Itachi Uchiha's son Shinra Uchiha

The first glow of sunrise painted the eastern cliffs of the Fire Country in faint gold. Mist curled around works forgotten—cracked scrolls, broken seals, half-burned torii gates. The air was thick with history.

Boruto and Shinra emerged from the Uchiha hideout, silhouettes heavy with aftermath. The moonlight had retreated, but the weight of yesterday still clung to them.

Boruto's grip tightened on Sasuke's sword—truth and legacy coiled before them. The valley stretched quietly below, scarred from countless shinobi battles.

Shinra's voice was low, measured. "They won't see me as a legend. If they see me at all."

Boruto watched the horizon, silent for a long moment. Finally he spoke, voice grim but steady: "Then tell me what *you* are and what you know About Itachi. Even master sasuke never told anything more about him"

Shinra paused, breathing in the chill air. "I won't tell you everything. But some truths you need."

They walked on a narrow cliff path—over jagged rock and shattered trees, each splinter reflecting a chakra bruise.

Shinra's footsteps slowed. "Itachi… was not just a prodigy. He was forged by impossible choices—a child with the weight of nations on his shoulders."

Boruto swallowed. "Sasuke said Itachi loved the village too much."

Shinra said nothing until they paused beneath a broken stone torii. The wood was splintered, scorched. He looked up at the sky. "He did. But he also loved it by sacrificing himself to its silent core. That weight… shaped him."

Boruto chewed on that word—shaped. "Sasuke... was he proud?"

Shinra's jaw tightened, face stoic. "Pride and pain coexisted in him like a blade forged on both fire and ice." He sighed. "That duality…"

The wind gusted, stirring mist toward them.

They stood beneath the charred torii in the chill dawn. Shinra closed his eyes. "Itachi didn't practice genjutsu like an art. He *lived* it—concealing his wounds behind illusions, exposing vulnerabilities as lessons."

Boruto's breath brushed cold air. "So… his genjutsu wasn't to trap. It was to teach?"

Shinra pressed a hand to his chest. "Yes. To awaken. To show people truths they feared to feel. That's why his genjutsu cut deeper than any blade."

Boruto nodded slowly, processing. The relics around them echoed—symbols of silent pain turned into strength.

Boruto's voice trembled. "When I use Karma... I feel out of control. I fear losing myself."

Shinra stopped, eyes distant. "Karma is power born of necessity, not choice."

Boruto lifted his gaze. "How do you keep your mind steady?"

Shinra crouched and picked up a small stone—dark, smooth, almost glowing. He placed it in Boruto's palm. "This belonged to Itachi. It's charged with calm, rooted in unwavering resolve."

Boruto felt chakra veins drawn into the stone—quiet, like a current paused. He looked from its surface back to Shinra.

They resumed walking—mist hugged their shadows. The valley walls seemed to watch them.

Boruto broke the silence. "What did Sasuke carry from seeing his brother live with that guilt?"

Shinra exhaled slowly. "He carried both the brother's love and the hole left by loss. That emptiness turns power into pain.."

Boruto brought a hand to his sword. "And those who wield power... without direction?"

Shinra stopped: "They become ghosts of themselves. Power without purpose corrodes the heart."

Boruto nodded, eyes stinging. He realized Shinra spoke from knowing too well.

Dappled sunlight broke through clouds overhead, illuminating fields below once consumed by chakra storms. The land sighed beneath their feet.

"This valley," Shinra said quietly, "was an Uchiha training ground. Many of their hopes, regret, and sacrifice fell on these stones."

Boruto stepped off the path, touching a broken pillar's runes. "All this… it's history."

Shinra replied: "History only matters if you carry it forward—without letting it weigh you down."

Boruto gazed at the valley below where Konoha smoke rose in the distance, mingling with sunlight.

Shinra's hand twitched. His senses prickled. Boruto could feel the shift.

In the trees above, husks—tenacious fragments of Code's control—re-emerged, twitching. Boruto's hand twitched toward his sword.

Shinra's eyes turned steel. "They've come again."

Boruto crouched. "So soon?"

Shinra nodded. "They've learned what stands beside me."

Boruto braced himself. The hush pressed harder than words.

They crouched at the cliff's edge, viewing the valley. Boruto turned. "We keep walking?"

Shinra's gaze was resolute. "We move forward. Together."

Boruto lowered his sword sheath. "Then walk the path *I* choose."

Shinra's lips curved softly. "That is uphill. But it begins here."

As morning matured, they climbed higher. The valley's scars were laid bare by light and wind.

Boruto looked back once, breathing hard in the thinning air. "They'll come for us. For you."

Shinra's voice was quiet, certain. "Then they'll learn what my silence holds."

Their silhouettes stretched long into the mist—two figures bound by destiny unfolding.

Unseen husks stirred beyond the ridge. The fight wasn't over.