The world was no longer a blur of indistinct shapes and blinding gusts. For Kaelen, everything had become... geometric.
Under the impulse of the first tomoe spinning in his scarlet pupils, the blizzard seemed to have lost its grandeur. He saw every snowflake as a distinct entity. More importantly, he saw the mage before him not as a man, but as a source of dark heat—a blackened bonfire of Ethernano pulsing to the rhythm of a heart.
So this is the Sharingan? Kaelen thought, his adult mind analyzing the situation with surgical coldness despite the adrenaline threatening to make him faint. It's not just vision. It's cerebral overclocking. I'm processing information faster than my body can keep up.
The stranger raised his cane. A black bolt shot forth.
In his red eyes, Kaelen saw the spark form a quarter-second before it was projected. He didn't need to think. His body, driven by an ancestral instinct for preservation, threw itself to the side. The ray of dark magic pulverized the stone low-wall right behind him, where Tajima still lay.
"Oh, charming!" the man with the eyepatch exclaimed, his voice betraying an almost childlike excitement. "Your reflexes have tripled in an instant. Tell me, little one... what do you see? Do you see the weave of my magic, or simply the end of your existence?"
Kaelen did not answer. He gripped the flaming brand, his only pathetic weapon. He knew he couldn't win. This wasn't a shonen duel where willpower alone could bridge the gap. This man was a mountain, and Kaelen was but a grain of dust.
"I see... that you talk a lot for someone who claims to be powerful," Kaelen spat.
He lunged forward. It wasn't a heroic charge; it was a diversion. While running, he hurled the brand toward one of the subordinates who was about to finish off a survivor. The Sharingan allowed him to adjust his aim with millimeter precision. The burning wood struck the mage square in the face, forcing him back.
But the stranger was already upon him.
Without even moving from his spot, he extended his free hand. An invisible pressure slammed onto Kaelen's shoulders, forcing him to bite the snow.
"Too much courage is a form of stupidity, Kaelen Uchiha," the man murmured, approaching. "I could take you now. I could dissect you in one of my towers to understand how your brain interacts with those pupils... But I prefer to let you simmer."
He leaned over him, his gray eye shining with a demonic light.
"A Sharingan with a single tomoe is a curiosity. A Mangekyou... that is a key to the Abyss. Cultivate your hatred, little one. Survive this winter. Become the monster your blood demands you to be. I will come back for you when your eyes are worthy of being measured against me."
With a sharp movement, the man struck the ground with his cane. An explosion of black smoke enveloped the village square. Kaelen tried to stand, his red eyes frantically scanning the artificial darkness, but he saw only a void.
When the mist cleared, the village was silent. The mages in dark coats had vanished, taking with them what little life remained of the Uchiha clan.
Kaelen remained alone among the corpses. His father's pyre was now nothing more than a heap of dying embers beneath the snow, which was redoubling in intensity. The pain behind his eyes faded, and the red gave way to his original black. Exhaustion hit him like a sledgehammer.
I am... the last. The thought was one of atrocious simplicity. His mother, his father, his clan... everything had been swept away by the sickly curiosity of a man whose name he didn't even know. He felt tiny. In this world, being an Uchiha didn't make him a predator. It made him luxury prey.
That feeling was incredibly painful. Watching Sasuke's entire clan get slaughtered on a screen was certainly sad, but experiencing it was something else entirely. Even though he wasn't from this world, he still cared about his clan; he loved his father. But it was all gone now. Nothing. Whoever reincarnated me into this world, fuck you. I would have much preferred to stay an employee to experience this.
His legs gave out. He collapsed into the snow, right next to Sôjirô's ashes. His vision blurred. The cold, which he had forgotten for a few minutes, was coming back to claim him.
Is this it? Dying of cold after surviving a massacre? I didn't even get a clear look at that son of a bitch's face. What a shit script...
As he felt his heart slow down, a new sensation appeared. It wasn't the suffocating heat of the stranger's dark magic. It was a different kind of cold. A pure, crystalline cold, almost soothing.
A sound of footsteps echoed in the snow. Not the heavy tread of a soldier, but the light, assured step of someone who belonged to winter.
"Another tragedy..." a woman's voice murmured, deep and tinged with immense sadness.
Kaelen made a superhuman effort to crack an eyelid. Through the veil of his frosted lashes, he saw a silhouette. A woman with short hair, dressed in light traveling gear that seemed to defy the sub-zero temperatures. Beside her, a young boy of his age with light hair watched him with wide eyes, a mix of fear and fascination.
"Master Ur... there's a survivor!" the boy exclaimed.
The woman knelt beside Kaelen. She placed a hand on his forehead. Her skin was cool, but her touch radiated a reassuring vitality.
"It's a miracle he's still breathing," she said softly. She turned her head toward the ruins of the village, her gaze hardening for a moment before returning to Kaelen. "Little one... what is your name?"
Kaelen tried to speak, but only a wisp of steam escaped his lips.
"Kaelen..."
"Don't force it, Kaelen. My name is Ur. You have nothing more to fear from the cold now."
She lifted him with disconcerting ease. In his half-sleep, Kaelen felt a strange resonance. This woman radiated a magic that looked nothing like that of his clan, nor that of the man with the eyepatch. It was a magic of creation, of form.
"Lyon, help me with his things," Ur ordered the young boy. "We're taking him. Isvan has already taken enough lives for today."
As they moved away from the smoking ruins of the Uchiha manor, Kaelen drifted into unconsciousness. His last thought was for his father's white bandage, now buried under the snow.
------
Waking up was not a liberation, but an intrusion. Consciousness returned to Kaelen in painful waves, each heartbeat echoing in his skull like a blacksmith's hammer. His eyelids felt weighted with lead, and when he finally managed to crack them open, a dim but aggressive light forced a groan from his lips.
"Finally... I was starting to think your brain had frozen for good."
Kaelen turned his head slowly. He was lying on a narrow cot, covered by several layers of thick furs. Beside him, perched on a wooden stool, a young boy with light hair and sharp features watched him. He radiated a self-assurance that bordered on arrogance—a sort of misplaced pride for a child his age.
"Where..." Kaelen cut himself off, his throat burning as if he had swallowed live embers.
"You're in Master Ur's refuge," the boy replied, crossing his arms. "I'm Lyon. I'm the one who helped Master Ur drag you back here. We found you in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by corpses. Honestly, you've got the luck of the hanged."
The memories slammed into Kaelen with the violence of a rockslide. His father's face. The bloody white bandage. The man with the cane. The red... the red that had flooded his vision.
Unconsciously, his hands rose to his face, his fingers brushing against his sockets. His eyes still burned. A mental fatigue of terrifying intensity seemed to have drained every ounce of his energy. This was the price of the Sharingan. In this nine-year-old body, the activation of that lost magic had nearly fried him from the inside out.
"Your eyes are fine, if that's what's worrying you," Lyon added in a sharper tone. "Even if they were a strange shade of red when we picked you up. Ur says it's the shock."
Kaelen froze. The shock. They had seen his eyes. But apparently, they hadn't understood what they were. To them, it was just a physical reaction to trauma. He had to ensure it stayed that way.
The cabin door opened, letting in a gust of icy air before slamming shut. A woman entered, carrying a bucket of water and some herbs. It was the silhouette he had seen in the snow: Ur. She radiated a living warmth that contrasted with the decor of ice.
"Lyon, let him breathe," she said in a calm but firm voice. "Go check the traps in the valley. And don't forget to bring Gray back; he's going to end up turning into a stalactite."
Lyon grunted, shot one last suspicious look at Kaelen, and stepped out into the blizzard.
Ur approached the bed and sat on the edge. She placed a cool hand on Kaelen's forehead. Her magic was different from anything he had felt; it was structured, solid, soothing.
"My name is Ur," she said softly. "You've been asleep for almost two days. How do you feel?"
"Empty," Kaelen replied, finally finding the strength to speak. "I feel... empty."
It was the truth. The adult man within him knew he should be analyzing the situation, planning his revenge, understanding where he was. But the nine-year-old child, whose nervous system had just been ravaged by the Sharingan, felt nothing but immense weariness.
"That's normal," Ur whispered. Her eyes clouded with a sadness she didn't try to hide. "What you've been through... no one should have to see that. That demon, Deliora... he leaves nothing but desolation in his wake."
Kaelen frowned. Deliora? The name hung in the air, heavy with reproach. Ur thought a monster had killed his clan. She was drawing a link to the other devastated villages in the region. Kaelen started to correct her, to tell her about the man with the eyepatch and his black electricity.
But he stopped just in time.
If he told the truth, if he spoke of human mages hunting his blood, he would put this woman in danger. And above all, he would draw attention to his eyes. In this world he didn't know, silence was his best armor.
"Deliora..." he simply repeated, letting Ur draw her own conclusions.
"Yes. He struck several villages south of here a month ago. That's where I found Gray."
As if responding to his name, the door opened again. A boy with messy black hair entered, his face set, his eyes burning with a dull rage. He wore only light trousers, completely ignoring the cold.
It was Gray Fullbuster.
The boy stopped dead upon seeing Kaelen awake. Their gazes met, and for a moment, the silence in the cabin was absolute. Kaelen saw in Gray the reflection of his own pain, but amplified by an impulsiveness he didn't possess. Gray was an open wound; Kaelen was an internal scar.
"Is it him?" Gray asked, addressing Ur without taking his eyes off Kaelen. "The survivor from the mountain village?"
"His name is Kaelen, Gray. Be considerate with him."
Gray approached the bed, ignoring Ur's recommendation. He stopped just inches from Kaelen.
"You too..." Gray began, his voice trembling with contained anger. "You saw him too? The monster?"
Kaelen looked at Gray. He saw the thirst for vengeance, pure and consuming. He saw a child who wanted to destroy a force of nature. Kaelen, however, wanted to destroy a man. But at that moment, they were on the same frequency.
"I saw... the end of everything I loved," Kaelen replied with a gravity that made Gray take a step back.
It wasn't a child's answer. Ur frowned slightly, intrigued by the maturity of this newcomer, but she said nothing. She simply placed a hand on Gray's shoulder to calm him.
"You are safe here," she said. "Isvan is vast, and the ice protects those who know how to listen to it. Rest, Kaelen. Tomorrow, you must get up. In this world, staying still is accepting that you will freeze."
Ur stood and began to prepare a broth, leaving the two boys face to face. Gray eventually looked away, sitting in a corner of the room to polish a piece of ice between his hands. Lyon returned shortly after, casting curious and slightly jealous glances toward Kaelen's bed.
Lying under the furs, Kaelen closed his eyes. Darkness returned, but it was no longer the darkness of unconsciousness. It was a mental space where he was already beginning to piece the puzzle back together.
He didn't know who the mage who attacked him was, but he knew one thing: he had to learn magic. With a man who had slaughtered his entire clan and who intended to exploit his eyes, how could he remain this weak?
He would kill him. Hehadto. He had a dark intuition that his father's death was tied to this man. Only his father and he were supposed to know about the Mangekyou Sharingan, yet that man knew as well.
He will kill that son of a bitch.