Itachi Uchiha's son Shinra Uchiha

The sky hung heavy over the mountain ridge, clouds dense with the weight of an oncoming storm. Boruto crouched beneath the sloping trees, fingers raw from endless repetitions of Rasengan drills. His breath fogged in the early cold. Shinra stood a few paces away, quiet as ever, back turned, gazing at the winding river.

Koji sat cross-legged in the shadows, unmoving.

For days, the air had felt wrong, like something circling. Watching.

The wind dropped. Something shifted in the stillness.

Then a voice cracked through the trees.

"Boruto."

Boruto's head snapped up. The voice was familiar—but wrong.

Kawaki stepped from the tree line like a weapon unsheathed. His Karma mark glowed dull blue, crawling up his arm. His expression was flat, but tension rippled beneath his skin.

Boruto's heart stuttered. "Kawaki…?"

"I got intel," Kawaki said, stepping closer. "Code says if I bring you in, he won't touch the Leaf."

Boruto stood slowly, hands raised slightly—not in fear, but confusion. "You believe him? After everything?"

"I don't care what he believes," Kawaki growled. "I care what Naruto would want."

The words hit like a kunai.

Boruto flinched. "And he'd want this? You hunting me down like an animal?"

Kawaki didn't respond. He launched forward, fist blazing with Karma. Boruto leapt back, Rasengan flaring to life in his palm.

Their jutsus clashed mid-air—chakra exploding in a brilliant white flash. The ground beneath them cracked.

"Kawaki, stop!" Boruto shouted, parrying a second blow. "I'm not your enemy!"

"You're Momoshiki's vessel," Kawaki snarled. "And you can't keep him out forever."

Behind them, Koji remained seated. Watching.

Boruto dodged a strike that grazed his jaw. "So you want to kill me before that happens? That's your answer?"

Kawaki's voice shook. "I already locked Naruto away to protect him. If I fail now… it was for nothing."

Suddenly, Kawaki moved faster—too fast. His Karma surged. A black spike burst from his palm, nearly impaling Boruto's shoulder. Boruto ducked, countered with a spinning kick, and landed a Rasengan against Kawaki's ribs. It pushed him back—but not down.

Boruto's Karma began to resonate. Lines etched into his skin. His pupils flickered.

"No—" he gasped. "Not now…"

His breath shortened. Momoshiki stirred.

And then, like a shadow cutting through lightning, Shinra appeared.

He didn't say a word.

He struck Kawaki clean in the chest, flipping him through the air and pinning him to a tree with one hand.

Boruto, shaking, barely held control.

Koji finally stood.

"You waited too long," he said to Shinra.

Shinra didn't reply. His gaze was locked on Kawaki—his eyes colder than steel. Then he turned slowly toward Boruto.

And froze.

For a heartbeat, the world fell silent. The trees, the wind, everything.

Because Shinra wasn't seeing the forest anymore.

He was seeing white light.

He was in a lab—small, damp, pulsing with machines. Glass tubes lined the walls. Inside one of them—a boy. Small. Eyes closed. 

Wires snaking through his skin. A number etched on the glass.

Subject: ITHU 014

The boy opened his eyes.

Rain drummed a steady rhythm as Boruto, Kawaki, and Shinra faced each other under a slate-gray sky.

No words were spoken. Boruto's fingers twitched with chakra yet barely concealed confusion. Kawaki's eyes were tight, resolute—but tinged with regret. And Shinra… his face was drawn in silent anguish.

He felt it first: flashbacks of cold glass tanks, wires cutting into pale skin, whispered words that he'd never forget—"You were created to carry power." They arrived without warning, raw and brutal.

Kawaki took a step forward. "I'm done explaining," he said quietly. He snapped his palms forward, Karma flames flaring.

Boruto braced, stepping in front of Kawaki. "Not like this—" he began, but Kawaki's chakra cracked through the air.

Shinra moved—quick as a ghost. He intercepted Kawaki's fist with perfect timing, redirecting it in a minimalist taijutsu flourish that spoke more of discipline than showmanship.

Steel echoed.

Boruto lunged to help Kawaki, but his chakra kicked—and he froze mid-strike, eyes haunted. Shinra turned and saw the shift: Boruto's pupils turned black.

Momoshiki's influence broke through—sharp, predatory.

Shinra clenched his jaw. He parried Boruto's strike with military precision. He didn't want to strike back. He couldn't.

But he did.

With two open-handed pushes, he sent Boruto careening across the muddy clearing, body skidding to a stop against tangled roots.

Boruto lay still—chest heaving. Shinra turned to Kawaki just as a surge of other memories—each a sharper sting than the last—ripped through his mind.

The world twisted around him:

He was back in the glass tank—water licked his toes. His lungs ached for air he'd never earned. Wires pulled at his skin. Someone whispered: "Carry our will." Someone else laughed. Cold metal scraped his back. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. Only exist.

Then, Boruto—

Momoshiki's aura still hovered over him. Shinra saw it, pulsing like a dark wound.

He staggered back. The rain turned to needles of pain on his face as the flashback faded.

Kawaki rushed in, rage cracking his voice. "He needs to die—both of you! I know what it means to be someone else's vessel!"

Shinra's eyes tightened. He caught Kawaki's wrist, twisted it, and forced him to the ground. No weapons—just pure body control.

Kawaki gasped. His Karma trembled, but it didn't break.

Shinra stood over him, breathing hard. Thunder rolled.

All at once, Boruto collapsed onto his knees, blood-colored rain clinging to his clothes.

Shinra knelt beside him but didn't touch him. He just stared at Boruto's face—wondering how much of that boy remained.

Boruto wiped crimson rain from his cheek. He met Shinra's eyes—and for a moment, they were both full of broken things.

Kawaki got to his feet, shivering.

Silently, Shinra rose and walked toward each of them. Rain washed his cloak, plastered his hair to his forehead. He didn't speak.

He reached past Kawaki and gently lifted Boruto's chin. Boruto bit his lip against the pain.

Shinra looked at them—not as enemies, not even as allies—but as reflections. Two boys caught between destinies, molded by power they never asked for. Vessels of gods and ghosts.

His own breath caught.

In their faces, he saw everything he feared about himself—twisted fate, loneliness disguised as strength, the kind of power that broke the soul before it saved the world.

And then the memory pulled him under.

Not gently.

The sky vanished. The rain became fluid glass. The world dimmed and narrowed to a single sensation—

The sound of his own scream beneath liquid.

His body stood still, but his mind was already elsewhere, years behind, buried deep.

The child in the dark had awakened.