The cold moonlight fell like silver frost upon the scarred wooden floor of the shrine's main hall. Before Miroku, the candle flames flickered restlessly.
Little Shion huddled in her mother's arms. Her large violet eyes were no longer filled with pure terror; instead, they were clouded by a deep, heavy bewilderment.
Though she was too young to fully grasp her mother's words regarding the "evil of the human heart" or the "destiny of the Priestess," the gravity of the moment weighed upon her small shoulders.
Miroku held the ceramic jar tightly. Her gaze pierced through the swaying candlelight, landing on the silent, dark red figure standing a few paces away.
That white, three-eyed fox mask remained an impenetrable barrier against any attempt to peer into his soul.
The air inside the hall was so stagnant it felt suffocating. Only the wailing of the wind outside and the distant, muffled thuds of the battlefield cleanup broke the silence.
Then, the figure moved.
Under the startled gazes of Miroku, Shion, and Ashisuke, Shura slowly raised his hand. His fingers brushed against the cold edge of the mask.
Click.
The faint sound of a mechanical release echoed with startling clarity in the deathly quiet hall.
The mask was gently pulled away.
Moonlight and candlelight intertwined, illuminating a face that defied everyone's expectations.
There was no weathered skin or hideous scarring. Instead, they saw the face of a remarkably young, even handsome, youth.
His black, spiky hair fell in a slightly disheveled fashion over his forehead. His skin was a healthy, light tan, and his features were sharp and clean-cut.
However, it was his eyes that struck fear into their hearts—his right eye was a black abyss as deep as the night, while his left was far more eerie, a pure, burning crimson that looked like molten lava.
Calm, indifferent, and possessing a sense of detachment that surpassed his years—as if he were looking down upon the mortal world—he quietly returned the gaze of the three people in the hall.
Ashisuke, kneeling to the side, let out a sharp gasp and instinctively recoiled. He could hardly believe his eyes.
The "Shura" who shook the shinobi world with a fearsome reputation was actually this young?
Miroku's pupils contracted instantly. She had foreseen starlight; she had foreseen darkness; but never once in her prophetic dreams had she seen this face clearly.
Shion stared with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape. She looked at the mysterious boy curiously. She had expected an uncle, but instead, she found a "big brother."
Menma casually placed the white fox mask—a symbol of terror and power—onto the low table beside him. It made a soft clink as it touched the wood.
His voice remained flat, but without the mask's distortion, it carried the crisp resonance of a youth. Yet, the icy core of his tone remained unchanged.
"In the Warring States period, the Senju and Uchiha ended the chaos of the clans and founded the Hidden Village system. But the wars were not uprooted; they simply moved to a larger battlefield."
His gaze swept over the jar in Miroku's arms.
"The evil of the human heart grows in the soil of chaos and injustice. As long as the shinobi world remains divided—as long as Daimyo and nobles oppress one another for private gain, and hidden villages slaughter each other for interests—oppression, war, and displacement will never end. The root of Moryo will always have a bed to fester in."
Menma took a step forward. Moonlight illuminated half of his face. His heterochromatic eyes were like vortices, radiating a powerful and mysterious pressure.
"To end this cycle, there is only one path." His voice was clear and unwavering.
"End the division. Achieve the Great Unification of the shinobi world! Just as the various clans once walked toward the villages to end the Warring States, we must establish a single, unified nation!"
"All shinobi and all citizens will live under a single system and a single law."
"The privileges of the Daimyo and nobles must be eradicated. The distribution of resources must be fair. Only then can oppression vanish!"
"When the wars of humanity disappear, when order replaces chaos, and when the children of the next generation—and the generation after that—no longer know the meaning of hunger or fire from birth… over the span of two or three generations, the hatred flowing in their veins will naturally dissolve."
"The wars of… humanity?" Miroku keenly caught the specific qualifier. A look of alarm and suspicion appeared on her pale face.
She stared intently into Menma's mismatched eyes.
"Lord Shura, what do you mean? Aside from our own human conflicts, are there… other threats?"
Menma's gaze shifted from Miroku's face to the cold moon hanging in the deep night sky through the high window.
The pale light cast a silver edge over his profile, making the crimson of his left eye look even more demonic.
"Lady Miroku," his voice dropped to a low register.
"The enemies of this world are far more numerous and ancient than you imagine." He looked toward the vast, unknown starry sky.
"Masterminds hidden in the shadows of history for a thousand years are coveting this world. And from the depths of the endless sea of stars beyond the heavens, greedy eyes are watching. Human wars, in my eyes, are nothing more than a game of playing house."
"Beyond the heavens?!" Miroku's body trembled violently, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid.
As a Priestess, her perception far exceeded that of ordinary people.
When the phrase "beyond the heavens" left Menma's lips, an indescribable force made her very soul shudder.
Miroku's violet pupils bloomed with kaleidoscope-like patterns.
She "saw" it—as if countless eyes from unimaginably distant places were coldly observing this tiny planet beneath their feet!
The sensation vanished in a flash, but it left her back drenched in cold sweat, her face turning deathly pale.
Shion seemed to sense her mother's sudden, intense fear. Her small body jerked, and she hugged Miroku even tighter.
Ashisuke was pale with fright. He didn't understand the profound words, but Miroku's unprecedented loss of composure terrified him.
The hall fell into a silence even deeper than before.
Menma withdrew his gaze, letting it fall back onto Miroku's bloodless face.
He didn't explain further. He simply waited. He knew that this Priestess, who could perceive the evil of hearts and foresee fragments of the future, had already touched the tip of the iceberg regarding the truth.
Time seemed to freeze. The candles flickered anxiously, casting wavering shadows over Miroku's heaving chest and the ceramic jar.
Finally, Miroku took a deep breath, as if using every ounce of her strength.
She slowly raised her head. Her gaze was no longer bewildered; it was replaced by a tragic sort of resolve.
She gently straightened Shion in her arms. Then, under Ashisuke's shocked eyes, the Priestess of the Land of Demons—holding the jar that sealed Moryo—bowed deeply to the young Shura.
"Miroku, Priestess of the Land of Demons…" her voice was slightly raspy but exceptionally clear and firm. "I am willing to lead the Land of Demons to join the Land of Stars!"
The first rays of dawn struggled to pierce the gloom shrouding the Land of Demons, spilling over the broken debris of the shrine and the dried blood.
The air still held the lingering scent of smoke, iron, and a faint rot.
But a new order was quietly descending with the rising sun.
A team of about thirty shinobi appeared in the forest outside the shrine. They wore uniform deep-blue, near-black outfits and Star Ninja forehead protectors. Their movements were swift and silent, their eyes sharp, radiating the elite aura of the well-trained.
Leading them was Uzumaki Kusana.
She stepped forward quickly, nodding in greeting to Uchiha Hikari, who stood silently outside the temple doors. Her gaze swept over the exhausted Kimimaro and Haku before she issued her orders.
"Medical Team! Treat the wounded immediately!"
"Sealing Team! Establish multiple layers of alert barriers!"
"Cleanup Team! Process the battlefield and recover all remains. Be careful; the enemy corpses may contain hidden techniques!"
"Guard Detail! Take over the defense of the shrine and the surrounding main roads. Clear out any remaining enemies!"
The orders were concise and powerful. The Star Shinobi moved like precision clockwork.
Medical ninjas entered the hall with their kits; sealing ninjas began placing barriers; cleanup crews began the silent, efficient task of gathering the remains. Fully armed guards fanned out, taking the high ground around the shrine.
Supported by Ashisuke and carrying Shion, Miroku walked out of the main hall.
The cool morning air filled her lungs, dispelling some of the bloodstents and gloom of the interior.
She watched the scene: the well-trained, disciplined Star Shinobi Army was a world apart from the arrogant, overbearing private soldiers of the Land of Demons' nobility.
The focused eyes of the medics and the silent caution of the cleanup crews gave her cold, weary heart—battered by Moryo and a millennium of destiny—a long-lost sense of warmth and hope.
Menma had put his white three-eyed fox mask back on. He stood quietly on the high steps before the shrine.
His dark red haori fluttered slightly in the morning breeze.
He looked down at the shrine beginning its rebirth, and at Miroku, who held Shion with a complex expression in her eyes.
Beneath the mask, no one knew his expression.
Uchiha Hikari appeared silently a step behind him, like his most loyal shadow. Her high-collared blue clan outfit looked exceptionally cold in the morning light as she calmly observed the busy Star Shinobi.