Chapter 2 – Blood and Heritage
The first thing I learned in this new world is that being born an Uchiha is not just a blessing—it's a burden.
My parents were renowned warriors. My father, Uchiha Renji, was called "The Phantom of the Flaming Sword." His mastery of kenjutsu was legendary, and they said that on the battlefield his blade burned as if it had been forged in the very depths of hell. He possessed the three-tomoe Sharingan, active almost all the time, as though it were a natural extension of his sight.
My mother, Uchiha Kaori, was even more feared. Known as "The Eye of Death," her genjutsu was so refined that few survived to tell what they had seen within her illusions. She also bore the complete Sharingan. Together, they were said to be the most relentless duo of the clan, a couple that had changed the course of entire wars.
And I… was their heir.
Even as a baby, I could feel the aura of respect and fear others showed them. Conversations would stop when my father walked through the clan's main hall, and even veteran warriors would lower their gaze in my mother's presence.
By the age of two, my mind was already sharp—an inheritance from my past life. I was not just a child; inside, I carried the awareness of someone who had already lived, suffered, and died. That made me observe everything with greater attention.
My days were filled with indirect training. My father never treated childhood as something fragile. From an early age, he put a wooden sword in my hands, even if it was bigger than me. He would say:
— Arashi, an Uchiha doesn't learn to live. He learns to fight. Living is just the consequence of that.
I could barely hold the sword, but his stern eyes watched me until I collapsed from exhaustion. Only then would he carry me back home.
My mother, on the other hand, trained my spirit. She would sit with me in silence for long periods, placing small illusions before my eyes. Nothing deadly, just mental games: turning a cup into a snake, making a candle look like a thousand torches, or making my own shadow move without me lifting a finger. She would smile faintly whenever I noticed the flaw in the genjutsu.
— Sharp eyes see the truth. Remember this, Arashi: every illusion has a crack.
Those were years of harsh discipline, even when I was barely learning to speak properly.
But it wasn't only training. I also began to notice the cruelty of that era. The clan lived in constant war against the Senju and other lesser enemies. Children my age disappeared overnight, taken to battlefields they would never return from. It was common to hear the cries of mothers—or the heavy silence of funerals.
In that world, surviving until the age of five was already considered an achievement.
It was shortly after my second birthday that something changed in my life. I was exploring a small room in the back of the house—a storage of old weapons, scrolls, and worn armor. Beneath some loose floorboards, I found a small iron box.
Inside, there was a yellowed scroll. The seal bore the clan's emblem, but the names written on it sent a chill down my spine: they were the names of my grandparents. I had never met them, though my parents spoke of them with respect.
The scroll carried a direct message, as if it had been written for me:
"To our descendant… We know our blood is fire, but fire without control consumes. We created two techniques that could elevate the Uchiha clan to a new level, but our talent was not enough to complete them. We leave you, heir, with this responsibility."
Alongside the message were the descriptions of two incomplete techniques:
— The first was a Rank A genjutsu called Mugen Akai Kyō (Infinite Red Mirror). The technique trapped the enemy in endless reflections of themselves, fracturing their sanity. But the scroll said it lacked the power to make the genjutsu absolute.
— The second was a Rank A ninjutsu called Enkō Rasen (Spiral of Flames). It consisted of creating a compressed sphere of spinning fire that consumed everything around it. However, my grandparents admitted they were never able to stabilize the necessary chakra to bring it to its ultimate form.
At the end of the scroll was a sentence that burned itself into my mind:
"If you are able to raise these techniques to Rank S, then the world will know the true legacy of the Uchiha."
I clenched my fists, a shiver running down my small body. I had just received not only an inheritance, but a mission.
Until the age of three, I lived amidst the brutality of the clan era. I remember walking through the Uchiha village and seeing corpses carried after battles. Children older than me trained with sharpened shuriken, and some already had eyes glowing with two tomoe.
Life wasn't about school, friends, or games. It was about survival.
Even with my parents being heroes of the clan, I had no real privileges. On the contrary: there was a heavy expectation placed upon me. Children of legendary warriors could not be weak. I knew that, and every glance I received from other Uchihas was a silent demand.
Still, inside our home, there were moments of hidden tenderness. My mother would sometimes hum softly when she thought I was asleep, and my father, even in his sternness, would spend hours sharpening his sword while I watched him, as if teaching me discipline by example.
But on the night of my third birthday, my destiny finally revealed itself.
By then, my appearance was no longer that of a mere child. Because of my lineage and the chakra burning in my veins, I looked like a five-year-old. My eyes already glimmered with a strange intensity, as if the Sharingan lurked, ready to awaken at any moment.
That night, during the simple ceremony my parents prepared, something happened.
They gave me a new wooden sword. When I held it, I felt chakra flow through the handle as if the blade itself recognized me. I made a few instinctive moves, and to everyone's surprise, my body moved with natural ease. It was as though I had been training for years.
The hall fell silent.
My father, astonished, broke his rigid demeanor and let out a rare smile.
— So, this is it… the Uchiha blood awakens early in him.
My mother also seemed intrigued.
— He doesn't just have talent… he already understands the rhythm of chakra.
In that moment, I realized something even greater. It wasn't just kenjutsu. Inside me, there was a natural instinct for ninjutsu, genjutsu, and even fūinjutsu. When I drew a small seal on the floor with charcoal—without ever having been taught—my chakra responded.
It was as though knowledge was dormant in my blood, waiting for the right age to awaken.
That night, alone in my room, I looked at my small hands and felt a tremendous weight. I wasn't just Arashi. I was the sum of two lives: the young man who had died in a world without chakra, and the heir of one of the most powerful and hated clans.
"If by the age of three I am already like this… how far can I go?"
I knew the answer. I had to surpass the limits of my parents. Beyond the limits of the clan. Beyond the limits of the very destiny I already knew.
The Uchiha flame burned within me, but not to consume me.
It burned to shape me into the blade that would change the future.