THE WILL OF A DECEASED HOKAGE?

When I reflect on the destruction of my timeline, the first thing that pops up in my mind is Shikamaru-sensei's face. Back then, I was only a few years older than my cousin, but I was old enough to be like an older brother to me. However, to me, it meant so much more than that. He was my teacher, my mentor, my confidant, and my closest friend. I admired him and loved him more than anyone else in the whole world.

I clearly remember the days when we trained together, when he taught me everything he knew and guided me on the path to becoming a true Shinobi. I also remember the moments when we were just chatting, about life, the future, our dreams. Talking to him was so natural, as if we could read each other's minds.

But what sticks in my memory the most, what hurts the most, is the loss. The loss of someone so crucial in my life. Not only did I lose my teacher, I also lost my adoptive father, the man who showed me what it meant to have a father and what it felt like to be loved unconditionally. I lost everything.

And now, here in this new world, remembering Shikamaru-sensei with those same old eyes, I can't help but feel a twinge of pain in my heart. Because, although he will continue to be my teacher and mentor, in my mind he will always be the father I lost.

(~~~)

The turbulent sand obstructed his view with gusts that rose in whirlwinds, forming a curtain that hid everything beyond. Shikamaru had been immersed in his musings for a couple of hours, right in the Sand Village Hospital.

The phenomenon had occurred a few hours earlier. A dark sand, as sinister as the shadows of his own clan, had surrounded the hospital after informing the Kazekage of the sudden appearance of corpses in the Leaf Village.

In the windland, storms were common, but something like Black Sand or space-time Jutsu were far beyond what their village's techniques could handle.

Shikamaru's thoughts stirred like a whirlwind in his mind, disturbing his concentration.

On the one hand, he was burning with anger at the murder of his master Asuma, whose killer was still free and apparently enjoying his freedom. On the other hand, he felt a deep helplessness as he was aware of his own weakness and the task ahead of him: to investigate what was happening in Konoha.

As he watched the sandstorm from the window of the hallway of the Sand Village hospital, Shikamaru wondered if the darkness that the sand seemed to bring with it had anything to do with his ongoing research. It was an unsettling possibility that increased his frustration and the feeling of racing against time.

A sigh escaped Shikamaru's lips, overwhelmed by all that was happening. He wondered if he would be up to the task he had been given, if he would ever find his master's killer, and if he would be able to live up to the expectations he had of himself. He tried to regain his concentration, but that was easier said than done.

"What a bummer... The problems do not stop accumulating. It seems that they are making fun of us."

Once the Black Sand vanished and dispersed into thin air, Gaara, the Kazekage, ordered an investigation of the surrounding area. He had heard about the young man on the hospital gurney and the possibility that the Black Arena was an enemy Jutsu couldn't be ruled out.

The problems came one after another, without respite. First the incidents in Konoha and now a possible connection to the village where they had come for support.

Luck was simply not on his side.

Shikamaru watched with concern the dull colored sand that the Black Sand had left behind. Although the phenomenon had passed, he could clearly see its trail from the window. Was it just a coincidence that this occurred right after receiving reports about the bodies found in the Leaf Village? Or was it part of something bigger, something that was beyond his comprehension?

The burden of finding his master's killer weighed on his shoulders, and Shikamaru wondered if he was truly up to the task. He felt powerless and weak, unable to live up to the expectations he had of himself. Despite his attempts to focus on the mission, anxiety and fear constantly plagued him. Problems piled up one after another, and luck seemed not to be on their side.

"What else can I do?" He sighed to himself as he prepared for another whirlwind of thoughts. 

He was stuck in limbo, his mind full of worries and doubts. Even as he tried to focus on the task at hand, everything was mixed up in his head. His father's words resonated as a reminder not to give up on his goal.

"Let go, son. All that pain, that failure; let it out." His father's words echoed in Shikamaru's mind. 

His father was unique in his life. In his childhood, Shikamaru did not share many moments with this man with the stern face. He always seemed to disappear at crucial moments or even in the most ordinary moments of his life. His reputation as the most cunning ninja in all of Fire Country forced him to be absent frequently.

Despite everything, his father always found the right time to be present for Shikamaru. It wasn't that she avoided him or showed disdain for him; it was simply his father's nature.

Hearing the name "Shikaku Nara," people used to associate it with words like intelligence, wisdom, and rudeness.

But for Shikamaru, his only son, it was difficult to sum up all of his father's characteristics. He was vague, but warm and understanding. Strategic, but sometimes too brusque in his dealings with others. Objective to the point of annoying Shikamaru, who preferred to see things in shades of gray instead of black and white.

Still, ignoring objectivity led him to witness the light in his master's eyes go out.

Not considering all the possibilities, being overconfident, convincing himself that he was living in a simulation whose obligation was to preserve his life... Nothing in the world existed because of him. Once he died, nothing would ensure his existence. Asuma had been lucky enough to do something for someone, to entrust Shikamaru with the task.

He had the courage to do so without blaming him for his own death. Because, even if his father had convinced him otherwise at the time, and even if the Hokage had reminded him that Shikamaru was not to blame, he knew it. He had been responsible for Asuma's blood spilled on the ground, as if he were a dog.

Shikamaru stood there, staring blankly at the village's most visible rooftops across the sand. His mind wandered to all the possibilities and options that might arise on his next mission.

He remembered Asuma's words about the importance of considering all options, and he was determined not to repeat the same mistake that cost his teacher his life. But he also wondered if he was analyzing things too much and if he should trust his gut a little more.

As he continued to immerse himself in his reflections, Shikamaru recalled his childhood and how his father always encouraged him to think critically and analyze all situations before making a decision. It was a lesson he had learned well, but at the time he questioned whether he was losing sight of the big picture.

However, he couldn't help but feel that his focus was what had led him to where he was today, and therefore he couldn't abandon his way of thinking. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to find a balance: consider all the options, but also trust your instinct and your ability to make decisions.

Just then, Temari's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"What's wrong with you? I've been trying to get your attention for several minutes." Temari said, with a note of concern in his voice. 

As he looked up and met Temari's gaze, Shikamaru felt the haze of uncertainty and pessimism dissipate, widening his view of the room.

The blonde's four buns protruded noticeably: Two on the upper sides behind the head, and another two just above the neck. Her black dress showed that, like Shikamaru, she was doing her duties before coming to accompany Gaara.

Temari of the desert was Gaara's older sister, and a Chunin skilled in the wind style. The giant fan tied to his back was proof of this.

The hospital corridor was plunged into darkness, only illuminated by the dim light of fluorescent lights that were interspersed along the ceiling. Silence reigned in the air, only interrupted by the soft jingle of medical equipment in the rooms and the occasional sound of hurried footsteps in the corridor.

Shikamaru visualized his shoes, his mind still entangled in the many threads of possibilities he had envisioned for the mission. The lack of concrete answers and the feeling of having failed weighed on his shoulders, creating an atmosphere of melancholy and frustration.

As time progressed and the greeting to Temari drew nearer, the shadows seemed to intensify, and the light from the fluorescents grew weaker and weaker. The atmosphere became more and more suffocating, as if the air itself became denser, crushing it.

Finally, the window facing the outside allowed the moonlight to bathe them. Shikamaru stopped his thoughts there, looking out.

The city stretched into the distance, its lights glowing faintly in the darkness of the night. A sigh escaped his lips, burdened with the weight of responsibility and uncertainty that weighed on his shoulders.

The night seemed eternal, and Shikamaru felt trapped in his own mind, exploring all the possibilities and options available to him, while the nighttime atmosphere enveloped him in a sense of emptiness and desolation.

Out of sight of the brown-eyed Nara, Temari frowned. He didn't know it, but Temari was already aware of everything.

Although until now their relationship could be considered close, they were comrades from villages faithful to each other; friends in duty. However, although they had shared the path on more than one occasion, they were not intimate enough to share each other's personal problems.

At least, that's what Temari thought. Shikamaru might seem lacking in initiative, but his insightful judgment often enriched the decisions of those around him, illuminating his path.

She appreciated having someone as efficient as an ally, though she didn't miss an opportunity to remind him of his lack of self-esteem. And right now, that was the root of their problems.

"The boy is stable and won't wake up for at least two days." Temari began, watching Shikamaru out of the corner of his eye as his back to the window. "We have a lot to document, so focus on what's important. Stop thinking about things."

Shikamaru's expression remained unperturbed. His eyes were still fixed on the outside panorama, but he had stopped paying attention to it when Temari focused on the essentials. He heard her exhale as she leaned against the wall by the window.

"Doctors said there's also a chance you'll wake up before two days." She continued. "But they also warned us not to feed false hopes. After all, he's just a kid..."

A brief lapse of darkness covered the hallway floor as a cloud passed in front of the moon in the night sky. When the light returned, Shikamaru finally joined the conversation.

"Chakra drained..." Shikamaru muttered quietly. 

Temari nodded beside him, turning to see him more clearly.

"When Yamato found him, he was already unconscious. Why would anyone bother to drain the Chakra of someone they no longer had?" The girl from the desert pointed out the obvious but disconcerting. 

Shikamaru frowned, his mind already working on the logic behind the attack.

"We still don't have enough clues to determine a motive." He commented in frustration. "But the fact that there is no trace of Chakra at all suggests that the attacker may have used a specialized technique, something that eliminates any trace of Chakra manipulation."

Temari nodded, noding the worry on the Nara's face.

Shikamaru was considering Konoha's attack and the boy's condition as one and the same case, although it has not yet been confirmed. And Temari understood.

The simple fact that both cases were related to the Chakra, and the absence of it in the victims, indicated that it was possible that there was a connection between the two events.

"Don't stress too much, Shikamaru." Temari tried to console him, although she was also worried and exasperated for trying to get the subject aside. "We'll see what else we can discover tomorrow."

Shikamaru was silent for a few seconds, his mind working on the information he had. He knew he couldn't afford to leave a single loose end on this mission.

The silence of the night was only interrupted by the whisper of the wind through the open windows of the hospital. The moonlight, which had once illuminated the hallway, hid behind a cloud, plunging everything into momentary darkness.

The atmosphere became more mysterious and ominous. The sense of uncertainty that hung in the air intensified, as if the night itself foreshadowed a latent danger.

As the moon emerged again, its silver rays illuminated the walls, creating elongated, distorted shadows that seemed to move as if they were alive.

It was an atmosphere full of anticipation, as if something indescribable but latent in the air was waiting. And so, in the midst of that enigmatic scenario, Mirai's story began to unfold without any ninja from the past having any knowledge of it.

(~~~)

Mirai stared at the campfire with squinting eyes, trying to make a connection between the skills she knew and the techniques used by the Grand Old Woman's subordinates to control the territory. He wondered if these people possessed some kind of special ability that would allow them to manipulate the sand and move beneath the surface of the desert with ease.

As he pondered, he noticed the presence of sand on the floors of the hideout and realized that this could be a clue to the technique used by these individuals. I knew that chakra mastery was a fundamental skill in ninjutsu, but was it possible that there were other skills and techniques that I didn't know about yet?

Suddenly, he was startled to realize that someone was approaching. She looked up and saw one of the Great Elder's subordinates, who stopped in front of her.

"Is everything okay?" The man asked hoarsely. 

"Yes, I'm fine." Mirai replied. "I was just thinking about how you guys control this territory. Are there any special techniques you use?"

The man stared at her for a moment before answering. Although her face was covered and only a thin line could be seen that showed her eyelashes, Mirai felt a slight tension in the air.

"It's not something we can easily discuss." He says in a mysterious tone. "But I can tell you that our method is very different from the ninjutsu taught in Konoha. It's not something you can learn in a book or a ninja academy."

Mirai nods, understanding that there are things she simply can't know without being within the circle of trust of the Grand Elder and her subordinates. However, his curiosity is still latent.

"I understand." She says. 

He doesn't know how to continue the conversation at this last minute. Asking him things is no longer an option, and he can't question anything either. For some reason, their questions don't go beyond "How come they're not so tired of coming from so far away?"

Through the rag wrapped around his head, the man and Mirai look at each other. They stood like this for a minute, studying each other's eyes. When a third man called out to him from the other end of the tunnel, their gazes parted.

The man joined the third, and they both disappeared from Mirai's sight as a wall emerged from the ground, sealing the only exit he had witnessed since waking up.

Mirai sighed and shrugged, the fire burning in front of her and her elbows resting on her knees.

Mirai became more and more intrigued by the Great Old Woman's subordinates. They were all men with their faces covered with rags and seemed to follow their leader with an almost religious devotion.

The young ninja couldn't help but wonder how they had gotten to this point, blindly following a mysterious old woman into an underground hideout. But at the same time, Mirai's curiosity was further piqued when she noticed that they seemed to know something about her situation and her mission in the desert.

The Grand Elder's subordinates treated her kindly, offering her food and drink to quench her hunger and thirst. Meanwhile, they would talk to her about trivial things to distract her from her problems for a moment.

Mirai watched them intently, trying to find any hint as to why they seemed to be so interested in her and her presence in the hideout.

Recently, many of the subordinates had scattered across the desert, as if they were on an important mission. They had spoken vaguely of guarding the desert and making sure that those who had attacked Mirai and her team would not continue to pursue them.

All of this only added to the young ninja's intrigue about the true nature of the Grand Elder's subordinates and what they were really doing in that dark and underground place.

Mirai closed her eyes and let herself be carried away by the thoughts that invaded her mind. How had they created this hiding place underground? What was the connection between the Great Elder and the adults of her time? Mirai knew that the Great Elder had been a crucial person if Tanaka-san, a Ninja from Konoha, had sent her to her.

I had heard stories about powerful beings, capable of going far beyond Ninjutsu...

But that didn't explain how they had created this particular hideout. Mirai wondered if the Grand Old Lady's subordinates had abilities other than the ninjutsu she knew. Perhaps they were able to manipulate the earth in a way she couldn't even imagine.

Suddenly, the image of the Great Old Woman came to mind.

How had she known about Mirai and her friends? How had the adults been able to send them directly to this hiding place?

Mirai remembered the feeling of free fall as the roof of the hiding place suddenly opened and darkness enveloped her. It was fortunate that they had not been seriously injured in the fall.

Mirai knew that she would have to continue exploring this mysterious place and its surroundings to find answers. But for now, she let herself be carried away by the tranquility of the campfire and the sense of security that surrounded her. Although he was in an unknown place, he knew that he was in good hands with the Grand Elder and her subordinates.

If Shikamaru-sensei, and even her own mother, had given their lives for her to be here along with the others, then she wouldn't complain about anything.

If sitting here was what her mother, teacher, cousin, or Hokage wanted, she would stay here as long as it took. Everything is to fulfill the promise.

"I'm asking you, Mirai..."

The mouth moving as he said his request word for word, reappeared more vividly in his head.

He had promised. With Shikadai's father's blood spilling down her hands, she had sworn to do her duty.

"Hey, Mirai." In the darkness, he heard the voice that had been recorded. 

Darkness enveloped everything, but a voice echoed in the silence. Mirai Sarutobi opened her eyes and turned her head to her right.

There, illuminated by a candlestick that she held in one hand, was the figure of an old woman, with a bundle tight under her other arm. Mirai tried to remember the name, but couldn't remember it. The old woman, indirectly, had refused to give her one when Mirai questioned her.

Uncomfortable at not knowing how to refer to her, Mirai decided to keep silent.

The old woman, unfazed by the lack of greeting, spoke to him with a smile on her lips:

"We need to talk now. Don't waste your time. You have to prepare yourself if you want to survive in this world." The old woman's words resounded gravely in Mirai's ears, making her heart race. 

Confused by what this woman wanted from her, Mirai got up from her seat and walked over to the old lady, keeping her gaze fixed on her eyes. She was determined to be prepared for whatever came next, ready to listen to whatever the old woman had to say.

In the short time they had spoken, Mirai had learned one thing about her: Questions didn't seem to be useful.

The old woman seemed to know everything, but somehow dodged the questions with evasive or curt answers. However, he did provide information when he saw fit, similar to how Shikamaru-sensei did when Mirai's path became cloudy.

"Sunrise is a few hours away, but it will be enough time for you to prepare." The woman spoke as she unrolled the sheet she had used to cover her belongings. "A few hours will be enough for you to prepare."

Mirai looked at her in confusion, feeling sweat slide down her face.

The old lady didn't look at her once as she put things down on the floor. On the dirty white sheet, there were three books stacked together, the same thickness as the history books of his village. Next to them, a tube with small scrolls and a metal cartridge belt that Mirai instantly recognized.

It was just like the one Inojin-kun used to store his drawing pencils.

"Get ready..." Mirai murmured, feeling the same sensation she had experienced when talking to Tanaka-san invade her heart. "So...?! Can I go in search of those spheres?! It's possible...?"

Mirai couldn't continue her storm of questions, as the old woman, frowning and eyes closed, walked towards her. A feeling of warning ignited within her, reminding her that impatience was not the key to understanding.

He thought he had understood, but his mind and heart often played against him unfairly.

After swallowing nervously and feeling the silent reproach of the silver-haired old lady, Mirai carefully watched her hand movements as she arranged things.

"The Forbidden Scroll is a bridge to a technique that even the gods are forbidden to use." The old woman revealed, opening the first book in the line. 

The book, like the other two, was antique, but its cover had an almost fiery red hue.

As they opened it halfway, dust seemed to burst on their faces. Mirai had to dispel it with a wave of her hand, while the old woman turned the pages undeterred.

He spoke in a whisper. He had not yet ruled out the possibility that the children could wake up at any moment.

"Information on what might happen when using the Rewind technique is scarce. Only a few surviving witnesses managed to document theories about the seals through writings."

The first page of the book was displayed before his eyes. The old woman put it down on the floor and rummaged through the metal holster, keeping Mirai on edge.

Closing the holster with a resonant sound, the woman held up a brush with black ink on the tip. He was slim and refined. He gestured, motioning for Mirai to come closer.

The silver-haired old lady didn't wait for Mirai's permission, and gently took the young lady's hand. Mirai fell silent, wondering what the purpose of this gesture was. It was then that the old woman placed the brush on Mirai's palm.

The tip of the brush, wet with black ink, tilted with the passage of time, until finally, tired of the light weight, the ink escaped in the form of a single drop. As he painted a dot on Sarutobi's hand, he splashed tiny droplets, the size of a cell.

Mirai stared at the drop of black ink in her hand, absorbed in how it expanded and glided over her skin.

The old woman motioned for him to pay attention to the mark and notice how the ink dried quickly before his eyes.

Mirai felt the mark slowly begin to spread in all directions, darkening the skin around her as if it had been unwashed for a long time. The young woman perceived a slight itch as the mark took shape.

The drop of black ink looked like a dark blob that expanded and took on an intricate pattern on Mirai's skin. The young woman watched with a mixture of disbelief and fear, wondering what it all meant. Despite being a small drop of ink, the brand dried quickly, creating a complex design that seemed etched into his skin.

A shiver ran through Mirai's body, making her doubt whether what she was witnessing was real or just an illusion.

The old lady insisted that she pay attention to the mark once more, and Mirai noticed how the black color extended beyond the starting point, darkening the surrounding skin as if it was covered in long-accumulated dirt. Fear gripped Mirai as she wondered what it all meant.

"What is this?" He asked, feeling his heart pound in his chest. 

"There are many theories about it, and several ramifications of those theories." The old woman replied as she searched among her belongings for a handkerchief to clean the brushes. One of those theories suggests that time can manifest physically, just as you're seeing now.

Mirai accepted the handkerchief that the old woman offered her, but her disbelief and fear persisted. How could a simple tissue wipe away a stain that seemed to be embedded in her skin? Even so, he couldn't ignore the dark stain that remained on his hand after the old lady marked him with black ink.

With hesitant movements, Mirai began to rub the stain with the tissue, but instead of wiping it off, she seemed to be spreading it on her skin. The feeling of helplessness and frustration began to take hold of her.

What could I do to get rid of this stain?

The old woman watched his struggle and finally intervened. With a gentle gesture, she took the handkerchief from Mirai's hands and began to wipe the stain with ease, as if it was an everyday chore for her. Mirai watched in amazement as the stain disappeared without a trace, wondering how it was possible.

"Time continues to move forward, even when your time was completely destroyed." The old woman explained. "But you, being a refugee from the scroll, suffer the changes of time. If someone from the "Now" hurts you, it will be impossible to heal you. Your life is at high risk if you are many years in the future."

For the first time, Mirai felt more aware of herself and others. He looked directly into the woman's eyes, both kneeling on the ground, contemplating each other with a minimal difference in height.

Although the old woman's face was marked by time, she exuded a tranquility that was reflected in her expression. However, now there was a slight tension in her features as she saw the deep red in Mirai's eyes.

Mirai didn't know why, but she had frozen when she was watched by those eyes. He felt himself under heavy scrutiny, as if the gaze reached to the depths of his soul. A tension was palpable in the air, and he had the slight impression that the old woman was seeing beyond his eyes, as if she were trying to decipher his deepest thoughts.

The hiding place fell into an awkward silence as the old woman continued to stare at Mirai, as if trying to read into the depths of her being.

Mirai felt violated, as if she were naked before the wise eyes of the old woman, and her body began to tremble slightly. However, with a subtle and mysterious blink, the old woman broke the thread of tension that had formed and slowly shifted her gaze to the books on the floor.

A strange discomfort took over Mirai's chest, as if the old lady had cut the tension without saying a single word, leaving an even stronger curiosity.

What did the old woman know and wasn't saying? Why had she looked away from Mirai like that?

These questions and more began to boil in Mirai's mind, making her feel even more uncomfortable and anxious.

"These books... They are testimonies narrated by the few survivors of the only test carried out with the parchment, before it was hidden from the world." The old woman said, letting her tone evoke fuzzy memories. "Their minds were damaged after that. There are inconsistencies in his words, and nothing that is written in these books makes sense."

As proof of her words, the old woman turned to the next page, which was covered with illegible text from the previous sheet. Mirai watched as the woman's wrinkled fingers, as thin as chopsticks, ran across the pages.

Page after page, each of them showed inconsistencies. Mostly, they were crossed out words or random words. However, the book did not seem like the diary of a madman. Both the introduction of the book and the respect for the lines indicated that, however deranged the individual was, he intended to be understood by someone.

The handwriting was clean, but varied from italic to mold many times. The crossed out paragraphs were outlined in deep black, and on the denser pages, the words were written in perfectly formed calligraphy. In addition, they were accompanied by strange drawings and annotations in black at the foot of the page.

"I have studied pages like this and all of them share the same similarity of wanting to tell me a story." He heard the old woman say. 

Mirai's gaze clung to the paper, trying to mentally capture what had been illustrated.

The old woman showed a melancholy expression, as if she felt bad for those unfortunates who had shared her madness in those yellowed leaves.

His fingers slid across the most coherent page of the twenty he had turned, and his expression grew even sadder as sensations painted scenes in his mind.

Beside him, Sarutobi extended his hand to immerse himself in the experience in his own flesh. His attention was captivated by the book.

Mirai felt the rough texture of the paper under her fingers as she slid them over the black crayon stain. He could sense how the wax had melted and soaked deep into the fibers of the leaf, leaving a tough and lingering mark.

The surface appeared uneven, with areas where the wax had been applied most strongly and others where there was hardly anything left. The sensation it produced when touching it was as if the fingers were trapped in the surface of the blade, fighting against something that refused to give way.

His mind was blank, as he tried to find some reason to link those books to the adults in his village.

At that moment, his brain seemed to ally with his eyes and instant reading was activated. Still a little stunned by the page under her hand, she began to unconsciously read the well-written text, accompanied by dark drawings illustrating the story.

"In the uncertainty of my consciousness, I catch glimpses of things that I am not supposed to see. I constantly wonder if it is a dream or a divine punishment by those who forbid the use of salvation to beings as unfinished as ourselves. I see what is beyond and what is here. My mind goes back and gives me visions of the afterlife that has already passed. I'm not aware of what my mind does to me.

Someday, this world will collapse because of human selfishness. We are intelligent and rights-conscious animals, and yet we are unable to extend those same rights to those who play a secondary role in our lives. Someday, this world will crumble because of the visions I have. Someday, I won't be the one to tell everything I've seen, and I won't be able to do it either.

What happened, happened. And what will happen is in the hands of those who judge the past. I find myself here, trying to pull my fingernails out in an effort to get those visions out of my eyes. Someday, my eyes won't be there. Someday, I won't have my fingernails, or my fingers, or my flesh. But I will continue to write, either with the teeth that I will pull out or with the blood that falls from my chest.

I will continue to see him, even though I no longer have eyes, and I will continue to feel the same fear, even when the pain of my torn skin burns my body."

A shiver ran through her body as her left shoulder subtly brushed against the old woman's, feeling the tension that invaded her. Although the woman's eyes were closed by wrinkles, you could see the uneasiness and worry in her narration.

Sweat trickled down the sides of his face as he pressed his fingers into his lap tightly.

Mirai felt petrified, uncertainty burning in her chest, she looked down at the page of the book. He observed symbols that seemed alien to the narrative of the story: crescents, suns, human figures with descriptions that implored the crescent that was drawn right in the middle of a shining sun.

The strokes were not defined, but neither were they careless, they conveyed the author's intention to be recognizable, although they also denoted impatience to express his intentions. Further down the page, there were scratches that Mirai at first suspected were discarded drawings, but dismissed that theory by noticing that the trace of the sun's rays was quite similar.

"It looks like a sea of ink and crayon..." The woman affirmed beside him. 

"You told my subordinates that they summoned you and your friends through a scroll." The woman repeated, catching Mirai's attention. "The person who wrote this seems to warn of an evil that was coming... Now, having you right under my nose, I can finally realize what he meant by all those illustrations and narrations."

Mirai opened her eyes in confusion as she saw how the woman seemed to come out of shock and began to come to a conclusion she had longed to reach for many decades.

"Although I don't understand what the sun and the moon have to do with each other..." She commented to herself, clutching her chin. Then, he looked confidently at the teenager. "But it certainly refers to the cataclysm of your time. I am sure that dealing with parchment, even if it is minimal and does not cause such damage, can cause visions. He said with determination. —

"Can dealing with parchment, even a little and not cause such damage, cause visions?!" Mirai asked, feeling that her heart was going to come out of her mouth. 

"If time were linear, it definitely wouldn't be like that." The Great Old Woman spoke. He approached Mirai to whisper to her. "But if we take into account that you were brought by the scroll, there may be two options: that the scroll was also created in your timeline, or that you really come from the future..." and the cataclysm that occurred eliminated all traces of the existence of your time."

"This... I..."

"Let me put it in simpler terms." The woman handed over to the confused Mirai, who rolled her eyes. "If your father died here too, then this is definitely the line you're born into. However, you are not part of it, because you were not summoned into the baby's body, but into your original body. And if something were to happen to the Mirai of this time, nothing would happen to you. You understand? The cataclysmic destruction caused you to individualize over time. You're still part of yours, but you're being guarded by the scroll."

When the explanation was over, Mirai had a revelation.

"That's exactly what my superior told me!" She exclaimed incredulously. "In fact, that was the reason I was left in charge of the others... He said it was best that, with that in mind, I was the one to lead them."

Mirai looked over her right shoulder at the small cave that was used as a room for her friends.

They had lost consciousness after the impact. As she also faded into unconsciousness, the old woman checked her states. He reassured Mirai with the news that everyone was fine and that it wouldn't take long for them to wake up.

Remembering how his Chakra was drained by the enemy and watching the world darken as others were exposed, he felt a prick in his heart.

"I'm beginning to believe... That Shikamaru-sensei knew everything you mean. Because I don't understand... why would he entrust me to his own son."

"..."

The old woman looked at Mirai with a twinkle in her eye that she hadn't seen before. It was a glow of empathy and compassion that surprised her. Despite her serene, wrinkled face, the old woman seemed to understand Mirai's fears.

"It's hard to take care of someone else's child." She said quietly, as if she were talking to herself. 

Mirai felt comforted in the midst of her anguish at hearing those words. She had spent so much time trying to be perfect in everything she did that she had forgotten that she was not alone in her striving for perfection. The old woman seemed to understand that, although she didn't say much else.

"You remember what happened to the ink in your hand, don't you?" The old woman asked after a while of silence. 

Mirai frowned, trying to remember what the old lady meant. But before he could ask, the old lady continued:

"It's important to be careful of attacks from the ninjas of the past. They can be dangerous if you're not prepared for them."

Mirai felt a chill run down her spine. He had heard of the ninjas of the past, but he had never seen them. I didn't know how to prepare to face them.

The ones he had seen were weak, compared to those his mother had described to him.

The old woman seemed to read his mind.

"Don't worry." He said with controlled determination, crossing his arms. "Keep your eyes and ears alert. Remember and learn as much as you can from them, because it's a lie to think they'll stop there. Also, based on what you've heard, you're not the only ones looking for and will be looking for people like you."

"And what should I do then?" Mirai lamented, with growing desperation as she addressed the old woman. His anguish was palpable. "Where can I find the spheres without risking a single scratch?" If I'm from the distant future, a simple cut could kill me in seconds!"

"I told you that I studied these writings." The woman recalled. Mirai bit her lip to avoid speaking. "There are many stories like the one we have read, and some are connected. That led me to think of a way in which you can avoid that kind of damage."

"Huh...?"

The old lady looked at Mirai with an enigmatic expression, as if she had discovered a secret hidden deep in her soul. Mirai felt a chill run down her spine at the sight of her kind, but mysterious, smile.

"You remember what happened to the ink in your hand, don't you?" The old woman said, in a suggestive tone. Mirai frowned, trying to understand what he meant. "It's as if you were the ink, and the world today was your hand." The old woman continued, in a soft, mysterious voice. "If your hand is used to Pasada ink, then there will be no problem. But if it's your first time touching the Before ink, your hand will be stained and damage will be inevitable."

Mirai nodded, understanding the meaning behind his words.

"And what should I do?" She asked, anxiously. 

"You must go out and get your body used to this world; Give him all the sensations you can from the Past." Said the old woman, with a friendly smile. "You need to find the spheres, but you also need to get your body used to adapting to the time of this world. Learn to live in this time. Learn as much as you can, stay alert and moving. Only then will you be able to survive."

Mirai nodded again, this time with a firm determination in her eyes, after a while of reflection. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but she was determined to do whatever it took to find the spheres and return home.

"Wasn't that what you wanted?" The old woman asked, with a wry smile. 

Mirai smiled, admiring the old woman's sagacity.

"Yes, that's exactly what I want." She said, determinedly. 

Mirai went to her belongings behind her back and found what she was looking for. When he picked it up, he placed his bandana on his forehead, and it lit up the hiding place by reflecting the flaming light of the campfire.

"And I won't stop until I achieve it."