The journey back to Uchiha territory was a test of both physical and emotional endurance for Kenji. With Itori, a tiny, vulnerable bundle, securely tied to his chest, each step was a constant reminder of the life he had left behind and the secret he now carried. The torrential rain had subsided, giving way to a cold mist that crept through the trees, shrouding the forest in a silent shroud. Kenji, with his internal wounds still fresh and the pain of grief gnawing at his soul, moved with the quiet determination of a wounded predator. His Mangekyo, now dormant but ever-present, was a well of memory, and in its depths reflected Nara's eyes, and now, the innocent gray eyes of his son.
He had been gone for two years. Two years where his absence had been noted, but not overly questioned by a clan accustomed to the independence of its deadliest warriors. The assassination mission, crucial to Uchiha influence on the borders, had justified his prolonged disappearance. But it wasn't just the mission that had kept him away; the recovery from his injuries and, above all, the new life he had built with Nara, had been the true reason. Now, that life had abruptly ended, and the only vestige was this small being, who was both his greatest treasure and his greatest risk.
As he approached the limits of Uchiha territory, the tension in the air became palpable. The sentinels, young shinobi in training, detected his chakra long before they saw him. A returning Uchiha, and one as powerful as Kenji, was always an event. When he finally emerged from among the trees, his tall, shadowy figure, with a bundle in front, caused an immediate commotion.
"Kenji-sama!" one of the young men exclaimed, his eyes wide. News of his return spread like wildfire.
The clan leader at the time, Uchiha Tadao, an elderly man with a severe gaze and a Sharingan that had seen countless wars, awaited him at the main entrance of the fortress. Beside him, a council of elders with expressions of curiosity and caution. The scene was filled with a cold solemnity, the kind of welcome reserved for ghosts returning from the battlefield.
"Kenji," Tadao said, his voice grave. "Your mission was a success. News of the Kumo Clan patriarch's fall reached us months ago. We wondered if you had vanished with the shadows." His gaze fell upon the bundle Kenji held. The eyes of the other Uchiha narrowed.
Kenji didn't hesitate. His voice was hoarse, tinged with exhaustion and pain. "The mission was completed. The injuries required a long retreat. And during that time..." he paused, his scarlet eyes, though dulled by fatigue, fixed on Tadao. "...I found my son."
A murmur of astonishment ran through the crowd. A son. From where? With whom? The unspoken questions floated in the air like invisible kunai. The Uchiha were jealous of their lineage. The idea of a half-breed was an affront to some, a curiosity to others, but an anomaly to all.
Kenji gently uncovered the blanket. Itori's small gray eyes opened, curious, oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions he caused. A slight tuft of reddish hair, an unmistakable sign of his Uzumaki heritage, peeked out from the blanket. The revelation was like a shockwave. The silence that followed was louder than any scream. Tadao, the old leader, observed the baby with a mixture of awe and calculation. There was no betrayal in Kenji's eyes, only the exhaustion of a warrior and the silent devotion of a father.
"His mother was Uzumaki," Kenji declared, without a hint of regret or shame. "She died in childbirth. Itori is an Uchiha. And also an Uzumaki."
Tadao closed his eyes for a moment, weighing the implications. An Uchiha of his caliber, with the Mangekyo Sharingan, and a son who, though mixed-blood, possessed the potential of two powerful lineages. War was relentless, and every drop of strong blood was valuable. Blood purity was important, yes, but the clan's power and ability to survive were even more so. Moreover, an Uchiha of Kenji's stature was not someone to be lightly discarded, and his emotional ties to the clan were undeniable.
"Enter, Kenji," Tadao finally ordered, his voice a little softer. "You have returned. And with a new family member. We will adapt." His gaze, however, lingered on Itori's reddish hair, a visible sign of an uncertain future, a future that, unbeknownst to them, was already destined for greatness.