XV
"In the white rays of the Father's Gaze, the Edict was declared by the Disciples' grandchildren. Coexistence may only persist in Clans, separated but still family. It is here where the Father's Vision was broken, in the Heart of Naavoui."
It was deep into the night, long past the hour when silence draped the forest like a heavy curtain. Yet Viktor had not slept, not even for a moment. Despite the rotating watch system maintained by the Foxes—each sentinel trading off in two-hour shifts to ensure the children's safety—his mind refused to rest. Sleep was a luxury he could not afford, not when the shrine's etchings continued to echo through his thoughts like a haunting melody. Something about them felt too important, too true, to simply close his eyes and forget.
He sat beneath the crooked boughs of a towering elderpine, legs crossed atop a root twisted up from the forest floor like an arthritic hand. Before him, a small campfire smoldered softly, more ember than flame, casting the occasional flicker of light onto the surface of his notebook. He'd filled half the pages already—scribbled diagrams, transliterations, speculations. But this—this inscription—had been a discovery beyond expectation. Just three sentences, and yet they carried the weight of an era.
With time, patience, and the assistance of old academic records, Viktor had managed to break down the phrasing. The term "Father's Gaze" had puzzled him at first, but once he recalled the association of the Father with the moon in ancient Ionian symbology, everything clicked into place. The Gaze was moonlight—the serene yet omnipresent watchfulness of the night. The Edict, then, must be the first law handed down to the original tribes, a primal contract born from the wisdom of the last of Father's legacy. The actual content of the Edict remained elusive to him; his understanding of the Old Ways was still surface-level, scraped together from tomes passed around in the Academy and his stay had not expanded on such presumptions.
But perhaps the most intriguing piece was Naavoui. It did not appear on any map he'd studied, no record he could access in the Academy's archives made reference to it. That, in itself, suggested it was lost—or worse, intentionally forgotten. But what if it wasn't forgotten at all? What if, like many ancient names, it had simply changed?
The thought had struck him like lightning: Naavoui… Navori. It was a possibility. The sounds were too similar to dismiss. If language could evolve, twist, and erode over the centuries like stone in a stream, then Naavoui might very well have become Navori in the present day.
And if that were true—if the "Heart of Naavoui" was in fact the Navori Mountains—then the next piece of the puzzle surrounding the Ruin could be waiting for him there. Waiting beneath centuries of dust and secrecy.
Of course, that raised a new dilemma: the Navori Mountains spanned a vast region. Miles of untamed cliffs, hidden trails, and windswept passes. He'd need to choose a destination. The only place that stood out, that had any documented significance, was the Placidium—a center of scholarship, diplomacy, and ancient heritage. A place still whispered about with reverence by the older Ionians.
He chewed his lip and stared down at the page. What are the chances? he asked himself cynically. But deep down, he already knew the answer. The Placidium was the best lead he had.
Fortunately, Naruto had been clear with the group—they would visit several notable locations over the course of a week. Travel, especially across Ionia's vast terrain, would be handled via his unique brand of magic. He could tear holes through space and step through them with casual grace, a feat that remained breathtaking no matter how many times Viktor witnessed it. It wasn't just convenient—it was necessary. Walking such distances with children in tow was a fool's errand, and Naruto had made his priorities clear. The children came first, always.
Viktor sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes, the leather-bound notebook still open on his lap. He hadn't even heard the footsteps—bare, silent against the forest floor.
"Can't sleep, Viktor?"
The voice, low and calm, made him jump slightly. He turned his head to see Naruto standing beside him, amber eyes catching the faint glow of the embers as he dropped into a seated position under the same tree. His movements were relaxed but deliberate. He looked toward the camp—the small circle of enchanted tents where the children slept soundly, their dreams protected by Naruto's wards and a half-dozen quiet charms that buzzed like insects just beyond hearing.
"I didn't hear you," Viktor muttered, closing his notebook. "No. I can't sleep."
Naruto gave a small shrug. "I don't sleep much, either."
Viktor frowned slightly. "You never do, do you?"
"Three hours is enough for me," Naruto replied. "Always has been. My mom said I was special." His voice softened with the memory, a flicker of warmth coloring his expression. "She'd smile when she said it. Every time."
There was a comfortable silence between them for a moment, filled only by the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint hum of nocturnal insects. Then Naruto tilted his head toward the notebook.
"What are you looking at?"
"Notes," Viktor said, hesitant. "Observations on the shrine. The villagers' customs, too. I've been thinking…" He paused, organizing his thoughts. "Do you think we could make a detour? To the Navori Mountains—specifically the Placidium?"
Naruto didn't respond right away. His gaze rose toward the sky, to the moon—the Father's Gaze, Viktor thought absently. The fox-eyed man was still for a long moment, contemplative. Then he gave a slow nod.
"I don't see why not," Naruto said carefully. "Any particular reason?"
Viktor hesitated. He could feel the weight of what he was about to reveal. His instincts told him not to share everything—not yet. "I'm curious about the Father of Ionia. I think I might find some answers there. Historical ones."
Naruto nodded, accepting that without further probing. "I understand. The Placidium's still an active place of study. It'll be good for the kids, too—lots for them to learn."
Viktor returned the nod, but his fingers curled slightly at his side, nails pressing into his palm. Something about Naruto's expression gnawed at him. The easy acceptance, the nod—it had come too slowly. He had paused at the mention of the Placidium, even if only briefly. That hesitation didn't fit a man who could cross a continent on instinct alone.
Why? Viktor wondered. What is he afraid of there?
He couldn't say anything aloud. Not yet. But the suspicion nestled itself quietly in his chest, and it did not go away.
All he could do was hope that this choice wouldn't lead to regret.
The morning sun broke through the mist like an old memory pushing its way into consciousness, casting soft light across a veil of silver fog that clung to the low ridge. The group advanced steadily along a timeworn path etched into the side of the slope—its stone edges smoothed by centuries of passage. Here, the land was beginning to change. Trees grew less frequently, their roots giving way to wide fields of ochre grasses that swayed like dancers in the wind. Every so often, a weathered monolith jutted from the earth, ancient and partially swallowed by thick ivy, bearing glyphs worn beyond recognition. It felt like walking through the spine of a forgotten dream, and the air held a strange reverence.
Naruto moved near the head of the group, his long coat flaring gently in the mountain breeze, catching on passing gusts like a banner. His golden gaze never lingered—focused always ahead, toward the land that rose and fell in undulating waves. The foxes walked alongside the children, silent and vigilant, their hands twitching at every shift in sound. They moved as a living shield, a soft wall of magic and primal instinct, their presence calming the younger ones even as it unnerved those old enough to recognize what that kind of protection meant.
It had been just over a day since they left the quiet village of Tsugane. Naruto had waited until nightfall, then bent space with a teleportation spell and relocated them to the edge of the Navori range. It wasn't the kind of magic the children had seen before—no circles or runes like the foxes use, just a pulse of warmth and a shift in reality. Since then, the younger children had grown noticeably quieter, touched by the weight of the silence that followed. Powder, ever the spark of chaos, had contained her usual frenetic energy. She no longer dashed between rocks or plucked wildflowers mid-step; she walked with her arms folded tightly, eyes constantly scanning the environment like she expected something magical to leap out from behind the trees. Ekko and a few others walked close together, their shared sense of awe transforming into a bond Naruto found heartening.
Caitlyn, by contrast, remained vigilant—but her vigilance had taken on a different shape. She didn't just watch their surroundings now. She watched Naruto. There was something in the way her eyes tracked his shoulders, his posture, the way he stood between the foxes and the wind—like she was measuring his intentions and weighing them against the unknown. Her hand hovered near where her weapon would've been, and more than once she opened her mouth to speak only to close it again, lips pressed into a thoughtful frown.
"Navori?" she had asked the night before as they stopped beneath a rustling tree. Her brow arched in disbelief, voice carrying the calm firmness of practiced command. "That's far deeper into Ionia than we planned. Why?"
Naruto had looked up from where he was placing a protective charm around their camp. He didn't meet her gaze, just stared into the flickering sigil in his hand. "It's a significant place," he replied softly. "Spiritual, historical. If Ionia has a soul, it's buried in Navori. The shrines, the memories… if we're serious about understanding this land, we can't stop short of its very being."
"And Viktor agrees with this?" she had asked.
Viktor, still hunched over his notebook nearby, had nodded without lifting his eyes. "The region holds deep cultural records. Artifacts. Maybe even traces of ancient technologies. If we're trying to study the soul of Ionia… then yes. It's essential."
Caitlyn had sighed, clearly displeased with the change in their trajectory but unwilling to argue further. It was already done.
Now, as the ridge opened into a sweeping valley, their destination revealed itself.
Navori was not a village. It was not even a city in the way Piltover or undercity might understand one. It was a sanctuary grown from the earth itself, carved and curated by centuries of devotion and patience. Terraces spiraled out from the valley center like petals from a divine flower. Marble towers rose beside wooden pagodas, their sloped roofs crowned in emerald tiles. Bridges of ivory stone arched over slow-moving streams, and golden trees lined every path, their red-gold leaves fluttering like prayer flags. From somewhere within the city, music drifted—faint and haunting, like a song remembered from childhood but never truly known. Incense hung in the air, wrapped in the scent of crushed herbs, old smoke, and something faintly floral.
It was beautiful—but not welcoming.
Unlike Tsugane, where the people had embraced the Old Ways and shared their lives in harmony with the forest, Navori was guarded. It did not hide behind closed gates or raise walls, but the air itself felt watched, measured. Here, the protectors wore their silence like armor.
Two Shojin monks stood at the path's entrance, guarding the ascent to the main terrace. Both were broad-shouldered, faces calm but unmoving. Their polearms were held upright in their hands, gleaming in the light, not as threats but as warnings. They had not yet spoken, but their posture said everything. These were not men who would be moved easily.
Naruto slowed to a halt, and the group behind him followed suit. The foxes spread slightly, instinctively placing themselves between the monks and the children. Viktor adjusted the strap of his crutch while Caitlyn instinctively placed herself beside the nearest child—Powder, still quiet, her blue hair shifting in the breeze.
One of the monks stepped forward and raised a single hand. His voice was clear, calm, and resolute.
"Halt. What business do you bring to Navori?"
Naruto bowed slightly. It was a respectful motion—not subservient, but acknowledging the authority of a place not his own. "We come in peace," he said. "I'm guiding a group of children through Ionia. To learn your ways, your traditions. Your truth."
The monk's eyes scanned the group slowly. He noted Caitlyn's uniform, Viktor's mechanical brace, the kitsune-masked guardians. His eyes lingered on Naruto for a moment longer than necessary, as if searching for a deception buried beneath his skin.
"We do not welcome travelers lightly," the monk said at last. "Especially ones who carry the scent of invasion. Navori is special."
Naruto met his gaze, unwavering. "So is knowledge," he replied, his voice like quiet thunder. "But we're not from Noxus. We are from a place that remains neutral—a place that chooses not to conquer, but to dream."
There was silence. The younger monk stared hard, unwilling to yield. But then the older of the two—his face marked by a scar running from brow to chin—shifted his weight. He studied Naruto for a long moment, then stepped to the side, just a fraction, but enough.
"You may enter," the elder said. "But you will be watched."
Naruto nodded once, understanding the cost of entry. "We'll be respectful," he promised.
With the approval of the guards, Naruto led his foxes and kits into Navori.
The city of Navori unfolded before them not as a maze of streets but as a living painting—one that shifted subtly with each step, each gust of incense-laced wind. Every terrace held a piece of history, every bridge bore the weight of memories carved into its stone. The group advanced slowly, not from hesitation, but from awe. The children were hushed, even Powder, as they took in this place that was unlike Tsugane. Their footsteps were light as if they feared disturbing the sacred silence with something as mundane as noise.
As they climbed a sloped path lined with bronze lanterns, Naruto paused. He turned slightly, gesturing for the group to gather near a tall stone spire nestled beneath the wide limbs of a flowering tree. Vines curled across the monument's base, their purple blooms releasing a soft, earthy fragrance that mingled with the ever-present incense.
"This," Naruto murmured, resting a hand against the cool surface of the stone, "is a memorial."
The children gathered around it, cautious but curious. The stone rose ten feet high and bore a series of inscriptions—names, dates, poems etched in vertical lines. Some had faded with age. Others had been restored recently, their grooves filled with gold leaf that shimmered subtly in the morning light.
Caitlyn stepped closer, her gaze drawn to the largest name carved near the center. "The Reckoning of Souls," she read aloud. Her voice was hushed, almost reluctant. "What happened here?"
Viktor was already scribbling notes, his eyes scanning each line with a growing sense of weight. "This marks the loss of a village," he said, adjusting his brace with a click. "One of many caught in the war between Ionia and Noxus. The name was struck from maps. Only memorial stones like these keep the memory alive."
Naruto knelt beside the stone, brushing a few fallen petals aside. His voice was soft. "This is where peace met steel. Where people trying to protect their homes were cut down, their stories buried in the soil. Ionia remembers not just its warriors, but its poets, its children, its healers. That's why there are so many memorials like this."
The children didn't speak. Even Powder, so prone to questions, simply looked down at her shoes.
A breeze picked up then, and the wind chimes above them trembled like tiny voices in mourning. Red prayer slips tied to the branches above fluttered and danced in the gust, some catching briefly on Viktor's coat before letting go again—like whispers brushing against the fabric of the present.
"I don't like this place," Powder whispered after a long pause, her voice thin. "It feels… sad."
Naruto turned to her, one knee still in the earth. "That's because it is," he said gently. "But sadness isn't weakness. It's remembrance. And remembrance is power."
Ekko put a hand on her shoulder. "He's right. We gotta know what came before us, right? So we don't mess it up again."
Caitlyn's hand lingered on the memorial a moment longer before she stepped away. "It's strange," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "I've read reports about Ionia. Strategies. Losses. Victories. But none of them mentioned… this."
"Because most reports are written by survivors," Naruto replied, rising to his feet. "And survivors often try to forget what it cost them to survive."
They continued onward. The path widened into a circular garden framed by low hedges and paper lanterns that swayed with the wind. A monk swept fallen leaves into a wooden basket, his motions slow and deliberate. He didn't glance at the group, didn't pause, but Naruto inclined his head as they passed, and the monk responded with a single nod—barely perceptible, but meaningful all the same.
They passed shrines carved into the cliffs, each filled with offerings—folded paper cranes, carved figurines, tiny jars of wind-dried herbs. Ekko paused to study one, its altar covered in offerings of glass marbles and sand clocks. He seemed struck by something unspoken, like the image was pressing against a memory he didn't have words for.
Eventually, they reached a wide courtyard bordered by curved wooden buildings painted in deep red and green, their doors marked with the sigils of the Shojin Order. It was here that the air grew tenser—subtle but palpable, like the final moments before a summer storm.
Another group of monks stood there—three in total, younger than the gatekeepers but no less formidable. Their robes were unblemished, their expressions unreadable. As Naruto and the group entered the courtyard, one of them stepped forward and raised his chin.
"You walk sacred ground with unclean feet," he said, not shouting, but with enough volume to carry across the courtyard. "This place does not open itself to strangers, especially those who bring hextech and war machines into our home."
The children froze. Powder moved instinctively behind Caitlyn, and Viktor adjusted his crutch with a tense shift of weight. Even Caitlyn seemed to stiffen at the accusation, her expression tight with a reflexive sense of authority.
Naruto stepped forward calmly, but his presence changed. It wasn't anger—it was something quieter. He didn't need to raise his voice; he carried it like a wave.
"We didn't come here to disrupt," he said. "We came to learn. To listen. This is not a mission of conquest. These children—" he turned slightly, motioning to the group "—they carry no weapons. They carry questions. And questions are sacred, aren't they?"
Another monk stepped forward. This one was older, his face weathered, his voice lower. "And who are you to bring them here?" he asked. "A foreigner. A stranger."
"I'm someone who's lost too much to walk through this world blind," Naruto replied with the same dialect and wording that is familiar to Ionians. "I'm someone who believes that understanding is the only path that leads to peace."
The monks stared at him, unreadable. Behind them, a brazier glowed faintly, its fire low but steady.
Before either side could speak again, another figure stepped into the courtyard.
He was old—older than the rest, his robes faded and patched, his posture slightly bent. But his eyes were clear. They were the kind of eyes that had seen war, and peace, and the fragile moments between.
"The fire is still lit," the old monk said, nodding toward the brazier. "That means we are still meant to listen."
The younger monks bowed their heads.
Naruto turned toward him and gave a respectful nod. "Thank you."
The old monk approached slowly, studying the group. His gaze lingered on Powder, on Viktor, on Ekko. Then, at last, he met Naruto's eyes.
"You walk a path not made for your feet," he said. "But you walk it gently. That matters more than most would believe."
Naruto offered a slight smile. "I'll take that as permission."
"No," the monk replied, his expression unreadable. "Not permission. But a beginning."
They were led in silence down a narrow, winding path of smooth flagstones that carved through a bamboo grove. Sunlight dappled the ground through the gently swaying stalks, each breeze carrying a rhythmic creak, as though the forest itself whispered in a language too old to be remembered. The children walked with hushed awe, their eyes drawn upward as birds darted between branches and cicadas buzzed in the warm air.
At the end of the path stood the shrine.
It was nestled into the cliffside, half-embraced by the mountain's walls and containing a gnarled tree whose trunk bore deep claw marks—old, ancient, yet preserved with reverence. But before that, the stone steps Naruto and his group traveled curved gently upward into this inlet where, flanked by two burning braziers, stood the Lost Memorial.
Viktor stopped without prompting, his breath catching as if something had reached into his chest and tugged at his ribs. He stared at the altar, eyes wide. The stone platform was simple, unadorned save for the spiral motif carved deeply into its center—an ancient symbol of unity, rebirth, and continuity. Beside it stood a basin of still water, filled with floating blossoms and tiny paper tokens, each scribbled with Ionian script.
"This is it," Viktor murmured. "The Lost Memorial…"
Naruto looked over at him. "You've read about it?"
"Barely," Viktor said, his voice quiet and reverent. "The records in Piltover are fragmentary—confused. Some claim it was a place of sacrifice to the Father. Others think it's where the First Shojin found enlightenment after years of wandering."
"And what do you think?" Naruto asked.
"I think," Viktor said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "that this place remembers something no book could ever explain."
The old monk who had welcomed them stood nearby, motionless as a statue, watching. When Viktor stepped toward the altar, he did not stop him. Instead, he gestured silently for the boy to remove his boots, which Viktor did after only a moment's hesitation.
Viktor walked barefoot across the smooth stone, each step a study in concentration. The moment his hand touched the carved spiral, the wind around them shifted. Not stronger—just… clearer. As if the mountain itself had taken a breath.
A low hum echoed through the grove. Faint. Musical. The blossoms in the basin shivered without ripple. For a moment, no one moved.
Viktor withdrew his hand. His fingers trembled.
"There's something here," he said. "Not magic. Not exactly. But… memory. Pressure."
The old monk stepped forward. "This shrine bears the echo of a thousand lives," he said while placing his own hand against the surface. "Some left behind joy. Others, regret. But each is a thread in the great weave. And the stone remembers."
Powder crept forward, craning her neck to peer into the basin. She reached for a blossom, then froze. "Can I touch it?" she asked, voice small.
The monk nodded. "Gently."
She dipped a fingertip into the water, just brushing one of the blossoms. It spun lazily, as if greeting her.
Naruto watched it all from a few steps back. This was what he had hoped for: not reverence for tradition, but contact. Real connection. These children—haunted by their own ghosts—needed a place where the past wasn't just a scar. They needed somewhere that didn't just teach them about the world, but welcomed them into it.
But not everyone shared that vision.
Caitlyn stood near the edge of the clearing, arms crossed. Her stance was rigid, her eyes narrowed. She had been quiet since the earlier confrontation—but now, her voice cut through the grove like a whip.
"This is beautiful," she said, "but it doesn't change what's happening outside these mountains. While we linger here, war brews in nations around Valoran. Ionia's monuments don't offer us solutions."
Her outburst felt sudden, coming from something buried deep within–but the answer was not far from the surface. She had been learning more about her future, her desire to join the Enforcers, and the anxiety was only just coming to the surface. She feared war and the death that follows shortly after, but most of all she hated how alone her home stood as a whole.
Several monks turned at her words. Their expressions did not change, but the tension in the air grew unmistakable. One of the younger Shojin, the same who had spoken before, stepped forward.
"You speak of war as if it just happens," he said. "As if it rises from the soil like weed or rot. But war begins in people. And until they learn to remember, it will always return."
Caitlyn's eyes narrowed. "We do remember. We remember every loss, every betrayal. That's why we act."
"You act without understanding," the monk replied calmly. "That is not memory. That is revenge."
Naruto moved before the moment could harden further. He stepped between them, one hand raised—not a command, but a gesture of openness. His tone was calm, but it carried weight.
"She's not wrong," he said, surprising the Kiramman heiress with his agreement. "The world is burning. But you're not wrong either. We can't douse a fire by adding more flame."
He turned to Caitlyn. "You came here to judge whether I'm worthy of trust. Whether I'm dangerous. I respect that. But look at them—" he motioned to the children, "—not just with your eyes, but with your heart. Are they not different than they were in Piltover? Even just a little?"
Caitlyn hesitated. Powder was still standing near the basin, humming softly. Ekko stood beside her, showing her how to fold a crane from a prayer slip. Viktor stood with eyes closed and his hand on the altar, not trying to dismantle it, not analyzing it—but simply existing with it.
"They are," Caitlyn admitted. "But how long will it last?"
"As long as we keep walking," Naruto said. "That's all any of us can do."
The old monk gave a small nod. "The spiral never ends. But it moves forward."
Silence settled again, not heavy, but whole. In that stillness, the wind chimes began again—clearer now. Harmonious.
And above them, high in the tree's branches, a single blossom detached from its stem and drifted downward, landing softly on Viktor's shoulder. It was carried by some unknown hand, loving and caring in its hold. He didn't notice at first. But when he did, he didn't brush it away.
He simply smiled.
Viktor circled the central monument, his steps slow and deliberate, his eyes scanning the carvings etched into the stone and the gnarled roots curling at its base. The symbols were foreign, yet elegant—echoes of something ancient that whispered at the edge of his understanding. But the longer he looked, the more his curiosity soured into frustration. The truth he sought wasn't here.
He pivoted toward the large, spindly tree behind the monument—its bark pale and worn like bone, its limbs stretching thin into the sky as if praying. He moved around it, searching for clues, for an anomaly, for anything. But the ground offered nothing. The shadows cast no secrets. All was still.
With a sharp breath, he let his irritation get the better of him. He kicked at a stone with his brace-covered leg, sending it skittering across the field. The metal groaned, the rock clattered—
Thunk
He froze. That wasn't just stone hitting stone. That was the sound of something hollow—something hidden.
Viktor's eyes snapped to where the larger rock had shifted slightly. He narrowed his gaze and approached, brushing back dead leaves with his cane. His pulse quickened. Discovery was close.
Meanwhile, Naruto kept a steady eye on the children. Some were wandering curiously around the monument, others approached the tree, whispering in awe. A few foxes padded silently between them, keeping pace with their charges. Naruto stood at ease, arms folded, but his gaze drifted down the steps.
They were gathering. Shadows on the edge of the courtyard.
Villagers.
Not monks. Not soldiers. Just people. But their faces were sharp with emotion—anger, grief, suspicion. He could feel their resentment in the air, a heavy pressure like a brewing storm.
He didn't move. Not yet. Maybe they'd just watch. Maybe they'd leave. He could not condemn them for their pain, their anger, as he knew how it feels to hold onto those scars. He knows what it's like to be faced with reminders of those same scars. But he cared more for his children, and he would protect them no matter what.
Then a voice, bitter and unflinching, shattered the quiet.
"Get out of here."
Naruto turned slowly, not startled but cautious. His eyes fell on a group of civilians—young men and women dressed in earth-toned robes and working garb. Their expressions were twisted by years of pain.
"You bring the stench of war," one spat, their voice heavy with venom.
Caitlyn stepped forward, composed but firm. "We aren't from Noxus," she said, her hand unconsciously brushing the spot where her rifle would be.
She really hated the fact that she did not have her weapon with her.
"You carry its stink," another snarled. "Machines. Guns. Cold iron. Your kind poisons everything it touches."
A third pointed an accusing finger directly at Naruto. "And you—what are you? A slaver? A monster hiding behind children?" Their voice cracked, rage barely restrained. "You bring weapons wrapped in smiles."
Behind him, the children shrank. Powder pressed herself close to Ekko, eyes wide and frightened. A fox moved forward, the subtle shimmer of magic glowing orange in their clenched fist.
Naruto held out a hand.
The magic ceased but the magical pressure did not.
"I'm not your enemy," he said, his voice calm, controlled. But there was steel beneath it. "We came to learn, not to cause harm."
"Liar!" someone shouted from the back. "You parade your peace here? In a place where our brothers were burned alive? Where the trees still remember screams?"
The crowd grew bolder. More villagers arrived, trickling in from the streets like angry water seeking cracks. Some clutched rusted farming tools, others held nothing but trembling fists. One man at the front, older and hard-faced, stepped forward gripping a worn staff. His knuckles blanched white around it.
"We've had enough of outsiders," he growled. "We've had enough of 'visits.' Enough of pretenders. You think bringing children shields you from judgment? We see through you. Get out—or we'll drive you out."
Still Naruto did not move.
But the air did.
The aether around him stirred, pulled by something ancient in him—something wild and old. The chimes in the tree swayed violently though no branch had moved. Wind snaked through the field, lifting petals, turning flames.
Even the sacred brazier near the edge flickered in protest.
The monk tending it looked up suddenly, her fingers flinching from the fire. Her brow furrowed as if focusing on something.
Naruto stepped forward.
His presence changed. The calm warmth in him was not gone—but now it burned like sunlight filtered through amber. Heavy. Ancient. Dangerous.
"You will not touch my kits," he said, and the words hit like a hammer on glass.
The villagers flinched. Even the staff-bearer staggered back a step.
"I have shown nothing but respect," Naruto said, and now his voice rang clearly across the courtyard. "I've bowed when I didn't have to. I've smiled when I wasn't trusted. I've held back every time I could have acted. And still—"
He stepped closer. The wind howled, then died suddenly. The silence that followed was louder than any shout.
"Still, you spit at children."
He raised his hand slightly, and for a heartbeat, golden threads of magic glimmered through his skin—visible only to the attuned.
"If you threaten them again," Naruto said, his tone dropping low, cold as a winter blade, "I will not be kind again."
For a moment, nothing moved. The villagers stood frozen in place. The staff-holder lowered his weapon.
Then—
"That's enough."
The voice of the elder monk rang out, crisp and commanding, like a bell struck in the dark.
All turned to look at him but his eyes were on the monk still reaching for the brazier. Her eyes were now fixed on Naruto, but her eyes held an otherworldly sight to them. The fire had calmed again.
"These are not Noxians," she said. "This one does not walk with conquest in his shadow. He speaks with the patience of monks. He walks with the spirits."
She stepped forward, closer to Naruto, and her gaze shifted. Her pupils glinted like moonlight caught on water. Her next words came softer, but deeper, as if drawn from something beyond.
"You should go to the Lasting Altar," she said. "Speak with Dhara Karma. She will want to meet you."
Her eyes shimmered once more, then returned to normal. She bowed lightly and turned back to her flame, leaving behind only the sound of crackling fire and the rustle of shaken hearts.
Naruto stood still for a moment, letting the energy drain out of the wind. Then—
"Naruto," Viktor said, his voice uncertain but eager, "she's right. That's where I need to go next. The Lasting Altar—it's in my notes. It could have what we need."
Naruto nodded.
"Kits," he called, clapping his hands gently. "Gather up. Time to move."
The children didn't hesitate. They huddled close to their fox guardians. Caitlyn and Ekko flanked Powder. Viktor held his notebook tightly.
Naruto raised his hand, preparing the teleportation spell—a breath, a blink, and they'd be gone.
But just before the aether wrapped them, he paused. Two eyes lingered on him—one from the crowd, watching with quiet intensity. The other was a presence behind the veil, curious and eternal.
Kindred.
This won't be the last time this happens, Naruto thought. Not by far.
And then, they were gone.