With the Uchiha's scant inclination toward mysticism, Tekka, though skeptical, found himself forced to consider the possibility. The Uzumaki, however… they were nearly convinced. After six months of detailed nightmares, the elders of the clan began to speak of visions. Prophecies. A rare gift, but not unheard of.
Tekka stepped closer, kneeling to gather his sleeping son in his arms. Riki now seemed peaceful, his breathing steady, as if nothing had happened. But the cold sweat still glistened on his brow.
Akemi watched in silence, leaning against the doorframe.
"Judging by your reaction, these nightmares are becoming routine," Tekka said, still staring at Riki's face, bewildered.
"Yes," she replied, arms crossed. "He dreams often. At first, I was terrified. But with time… I got used to it."
She walked toward the bed, her steps soft but resolute.
"In the beginning, I thought it was just longing. Trauma. But the dreams kept coming. And the details… Tekka, they were too vivid. Not the imagination of a child."
She ran her hand through her son's hair with a tenderness that belied the unease in her eyes.
"I brought it to the elders. And they all reached the same conclusion: Riki has the gift. A rare kind of clairvoyance, like certain ancient members of our clan — he sees fragments of time, especially those connected to people he shares strong bonds with."
Tekka remained silent, the weight of the revelation gradually pressing on him. He was a police officer, an investigator, trained to seek evidence — not omens.
"There's a problem," he muttered darkly. "So far… everything I've read revolves around Konoha, wars, and people he's never met. There's nothing about us, about the present — and that bothers me."
Akemi slowly turned, pausing at the door.
"Everything you've read..." she said, then disappeared down the hallway.
The sentence echoed in Tekka's mind. He lifted his eyes and stared at the journal resting on the desk. He knew he hadn't read it all. He knew Riki wrote more than he let on. And yet... he was his son.
The room fell into silence. Tekka gently laid Riki back onto the bed and covered him with care. The boy didn't stir. He slept — or pretended perfectly.
Later, Tekka returned to the master bedroom. He found Akemi lying down, but awake, her eyes lost in the ceiling.
Tekka hesitated in front of the wardrobe. For a moment, he considered returning to finish reading the journal. But he didn't. Instead, he lay beside the woman he loved and stared at the ceiling, just as she did.
The night stretched on, and Tekka didn't sleep. Doubt consumed him: could fate be unfolding through the eyes of his own son?
Next Morning – POV: Riki
The mist had not yet fully lifted from the Valley of Hell, but the first golden beams of sunlight were already invading his stone room, casting long shadows along the rough walls.
Riki opened his eyes slowly.
"Sleeping was just part of the act. But it worked."
He sat up in bed and stretched his arms in a lazy gesture, typical of a drowsy child. But inside, his mind was already operating at full speed, replaying the events of the previous night like a strategist reviewing the battlefield.
"Tekka believed, and Akemi played her part. Now it's only a matter of time before he acts based on what I 'saw.'"
The stone floor was cold, but Riki didn't care. He dressed quickly in his training clothes — a dark, flexible outfit reinforced at impact points. He adjusted his sash and stepped outside into the yard, where the twisted tree shadows still danced with the cold wind.
"Today I begin applying the classical chakra control methods. The foundation of everything. The technique used in Konoha since its founding."
He rose, dressed in snug dark clothes suitable for training, and tied his hair simply, letting his fringe fall slightly loose. Walking across the damp flagstones of the silent corridor, he reached the exterior of the house, where dew-covered stones reflected the crimson sky.
He took a deep breath and sat on a flat rock in lotus position. His body still, his mind in absolute focus, he retrieved a single yellowed leaf from his pocket, plucked the night before from a dried tree in the valley.
"At the Academy, this was the first step… Control must be subtle, steady, unwavering."
He placed the leaf on his forehead and closed his eyes.
The chakra had to flow to a single point, evenly and continuously.
No emotional fluctuations — every thought of the future, every memory from his past life, every image of Konoha in flames… was a threat to stability and survival.
The leaf wavered for a moment, but soon held firm. Riki maintained his concentration for five minutes, then ten… Motionless and silent.
After several minutes of silent training, with his flow now stabilized, he approached the lone pine tree growing near the cliff's edge. Its bark was uneven, roots twisting among stones — but it would do.
"Vertical chakra manipulation — precise focus on the soles of the feet. Kakashi used to say that too much chakra repels you, too little… and you fall."
He ran toward the trunk and stepped onto the base. The chakra flowed steadily. He climbed one meter, then two — nearing the third, his foot slipped momentarily, and he jumped back to the ground, rolling to absorb the impact.
"Again."
He began the ascent once more.