Itachi Uchiha's son Shinra Uchiha

The fire crackled softly, its glow casting long shadows that danced across the cliff walls. The smell of burning pine lingered in the air, earthy and sharp. Boruto sat cross-legged near the flame, hunched forward, chin resting on the hilt of his sword. Across from him, Shinra sat still, unmoving as always, but no longer unreadable.

Between them, silence stretched. Not the silence of strangers, or even that of warriors resting between battles. This was a silence shared by people who carried too much in their lungs to speak it all at once.

The wind picked up briefly, sweeping ashes into the air like dull sparks. Shinra finally broke the silence.

"Do you know what the hardest thing to kill is, Boruto?"

Boruto looked up, eyes catching faint firelight. "What?"

Shinra turned his gaze to the flames. "A truth that no one believes."

Boruto blinked. "Is that supposed to be some kind of riddle?"

Shinra smirked faintly—not with humor, but the edge of one. "A fact can be erased. A lie can be buried. But a truth denied… it lives longer than memory."

He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small iron teapot. It hissed faintly as he poured hot water into two cups resting beside the fire. The ritual was always the same. No extra words. No explanations. Just tea.

Boruto took his cup without comment.

Shinra stared into the flames. "I've seen people scream loyalty while holding the blade meant for their kin. And I've seen those labeled traitors die with prayers for the village on their lips.

Boruto swallowed. "Like Itachi?"

The question was out before he realized he'd said it. Shinra didn't flinch—but something in the fire popped like it heard.

He didn't answer.

Boruto tried again. "Was that the kind of truth no one believed?"

Shinra finally turned his head, eyes catching flickers of orange and gold. "There are men who bleed for peace, and others who speak of it but don't understand its price."

Boruto whispered, "Which one are you?"

Shinra said nothing.

Instead, he stirred the coals gently with a stick. "Let me tell you a story."

Boruto leaned in slightly.

"There was once a village," Shinra said. "Torn by war. A clan was blamed for everything wrong. So they built silence around themselves. Not out of fear, but because the only language left to them was their death."

Boruto stiffened.

"Within that clan," Shinra continued, "a boy chose the silence. Not because he wanted to. But because he believed that in dying… he could give the world a moment of peace."

Boruto was silent.

Shinra added, "He was never thanked. Only feared. The world remembers him not as a savior, but as a shadow."

The fire popped again.

Boruto spoke quietly. "That boy… was Itachi."

Shinra looked away. "That boy was anyone who carried a truth no one wanted to hear."

They sat in silence again. This time, it wasn't cold.

Boruto looked into the fire. "Is that why you fight? To keep that truth alive?"

"No," Shinra said. "I fight because silence doesn't protect the truth. It only delays its burial."

Boruto leaned forward, firelight flickering in his eyes. "But you're silent all the time. You barely tell me anything."

"I'm teaching you how to see," Shinra replied. "Not just to look."

Boruto frowned. "What if I don't want to be like you?"

Shinra smirked faintly again. "Then make better choices."

Boruto chuckled. "You sound like Sasuke. Or worse—Kakashi when he's tired."

Shinra said nothing for a moment. Then he looked directly at Boruto.

"People become what they pretend to understand. You follow a path long enough, it stops being a choice. It becomes you."

Boruto blinked. "That's… kinda terrifying."

"Truth often is," Shinra replied.

They sat quietly as the fire settled lower. The heat warmed their boots, but the cold around them crept closer.

Boruto looked over. "Will you ever tell me who you are?"

Shinra's gaze didn't shift. "You'll know when it matters. And by then… it won't surprise you."

Boruto made a face. "That's not cryptic at all."

Shinra raised a brow. "Then you're learning."

Boruto lay back, folding his arms behind his head, staring up at the few stars that broke through the fog. "You know, you talk like an old man sometimes."

"I've seen enough to borrow their language."

Boruto grinned.

The fire began to fade. Shinra stood and walked to the edge of the cliff, where the wind stirred the grass in slow, uneasy waves.

He stared into the distance. Not looking at anything. Just listening. Watching.

Boruto sat up. "What is it?"

Shinra didn't answer right away. His voice came back low, almost a whisper.

"You ever wonder why some of us are born in the wrong time?"

Boruto frowned. "What do you mean?"

Shinra kept looking out.

"Some people were meant to live in peace… but all they find is war. Others… were born for silence, but are forced to scream."

Boruto said nothing.

Shinra turned slightly, just enough for the wind to lift his hood. For a moment, the firelight touched the faint red lines of an Uchiha crest burned into his collar.

"I was meant to disappear. But someone gave me a reason not to."

Boruto stood slowly. "And now?"

Shinra looked over his shoulder.

"Now I give that reason to someone else."

He walked back toward the fire and dropped to one knee beside his pack. From it, he pulled out a scroll and tossed it to Boruto.

Boruto caught it.

"What's this?"

"Your next step."

Boruto looked at the seal on the scroll. It wasn't from any village he recognized. The emblem looked like two spirals converging—one black, one red.

"I thought I was already training," Boruto muttered.

"You've only been listening," Shinra said. "Now you'll learn."

He turned his back and walked toward the shadows beyond the firelight.

Boruto stared down at the scroll for a long time.

Before stepping into the dark, Shinra spoke again, soft, almost to himself.

"Loyalty to truth often looks like betrayal… to those who never seek it."

Then he was gone.

And Boruto was left alone with the fire, the stars, and a scroll that weighed more than any weapon he'd ever held.