The ruins were still smoking from the clash. Cracks glowed faintly with residual lightning, blackened pillars stood like broken bones, and silence pressed over everything.
Raizen's breathing was steady, but his thoughts weren't.
> An apostle survived. More could be out there. And if they're moving now… Shibai's shadow has already begun to stir.
He turned slowly, scanning the destroyed capital. Once, this had been a great nation—its banners flying alongside the Five Great Nations. Now it was nothing but char and dust. The sight twisted his gut.
Why couldn't he remember this? Why did he recall fragments of battles, of decrees, of hate-filled eyes, but not the destruction itself?
As if mocking him, the wind carried a faint whisper: Monster… betrayer… destroyer of peace.
Raizen's hands tightened. "Was it me… or was it them?"
A crunch echoed nearby. Instantly, Raizen flared his chakra, but what emerged wasn't an apostle. A boy, no older than twelve, crawled out from under collapsed stone, coughing violently. His clothes were rags, eyes wide with fear as he saw Raizen glowing faintly with storm chakra.
Raizen froze. A survivor.
The boy whispered hoarsely, "You… you're the one from the statues."
Raizen blinked. "Statues?"
The boy nodded shakily. "In the temples. The old ones. They said a man with eyes like storms brought both destruction and protection. They said… you erased history."
His words hit Raizen like a blade. Even in ruins, even after erasure… my shadow remained.
"Where are these statues?" Raizen demanded.
The boy flinched at his tone but pointed toward the center of the capital. A buried shrine, once hidden beneath the royal palace.
Raizen helped the child to his feet, then set him gently aside. "Stay here. Don't follow me."
The boy looked at him strangely—afraid, but also curious. As if somewhere deep down, he wanted to know if this storm-eyed man was truly a savior or the demon the world painted him to be.
Raizen descended into the ruins. The shrine was cracked, half-buried under rubble, but its aura was unmistakable. This place hadn't been built by shinobi hands. It pulsed with the same divine energy the apostle had carried—the lingering stain of Shibai.
Inside, torch carvings glowed faintly as Raizen entered. The walls told a story: a god descending from the stars, apostles kneeling, mortals bowing in worship. Then… a rebellion. A figure stood against the god, lightning in one hand, fire in the other.
Raizen's heart pounded. That's me.
He stepped closer, tracing the carved storm over the warrior's eyes. The final mural sent a chill through him: five nations standing in judgment, pointing at the same storm-eyed warrior. Below them, flames consuming cities. And beneath that… a hand erasing everything into a blank void.
Raizen stumbled back, gripping his head. The images were more than carvings—they triggered something. His memories bled into him again.
He saw himself battling a figure robed in black flame—an apostle stronger than the one he faced earlier. He saw the Five Kage gathered, their verdict absolute: "Raizen is too dangerous. The Uchiha are his shadow. End them both."
He saw his own fury consuming him.
And then—silence. White, infinite silence. The act of erasure.
Raizen fell to his knees, clutching his skull. It was true. I did it. I erased them all.
But even in the torrent of guilt, one thought burned. Then why does Shibai's influence remain?
From the shrine's shadows, another presence stirred. Not the same apostle—this chakra was heavier, colder, and laced with something ancient. A tall figure emerged, cloaked in bone-white cloth, his face hidden by a cracked mask.
"So… the forgotten god's betrayer still walks."
Raizen snapped up, his aura flaring. "Another apostle?"
The figure tilted his head. "No. I am something older. A recorder of truths. Where gods and mortals clash, I endure."
Raizen gritted his teeth. "Then tell me—what is Shibai planning? Why are his apostles returning now?"
The figure chuckled, voice like dry leaves. "You misunderstand, child. Shibai never left. You only believed you ended it. But a god does not die by mortal hands. At best… you cut his shadow."
The shrine trembled as the figure raised a skeletal hand, pressing it against the mural. "And when shadows are cut, they scatter. His apostles are not returning—they are converging."
Raizen's chest tightened. "For what?"
The figure leaned closer, mask gleaming in faint firelight. "For you. You are the vessel of the storm that denied the god once. His apostles will break you, not to kill you… but to awaken what you buried."
Raizen's eyes widened. The words crawled under his skin, colder than ice. Awaken what I buried…?
The figure turned, beginning to fade into the shrine's walls. His last words slithered like poison:
"The nations are gone. The memories erased. But your sin, Raizen… your sin remembers you."
The shrine went dark. The figure vanished.
Raizen stood in the silence, fists trembling. The boy's words, the apostle's threats, the recorder's prophecy—they all converged into a single truth.
Peace had never existed. He had only delayed the storm.
And now… it was breaking.
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