Chapter 14: Thorns in the Heart
We don't fall into darkness. We plant our feet in it and call it home when the light turns its back.
Bell-mere's house sat like an afterthought at the heart of Cocoyashi—two rooms of wood and nails that creaked in the night, with a garden stubborn enough to grow in thin soil. A home built not for wealth but for survival. It carried the scent of woodsmoke and sea salt, the kind of warmth you didn't buy—you bled for it, and earned it one bitter season at a time.
She carried the boy inside, still wrapped in the stink of the battlefield, his blood dried black, his breath shallow and resentful of the work it had to do. The cot creaked under his weight as if protesting the burden.
The sound of footsteps—small, frantic—cut through the stillness.
"Momma!"
Two voices, light as bells and sharp with joy. The first was Nami—hair like a sunrise bleeding into fire. The second, Nojiko—blue-haired, storm-eyed, the quieter of the two but no less fierce. They came at Bell-mere like a tide, all noise and limbs.
Bell-mere crouched to meet them, her lips breaking into a smile that softened the scars time had etched into her face. "Haha, calm down, my little terrors. I've brought a guest—don't scare him off."
Her 'guest' didn't stir, but the girls' attention was already locked on him. Not his wounds, not the crusted blood or the ragged breathing—children look past those things—but on the gloves.
Black leather, threadbare in places, yet somehow alive. Strings coiled and uncoiled lazily over his arms, the way seaweed moves with the current. Not random movement—intent. Watching.
Nami's eyes went wide, the greedy sparkle of discovery lighting them. "Ooooh, so cool!" she breathed, reaching out before thought could catch her.
"Don't touch."
Bell-mere's voice cracked like a whip. Not loud, but with an authority that could still the sea. Nami froze, her fingers inches from the glove's surface.
"That's a cursed item," Bell-mere went on, her gaze narrowing. She'd seen cursed things before—amulets that whispered, swords that drank blood, masks that breathed—but this one… this one felt wrong in a way that didn't itch, didn't gnaw. It was too calm. Cursed things didn't rest. They throbbed with hunger. They pulled at you. This one… waited.
Her eyes flicked to the boy's pale face.
The master must be something… to make it obey.
A thought took root then, quiet but sharp: this stranger wasn't just another broken body washed up from the endless war of men and sea. Whatever he was, he carried weight—not in muscle or rank, but in the kind of power that bends unnatural things to its will.
Bell-mere straightened, her smile returning for the girls' sake, though her mind stayed on the gloves and the boy who wore them.
"Give him space," she said, her tone gentler now. "He's hurt. Let him rest."
The girls obeyed, though their eyes kept darting back to the still figure, to the strings that curled like smoke before fading into stillness again.
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They left him to rest.
The air in Bell-mere's home was still, holding the warmth of cooking fires and the faint brine of the sea. Outside, the village breathed in peace for the first time in years. Inside, Naruto sank deeper into a different world—a place without wind, without laughter.
The dream was a world that had drowned in its own blood.
The ground drank red. The sky hung black.
He stood in it, bare hands slick with the proof of what he had done, what had been done to him. There was no horizon, only corpses—some with faces he'd killed himself, some with faces the world had stolen from him. The silence screamed louder than any battlefield.
The only light came from her.
Hinata.
Blurry at the edges, like she was made of smoke and memory. She didn't smile—there was no smile left in her to give—but her voice was a soft current against the storm.
Rest. Let go. The rage will unmake you. Be what you were.
Her words wrapped around him like the phantom weight of arms that had once held him, but they didn't cut through the thorns lodged in his chest. They were in him, through him—rage and grief tangled so deep they had grown roots.
He could have been the light, once.
If the world had given him justice.
If they'd left him be after the Raikage's blood cooled.
But they didn't. They made him their monster. A tyrant in the making. They split the world in two—the ones who would follow him into fire, and the ones who would burn him at the stake.
He had bent, again and again, trying to keep the peace, to keep the shape of the world intact. He had listened to reason when he should have listened to Kurama's laughter, to Sasuke's sharp truths. He'd held Sasuke back. Held himself back.
And then the immortals came—Momoshiki, Isshiki—and they took more than he could afford to lose. Kurama's death left a hollow in him that nothing could fill. The other side had smelled the weakness, and the killing began. Konohamaru. His team. Kiba. Shino. Iruka. One by one, the lights went out, until the night in him was complete.
Gaara had left him. Sasuke, too. And still, he hadn't seen the full truth—that his own hands had steered the ship into the rocks. The utopia they might have had rotted into ash because of choices that had seemed right at the time.
Regret weighed him down—chains and thorns both—and the dream world closed tighter around him.
By the time the sun's fire began to die in the west, the boy in Bell-mere's spare room stirred. His eyes cracked open, finding the low wooden ceiling above him. The air was warm, the quiet deep enough to almost be kind.
But it wasn't home.
Master, you are awake.
Arachne's voice slid into his mind like silk over steel.
"Yes," he answered inwardly, the weight of his limbs heavy with memory. "Thank you for keeping me alive, Arachne. Where am I?"
Master was brought to an island by a Fishman. A doctor treated you, but it is not enough—you must return to the base. Now you are in a woman's home. She has taken responsibility for your care.
Naruto sighed, the sound almost too small for the shape of what he was feeling. "Looks like I owe people… again."
He let his eyes drift over the room. Drawings covered the walls—maps etched in detail that spoke of a clever hand, and childish sketches full of color and crooked joy. A house of survivors, he thought. A house that had learned to protect its dreams.
The door creaked.
A small figure appeared—Nami, clutching something to her chest. She froze at the sight of his open eyes, her shock melting instantly into delight.
"Momma! The guest is up!"
Her voice was bright enough to momentarily push the darkness back—but in his mind, the thorns didn't loosen. They never did.
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Bell-mere appeared in the doorway behind Nami, her presence filling the small room without any need for words. She was a woman who'd stood against storms and learned to smile anyway—warm eyes, calloused hands, and a stance that carried a Marine's spine.
"It looks like you're finally awake," she said, her voice soft, though her gaze took his measure the way a soldier sizes up a weapon. "How are you feeling?"
Naruto sat up fully, shoulders loosening but never slumping. You didn't show weakness unless you meant to invite a knife.
The air smelled of citrus, sunlight drifting through the open windows in golden threads. Outside, the village murmured in the distance; inside, the world had narrowed to the modest kitchen where a table waited. Four chairs. Four lives temporarily tangled together by whatever fate called itself this week.
Naruto had cleaned up, Bell-mere's spare clothes replacing the tattered remnants of battle. She'd given him that, and shelter, and food. He knew better than to treat such things as free.
"Thank you for your assistance," he said, lowering himself into the chair she'd gestured toward. His voice carried sincerity, but his eyes never stopped reading the room—her posture, the girls' reactions, the exits.
Bell-mere busied herself with the meal, arranging it with the efficiency of someone who'd plated rations in worse places. "No problem," she replied, almost casually. "I have to repay your comrade in some way or form."
At the table, the two girls watched him as though he were a story stepped down from the page. Nami—orange-haired, bright-eyed, quick as the spark before a fire—leaned forward, her curiosity unashamed. Nojiko, quieter, her blue hair catching the light, sat back, though her eyes tracked him just as sharply.
Naruto smiled faintly at them, the curve of his mouth tempered by the weariness in his bones. "What do you wish to know, little ones?"
Nami pounced on the invitation like a cat on an unwatched fish. "Mister, is it true that the entrance to the Grand Line has a reverse waterfall? How does it work? And how do ships travel there?" The words tumbled out, tripping over each other, her hunger for the world outpacing her breath.
Nojiko laid a calming hand on her sister's arm, but the enthusiasm spilled into the air like sunlight through glass.
Naruto chuckled, leaning forward slightly, letting the warmth in his eyes answer the suspicion in Bell-mere's. "Calm down, little one. Yes, the Grand Line has the reverse waterfall. And other mysteries stranger still. People use all manner of ways to navigate it, but I've never taken that path myself." He paused, weighing the way she leaned into his words. Sharp mind. Questions like these cut deeper than most swords. Best to see what more she can do.
Nami's eyes gleamed, unsoftened by his partial answer. "Then how did you get here?"
"The Calm Belt," he said, sitting back. "The Marines use it—though it's thick with Sea Kings. They have their methods for avoiding them."
Bell-mere's voice slid into the conversation, steady and matter-of-fact. "That's right. The Calm Belt's the way we came."
Naruto turned his gaze to her, his tone shifting into something more deliberate. "Were you a Marine, madam?"
She met his eyes without flinching. "I was," she said, the single word carrying pride and the faint ache of memories that didn't fade with time. Then, with the finality of a commanding officer ending a debrief, she added, "Now let's eat before the food gets cold. We can talk later."
They ate.
Naruto's hunger gnawed at him, sharper than he'd realized. Blood loss had drained him more than any wound. Each bite was both fuel and reminder—this was borrowed time, borrowed strength, borrowed trust.
The conversation wound on between mouthfuls, the girls' questions darting like minnows, Bell-mere steering them with the ease of someone who'd commanded a crew before. Naruto listened, learned, stored the small truths between their words.
In the warm light of Bell-mere's kitchen, he could almost forget the thorns in his chest. Almost.
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After the meal, the four of them drifted out into the soft light of afternoon. The air was warm, touched by the salt-sweet breath of the sea. A tree stood nearby, old and sure, its roots like coiled serpents breaking the earth. Its shade swallowed the sun in fractured patterns, painting the ground in lazy shapes.
Naruto took the spot with his back to the trunk, his body easing into the kind of stillness you earn only after too many battles. His eyes found Nami crouched in the dirt, her stick moving with the precision of someone who understood lines and edges better than most adults.
The marks she made weren't idle scratches. They curved and angled with purpose, growing into something that lived between artistry and mathematics.
"Did you make the maps inside the room?" Naruto's voice cut into the lazy hum of the moment, curiosity edging the calm.
She looked up, her face lighting as if someone had thrown open a door to the sun. "Yes. Isn't it nice? Mamma says I'm really talented at being a mapmaker."
Naruto let a grin creep across his face. "She's right. You are very talented. How do you know the wind, the lay of the land—how do you read it all?"
Nami tilted her head, chewing on the thought. "I don't know… I just feel it. The atmosphere, I guess. Like instinct."
He reached out, his hand resting lightly on her head—gentle in a way that seemed to surprise even himself. "Don't trouble yourself over it. I understand."
Her eyes narrowed, suspicion laced with playful challenge. "Really? Then tell me why."
Naruto's mouth twisted into a smirk that had won and lost him more fights than he could count. "When you're older, I'll tell you. But only if you come looking for me."
Nami crossed her arms, the beginnings of a pout forming. "No fair! I want to know now! Please! I'll give you all my money!"
His laugh was low and warm, shaking his head. "No need for that. If you impress me while I'm here, maybe I'll tell you."
Her chin lifted, eyes blazing with a tiny, unshakable resolve. "You got it! I'll show you how amazing I am!"
The energy radiating off her made him laugh again. It was… disarming. Like standing in the eye of a storm and realizing you might like it there. This might be the calm I needed, he thought, letting himself breathe for the first time in what felt like months.
Bell-mere stood nearby, her expression tightening with each playful exchange. She stepped closer, her voice cool but carrying the kind of edge that left no doubt she'd had command before.
"Please do not goad my child like that," she said, hands settling on her hips. "She's persistent—and when she's persistent, she's relentless."
Naruto took a sip of the tea she'd given him, unshaken. "No worries. I'm good with children, and I'm interested in her talents. Would you be okay if I took her as an apprentice when she's older?" His gaze didn't waver; he spoke like the question was nothing more than the weather, though it was anything but.
Bell-mere's eyes hardened, her mouth flattening. "No. We don't know each other well enough for me to trust you with my daughter."
Naruto nodded, unbothered, the corners of his mouth curling faintly. "I understand. Then I hope we get to know each other better, madam."
Her reply was measured, but there was iron in it. "Just don't cause trouble. That's all."
He gave a small, almost imperceptible bow of his head, though his eyes still carried that quiet, unshaken confidence that made her… curious, in spite of herself.
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Naruto sat back with the cup in hand, steam curling from the rim like some lazy spirit escaping. His chuckle rolled low in his chest, unhurried, as though they had all the time in the world. "So," he said, eyes narrowing with the kind of ease that was anything but, "how was Hina's battle with Arlong?"
Bell-mere caught the shift. It was subtle—a hand sliding toward a hidden knife. He wanted the conversation away from her daughter, away from warm laughter and promises. Fine. She'd follow the lead, but she'd watch where it took her.
"The battle?" Her mouth curved, but it was no smile. "One-sided. Reminded me there are strong people in this world—people who don't belong in peaceful, little places like this."
"That's good." He spoke the words as though strength was something he could measure at a glance. "I'd have been disappointed if she struggled against these weaklings."
Bell-mere blinked. The boy—no, the young man—said it like he was discussing the weather. His injuries told another story, and she'd lived long enough to know that words could build castles or dig graves.
"You close to Hina?" she asked, suspicion slipping into her tone.
"Yes." No hesitation, no explanation. "She's my student, in a way. Training partner."
Bell-mere arched a brow. "I can believe the partner part. But don't bluff, kid. Bluffing will get you in trouble. Maybe right now."
Naruto's eyes caught the light in a way that didn't belong in a calm afternoon. "Bluff?" His voice turned to silk edged with wire. "You think I'm weaker than her?" He laughed—not loud, not forced, but in a way that made the air between them feel thinner. "In our elite group, I'm the strongest, if you measure the whole of what we are."
She didn't buy it. "Then why are you injured?"
"I was cleaning up other pirates—Krieg, Kuro—before I was leaving. Then came an attack. Grand Line. Simon the Unlimited. You might've heard the name."
The way he said it… no brag, no boast. Just fact laid on the table like a blade. Still, Bell-mere wasn't the type to be swayed by a steady tone.
"I'll consider it," she said at last, giving him the kind of look you reserve for a stranger standing too close to your door. "But words alone don't make me believe you."
Naruto smiled—sharp enough that it could cut if she leaned in too far. "Doubt is enough. Your belief that I'm weak… annoys me. Keep such thoughts to yourself."
Her brows drew tight. "Apologies if that offended your fragile ego."
He laughed then, rich and sudden. "You've got guts, Bell. Makes me want to make you mine."
Her eyes widened. The space between them tightened, not with warmth, but with the kind of tension that could snap to violence in a breath. She slid back, spine straightening. "You coming on to me, kid? Don't try your luck just because you're injured. I might pity you."
He leaned in—not close enough to touch, but close enough that his voice lowered to something that could slip past armor. "Don't look at me like that. I'm serious. You're alone, raising two children. I could help. Support. Why not try?"
The thought hit harder than she'd admit. She hated it for that. "No need—"
She didn't finish. He moved like water over stone—fluid, unstoppable. His lips pressed to hers.
For the heartbeat it lasted, her body forgot how to move. Then it was over. He stepped back, words like a thrown dagger left quivering in the space between them.
"Think about it."
Heat rose in her face, molten with both rage and something she wouldn't name. "You damn perv!" she barked, surging to her feet. "I'll beat the shit out of you for that!"
He laughed again, walking away without hurry, as though he'd just stolen something he was certain she couldn't take back.
Her heart was still hammering when the sound of his steps faded, leaving her alone with the taste of salt on her lips and the unwelcome truth that his words had slipped into her thoughts like a splinter she couldn't dig out.
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Naruto walked away from Bell-mere with her voice still sharp in his ears. Not the words—those were blunt, predictable—but the fire behind them. Fire that could burn, or be made to warm.
In another life, he might have wanted the warmth. In this one, he wanted the burn.
The woman was interesting. Interesting in the way an unbroken horse is—muscle and defiance, looking for a hand strong enough to break it or die trying. He liked that. Resistance made the game worth playing. And games were all he had left when you'd already lost everything worth loving.
He'd died once—properly, completely, with the taste of failure still sour in his mouth. He'd gone into that war knowing it was a one-way march. He'd embraced it. The old order had to die. The foundations of their justice—rotten. Their peace—shallow as puddles in summer. So he killed the pillars, toppled the thrones, and sowed his seeds in the ruin. Seeds that would grow long after his body had rotted.
Daughters and sons born from women strong enough to carry his blood—Shion, Temari, Tenten, Anko, Kurenai, and others. His legacy, scattered like sharp teeth across the future. They would be the ones to stand when the ashes settled. He'd left them to men he trusted in different ways—Sasuke and Gaara. Men who might have killed him, but who understood the weight of a promise.
And then—death. Cold and final. He thought the story had ended there.
But here he was again, flesh over bone, breath in his chest. No more wasting time. No more drawn-out wars. He would build it while he still walked. Breed the strength, raise the heirs, forge the utopia himself. Only then, when the shape of his vision stood solid before him, would he let go of this cursed tether to the mortal realm.
Bell-mere could be part of that. Or she could be nothing more than a brief fire on a cold night. Either way, he would use what he could.
A smirk tugged at his mouth as he found Genzo's house. The old man sat outside, pipe between his teeth, smoke drifting up into the slow afternoon. He looked like a man worn down by the years but not broken by them—weathered wood, not rotted.
"You okay now, boy?" Genzo's voice carried the gravel of storms survived.
Naruto stood straight. "Yes. Thank you for helping me."
Genzo waved it off with a slow swirl of his pipe. "Wasn't me. The octopus and the doctor. I just sat here."
Naruto filed that away—octopus. Fishman Island was more than a story here. That might matter later. This world had currents beneath the surface, and he had learned long ago to swim with the deep ones until it was time to drag them under.
"I'm looking to get to the nearest Marine base," Naruto said.
Genzo took another draw, eyes half-lidded, then blew smoke toward the sea. "We've a fishing ship. You can ride with us. When?"
"In three days." That was enough time to recover, sharpen himself back to form. If the Marines were what he expected, walking in at anything less than his best would be a mistake.
Genzo nodded. "Three days, then. Be ready."
He stood, pipe still between his teeth, and went inside without another word.
Naruto stood in the fading light, watching the smoke disperse on the wind. Three days. Enough time to plan. Enough time to decide whose fire he would stoke—and whose he would stamp out.