a real supply pack — if it had contained vital medicine or food instead of a placeholder — they would have lost everything.
Not for the first time, he cursed himself. What part of him had ever thought that helping with anything like this was a good idea?
Think.
He set down his brush and began tracing a slightly altered first ring of the array in his mind.
A containment boundary was the first ring, the base — strong enough to withstand compression but flexible enough to allow retrieval. A frame, a door of sorts, a window into the pocket space.
The second ring's purpose was dimensional stabilization. This was where things nearly always went wrong for him. He imagined it as a scaffolding, invisible struts keeping the pocket space "open" so it wouldn't crumple in on itself. If the frame was too rigid, the space would snap shut, crushing whatever was inside. Too loose, and the whole thing would ripple, threatening collapse.
Third ring — chakra channels. These were the lifelines, the flowing conduits that stabilized the pocket space, ensuring the object inside didn't drift, deform, or become corrupted. If the channels were too weak, the stored item might not return intact. If it returned at all.
Fourth ring—
He stopped, exhaling through his nose. Why did mass affect the stability so much?
If he were still in Uzushio, he might have worked this out already.
Maybe. They didn't hand answers to children there — not immediately. Uzushio's way had never been about shortcuts.
It was said to be about the journey to understanding, as apparent in how a child's fingers smudged ink across parchment before they learned the right pressure, angles, motions, and logic, as it was in the most intricate seals.
Seals were not simply taught; they were earned.
And a lesson had to be felt before it could be understood. Even Noboru, patient as he was, had let Naruto stumble first, fail first, and struggle first before offering corrections. A small tilt of the head, a quiet hum of disapproval, a finger tapping against the table when Naruto had tried to skip ahead.
And making him repeat exercises he'd dismissed as pointless, admittedly.
That was the Uzushio way — guide the foundations, the principles, and then let students unravel the deeper truths themselves. It was, they said, what had led to their most innovative breakthroughs.
All that, while avoiding the students injuring themselves. Mostly.
Of course, some simply cherished their secrets and, thus, were unwilling to share.
It frustrated him back then and infuriated him when he thought about all the wasted time spent on things he had thought were obvious. He had wanted to jump ahead, race forward — still did. Uzushio, however, had always been a place of slow, deliberate mastery. And now, when it felt as though it truly mattered, he had no one from Uzushio to even ask. No Noboru. No patient corrections. No knowing hums. Only himself, his ink, and his mistakes.
Shiori would—
The thought hit like a knife, and he tore away from it before it could cut deeper. If he let himself think of her, he would see her. Her quiet strength, her gnarled hands — hands that would never move again. If he let himself think of her, he would remember. Not just her. Old Uzushio. Mito, Yume. The cliffs, the salt in the air. The voices that were not his but now lived in him, unwanted and heavy. Memories given to him for a reason he couldn't understand.
It didn't change anything: none of them were here. There was no Noboru to teach him, no Shiori either. No young men who bore enough power to shatter mountains, no trained killers either. Silence was all he had.
Seals were easier. They had rules, logic, and order — even when he didn't fully understand them. He could lose himself in their structure, let his thoughts fold into the layers. If he just kept thinking, just kept working, there would be no room for anything else.
Four days of nothing but ink and chakra sounded rather nice.
He turned the problem over in his mind again.
If sealing was only about space, then mass shouldn't matter much — as long as there was room, a crate of food should take no more effort than a handful of kunai.
But reality disagreed.
Larger objects resisted sealing. The ink warped, the formula twisted, the structure buckled as if the seal itself was rejecting something too big to fit. Like trying to pour an ocean into a teacup.
Mass posed a different challenge. A lightweight but bulky object, like an empty crate, still strained a seal less than something small but dense, like a solid iron ingot. That shouldn't be the case. If sealed objects existed in a separate space, their weight shouldn't interfere once inside.
And yet, every attempt, every failure, proved otherwise. Was the problem happening before the storage even took place? Or was it something else entirely?
The arrays that made a seal portable — the ones that allowed a sealed object to remain weightless — should, in theory, work the same no matter the mass. Otherwise, what was the point? A storage seal that was just as heavy as its contents would be useless. So where was the flaw? What was he missing?
He had seen it before — the boundary lines buckling, seals destabilizing when he reinforced the wrong section. Every time, he had thought he was strengthening the structure, like bracing a wall about to fall. But instead of stabilizing it, the additional symbols had only thrown everything further out of balance. It wasn't just about holding space open. That much was becoming clear.
For just a heartbeat, something stirred within him — something he had never felt before — a wordless intuition that perhaps what the seal truly needed was not more structure, but a fragment of himself anchored within its lines.
Naruto groaned, dragging a hand through his hair, absently noting the ink he smeared into it—
The soft scrape of a hand against the tent flap brought him back to the present. A breath of cold air slipped in as Otsuru pushed through.
"Are you done?" she asked.
Naruto studied her for a moment. Snow clung to her face, melting as she stepped closer, the tips of her fingers red from the cold — she was wearing no gloves this time. And likely had been waiting outside longer than she should have. His gaze flickered to her hands, then back up to her face.
"No," he muttered.
Otsuru tilted her head slightly, unreadable in the dim glow of the brazier. Her breath curled in the air between them, dissipating too quickly in the chill.
"But have you figured it out yet?" she asked.
His jaw tensed. She wasn't supposed to know he didn't actually know how to do what he had so confidently offered. "What do you mean?" he said, his voice steady.
Otsuru gave him an unconcerned shrug, her posture as easy as if she weren't standing there with half-frozen fingers and damp hair. "I had the feeling you were improvising back then. I think my sister fell for it."
"I wasn't."
Her lips curved, not quite a smirk, not quite kind. "Liar."
Naruto exhaled sharply, more out of today's habit than real annoyance, and ran a hand through his hair. Strands of it stuck up worse than before, but he barely noticed. "Are you always this suspicious?" he grumbled.
"Only when I'm right," Otsuru said easily, stepping further inside. She reached out, and for a moment, he thought she might flick him between the eyes — something about her posture made it seem inevitable — but instead, she crouched by the brazier, rubbing her hands close to the embers.
A sharp scent of singed wool filled the air as warmth touched her damp sleeves. She wrinkled her nose but didn't move.
Otsuru then looked at him, one brow lifting in quiet amusement.
"You're pretty bad at lying," she said, stretching out her fingers. The raw pink of her skin darkened as warmth returned, but she didn't complain.
Naruto's lips pressed into a thin line. "Guess so?"
She hummed, tilting her head. "And stubborn, too, I'm pretty sure."
The brazier crackled softly between them, casting flickering light against the tent walls. Outside, the wind had picked up again, rattling against the fabric.
"What do you want, Otsuru?" he asked finally.
"You remembered?" She smiled — small, knowing. "To see if you'd give up yet."
Naruto scoffed, shaking his head. "Not happening."
"Mm," she mused. "I figured."
A moment passed, quiet but not uncomfortable.
"You ask too many questions," Naruto muttered, rubbing at his temple.
Otsuru's eyes gleamed with something unreadable in the flickering light. "You don't ask enough," she countered. Naruto clicked his tongue, but before he could argue, she beat him to it. "Where are you from?"
"I think you heard me then, didn't you?"
Otsuru snorted. "That's a coward's answer."
Naruto rolled his eyes. "Uzushio," he said, watching her reaction. "Didn't hear much about it?"
"Not that much," she said, shifting closer to the brazier. "Not many people come from there anymore."
"How would you know that?"
"We're nomads," she simply said. "We aren't always in Iron."
"Oh." She might have seen more of the world than he had, then.
"Uzushio had a lot of ties to the old clans, even to the one we are descended from — most of us, that is — once."
Naruto tilted his head. "You mean the Fujiki?"
"No, the one we split from," she hummed. "But you know our name, at least."
"I listen."
"I'm sure," she muttered before leaning back on her hands. "Fujiki means 'wisteria tree' — roots deep, branches strong, a home for birds and wandering souls."
She said it almost like a recitation, like something she'd heard her whole life.
"You're a wandering soul?" Naruto asked, slightly amused.
Otsuru huffed. "Not just me. The clan." She exhaled, watching the way her breath curled in the cold. "There were more nomads before. Our ancestors came from the mountains near what used to be the borderlands — before people carved the world into the modern territories."
Naruto frowned. "Then why are you here now?"
"Because we had nowhere else to go," she said simply. "When the land wars came, people who lived like us weren't worth much. Not useful enough to hire as fighters, not rooted enough to be protected. So we moved, found places no one wanted to chase us from. The old roads, the high passes. Iron was a good choice. No other daimyo truly wants land that can't be farmed, and no lord cares about people who don't swear loyalty."
Her voice was matter-of-fact, but Naruto caught something underneath it. Not bitterness. Not pride, either.
"So you became wanderers," Naruto said.
She nodded. "We travel where we want. We fight when we must. Sometimes, people come. Sometimes, they leave. That's life."
A wind gusted outside, whistling through the tent's seams.
Naruto let the silence settle between them before asking, "And your family? Are they all still here?"
"They're all family," she said, and Naruto opened his mouth to answer — before she cut him off. "My sister, Okiku, you've met." Her tone was steady. "Our brother… was supposed to be a warrior."
"Was?"
She gave a one-shouldered shrug, too casual. "Not everyone is meant for what they're born into."
Naruto studied her for a long moment and kept his thoughts to himself.
"Sounds complicated," he said.
Her lips twitched. "You have no idea."
The fire popped softly, embers shifting.
"Enough about me," she said suddenly, brushing off whatever weight had settled on her shoulders. "What about you?"
Naruto blinked. "What about me?"
"You come from nowhere but still think you belong everywhere. You are a shinobi, but a terrible liar. And you claim to know sealing, but…" Otsuru tilted her head, watching him.
He grunted. "…I know sealing."
She snorted. "All right."
He leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting toward the embers. "I have a goal," he said.
Otsuru made a quiet sound. "That's vague."
Naruto gave her a dry look. "Are you always this nosy?"
She gave an innocent shrug. He huffed but didn't argue.
Otsuru studied him a moment longer before shifting her posture, draping her arms over her knees. "So, Fire. Konoha, then?"
Naruto hesitated, but not for long. "Konoha."
"Why?"
"Because I need to," he said. "I chose to go."
Otsuru didn't press, but her gaze sharpened slightly. "You don't look like someone excited to visit."
Naruto gave a short, humorless laugh. "I wouldn't say excited, no."
"Then why?"
He exhaled, tilting his head back toward the tent's ceiling. "Because it's the only place that has what I need."
Otsuru frowned slightly, watching him in the dim light. "What do you need?"
He didn't answer right away. His fingers flexed briefly before stilling.
"A way to heal someone," he said finally. The words were quiet but heavy.
Otsuru's brows drew together slightly. "A medic, then?"
"If she will help, yes. Otherwise…"
She didn't ask who or what, and he didn't offer. But her expression turned thoughtful.
"That's a dangerous journey to go looking for help," she said after a pause.
Naruto's lips quirked. "I know."
"I don't think you can make it alone."
"Probably not," he admitted.
Otsuru studied him for a long moment. "But you're still going?"
"Of course," he said, voice steady. "There's no question about that."
Another gust of wind pressed against the tent.
Otsuru exhaled, rubbing warmth into her fingers. "Ha. And here I thought you were stubborn before."
"…My mother used to say it, too."
She watched him for another moment.
"Come on," she said, standing. "I want to show you something."
He shook his head. "I don't have much time to waste—"
"Have you made any progress in the past two hours? I heard you curse about a thousand times — I think they were curses? I don't know your language."
Naruto bristled but didn't argue. He pulled himself up, stretching slightly.
"Whatever," he muttered.
Otsuru just laughed and pushed open the tent flap, stepping into the night. He blinked. Already?
Snow fell in slow, drifting flakes, the sky above entirely dark. Naruto followed her without a word. Otsuru moved with the ease of someone who knew these paths in the dark. The snow crunched softly beneath her boots, her steps light but confident. Naruto followed a few paces behind, his breath curling into the cold night air.
The Fujiki encampment sat quiet, scattered fires reduced to embers, the wind carrying the faintest trace of smoke. Most of the nomads had already retreated into their tents, leaving only the occasional rustling of canvas to break the silence.
Otsuru didn't speak as she led him away from the tents, down a sloping path that cut between rocky outcroppings. The further they went, the quieter the world became. Naruto could still feel the wind, but here, the cliffs shielded them from its worst bite.
"Where are we going?" he asked finally.
"You'll see."
Eventually, the narrow path opened into a hollowed-out space nestled between the cliffs — a natural windbreak. A frozen lake stretched before them, near-black ice reflecting the moonlight, smooth and unbroken. The air felt heavier here, still and waiting.
"This," she said, gesturing to the lake, "is what I wanted to show you."
Naruto frowned slightly, studying it. "It's a lake."
Otsuru snorted. "Incredible observation skills."
Naruto shot her a dry look. "What's so special about it?"
She didn't answer for a while.
"Nothing, really, but…"
Otsuru came to a stop at the edge of the ice and reached into her sleeve, withdrawing two small paper lanterns, carefully folded.
"You mentioned them earlier," she said quietly. "Your comrades. The ones who didn't make it."
Naruto's breath caught in his throat.
"The Fujiki believe that sometimes, souls become trapped between worlds," she continued, offering him one of the lanterns. "Especially those who die far from home." She smiled faintly. "For us, it's simpler. Home is wherever we stand. We do not build graves nor carve names into stone. Instead, we light these, so that those we've lost might find their way."
Her fingers brushed his as she passed him the lantern. "I know it's not much, coming from a stranger. And maybe you're going to find it stupid, even."
Naruto stared at the delicate paper in his hands, something tight constricting his chest. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," she cut him off, then added more gently, "If you'll let me."
Naruto stared at the black ice, the moon's reflection caught in its depths. He wasn't sure what to say.
Otsuru glanced at him and then straightened, brushing the snow from her knees. "I can speak their names for you," she said. "So they are not lost."
For a moment, he couldn't speak. Then, slowly, he nodded.
Otsuru knelt at the lake's edge, placing her lantern gently against the ice. From her sleeve, she drew a small striker and a stick of incense. The sharp scent of sulfur cut through the cold as she lit it.
"What were their names?" she asked.
Naruto swallowed hard. "Shiori," he said, his voice rough. "Ryūjin." A moment's hesitation. "Aiko. And all the others who died onboard, whose names I don't know."
For a moment, he thought of Karin, of Shōzō, of all those lost to the sea on another day. He thought of them — and remembered they had been laid to rest. Buried already.
Otsuru nodded, touching the burning incense to the wick of her lantern.
"I only brought two," she murmured, watching the soft glow bloom from within. "But it should be enough."
The paper began to glow from within, casting a warm orange light across the ice. She passed him the incense, and he lit his own with hands that trembled slightly.
"I said this lake was nothing special," she mused, setting her lantern onto the ice, "but that isn't true — not if we return to it every time we pass through."
She placed her lantern on the ice, giving it a gentle push. It slid forward, light dancing across the frozen surface.
"We bring our lanterns here," she continued, "because the spirits beneath the ice will help guide them home."
Naruto set his lantern down, watching as it glided after hers. The two lights moved slowly across the black ice, casting twin pools of warmth in the darkness.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The wind stirred, but the lanterns continued their steady journey, protected by the cliffs.
Then — a sound. Faint, but unmistakable. Like distant chimes, or voices singing too far away to make out the words.
"You hear it, don't you?" Otsuru asked softly.
Naruto nodded, unable to speak. The sound seemed to resonate in his chest, stirring something deep and aching.
They watched until the lanterns were only pinpricks of light in the distance, like fallen stars scattered across the ice. Eventually, they disappeared entirely, as though swallowed by the darkness.
"Thank you," Naruto managed finally, his voice rough.
Otsuru touched his arm briefly. "It's alright," she said. "Come on. It's getting cold."
As they turned to leave, Naruto cast one last look over his shoulder, across the frozen water. For just a moment, he thought he saw something — a flicker of light beneath the ice, like a lantern floating in deep water.
Naruto closed his eyes.
He thought of Ryūjin, a man he had barely known, of Aiko, whose presence had felt familiar after only a few hours, and of Shiori, who had chosen to let him glimpse into her past as if it were his own.
Then he opened them, and it was gone, leaving only moonlight on black ice as well as the fading echo of chimes in the winter air.
Neither of them spoke as they walked, and in silence, they made their way back to camp.
i/YXNNj9 : Lamplight
i/YXmCs9 : Extra — "Goodbyes"
AN: Best retirement plan most ninja get.
Next chapter next week... or the one after that, depending on when I get home.
Next chapter: Three Days