The training field was quiet at dawn, mist curling low over the grass. Kiyoshi stood at the center, chest heaving as sweat clung to his skin. He had been at it for hours—pushing his body past its limits, weaving through taijutsu drills, striking against wooden posts, and forcing his chakra into shapes that still resisted him.
His Ketsuryūgan flickered open, scarlet and sharp, but after only a few moments, his vision blurred and his knees buckled. He grit his teeth, refusing to fall. I have to last longer… if I can't control this, I'll be nothing but a liability.
"Overdoing it again?" Rei's voice cut through the haze.
He glanced back to see her leaning against a tree, arms folded, kunai pouch strapped at her hip. She looked tired too, but in her eyes was that quiet steadiness he'd come to rely on.
"You're up early," Kiyoshi muttered.
"Couldn't sleep," Rei said simply. "Besides, if you collapse out here, Daiki will never let you live it down."
Almost on cue, Daiki's voice rang out as he strolled into the field, carrying skewers of grilled dango. "Heard my name?" He grinned, tossing one skewer at Kiyoshi. "Breakfast. You'll need it if you keep trying to kill yourself training."
Kiyoshi caught it, glaring faintly, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Thanks."
For a while, the three of them sat in the mist, eating in silence. It wasn't comfortable silence—not yet—but it wasn't strained either. A fragile kind of trust had formed between them after the Root mission.
Rei broke it first. "Tsunade wants us to assist the archives division today. Something about cataloging the relic's history."
Daiki groaned. "So… books instead of blades? Great."
Kiyoshi's grip tightened on the skewer. The relic. Even without holding it, he could still feel its faint pulse in his blood, like an echo waiting to surface.
The archives were hidden beneath Konoha's library, torches lining the stone walls. Old scrolls and forbidden texts rested on towering shelves, their ink faded with age. A pale candlelight flickered over the Hokage's personal seal placed on the relic's container.
Shizune guided them through the records, pulling scrolls and placing them onto a low table. "These documents mention artifacts tied to bloodline clans. If Root wanted it, there must be something here."
Kiyoshi unrolled one carefully, his eyes scanning the brittle parchment. The words blurred, but then—something strange happened.
His Ketsuryūgan activated on its own. The ink shimmered, faint patterns hidden beneath the surface revealing themselves only to him. Symbols—old, winding, written in a language that twisted like veins.
"Kiyoshi?" Rei's voice broke the moment.
He blinked, sweat beading on his forehead. "I… I can read it."
Daiki leaned closer, baffled. "Since when can you read dead languages?"
Kiyoshi's voice was quiet. "Since the relic chose me."
The scroll spoke of a clan's bloodline sealed within vessels of stone, artifacts designed not as weapons, but as keys. Keys to something greater, buried far deeper than Konoha's walls.
As his eyes lingered on the final passage, the pulse of the relic echoed in his chest again, stronger this time. Almost alive.
That night, back at the river, Kiyoshi stared into the current, his reflection fractured by ripples. Rei and Daiki were with him—Daiki skipping stones lazily, Rei seated in calm silence.
Kiyoshi clenched his fists. "If these relics are keys… then Root won't stop. Not until they have them all."
Rei nodded. "Then we make sure they don't."
Daiki smirked, tossing another stone. "Sounds like we're stuck together for a while, huh?"
Kiyoshi's lips curved faintly—not quite a smile, but something close.
For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel alone.
But deep beneath that warmth, the relic's pulse beat louder, whispering truths only he could hear.
And with every whisper, the line between power and burden grew thinner.