Naruto stepped deeper into the ruined vault, the floor crunching under his boots like bone and ash. The place reeked of old secrets and something fouler—burnt lies and betrayal. Every step felt like he was walking on top of someone's dirty cover-up, crumbled and charred into silence.
The iron door groaned behind him, screaming like it hadn't been touched in years. Hell, maybe decades. The walls were scorched. Someone didn't just want to hide what was in here—they wanted it fucking gone.
Half-burnt scrolls littered the floor, some barely readable, others nothing but flakes. He knelt beside the only thing still intact—a half-melted chest, cracked open like someone had been desperate. The parchment inside was singed, but he could still make out the title.
Chakra Doctrine: Pre-Sage Era.
His breath hitched.
This wasn't the stuff old farts in the Council talked about. This was older. Forbidden. Maybe even true.
He pulled one page out, hands shaking.
"Chakra... cursed fire gifted to mortals from the stars. A burden, not a gift."
Naruto blinked hard. What the hell?
He kept reading, eyes scanning the scorched ink:
"...those who held it became cages to the will of something older..."
The scroll ended there. Torn. Burned. Fucking typical.
He looked up—and froze. The word carved into the wall wasn't just a scribble.
CAGE
Someone had scratched it there, furious. Not with a brush, but with something sharp. Like they were desperate to leave a warning before all this shit burned.
His chest tightened.
He saw flashes—Kurama snarling in his mind, the way people used Jinchūriki like goddamn tools. He wasn't the only one. All of them, caged and leashed like rabid animals for some broken world's sake.
Cages. All of them.
Was that all chakra was?
A fucking chain?
Naruto's knuckles went white around the scroll. He turned back to the pile, tearing through it now. Burned pages, faded diagrams, symbols twisted in ways he didn't understand. Seals—but wrong. Off. Older than anything Konoha ever taught.
Then he found it.
A spiral.
But this wasn't his clan's mark. This one was tighter, jagged—like a drain sucking everything into it.
And under that? One word.
ORIGIN
He whispered, voice cracking.
"What the hell did we build our world on?"
The room didn't answer. Just creaked. Moaned. Mocked him.
But the ash remembered.
Then it happened.
A wall near the back shifted—clicking like a machine exhaling its last breath.
A hidden panel. Dust falling.
Behind it?
Stairs.
Downward.
Cold. Unlit. Like hell with no fire.
He stepped forward. And he didn't fucking hesitate.
Because someone had lied to the world.