The Pact.

— Uzushiogakure did not fall because of weakness. It was destroyed because it was too strong, because our techniques, our bloodlines, our seals... frightened others. They surrounded us, burned our houses, killed our children, left our home in dust...

And now, they expect us to resign ourselves to being dust?

— But we must! Because this ground still boils, and the eyes of our enemies still hunt us. Riki looked at each of them, unhurriedly. — That is why we must be more, stronger, more united, more loyal, and lethal.

He then smiled, not an arrogant smile, but full of purpose.

— I want to form something new, a circle among us, an oath of reconstruction. A council of six or seven, if anyone else comes to think, study, train, and plan the rebirth of Uzushiogakure. We will not be shaped by the past, but architects of a new clan, a new symbol, and a new wall.

Akari clenched her fists. — I swear on my blood.

Satoru nodded. — Me... too.

Tetsu was still hesitating, but Kaede touched his shoulder. — This is the moment, our moment.

Riki bowed slightly forward.

— Today, we are young, but time flies, and tomorrow, when the villages see our flags, our eyes, and our techniques, they will remember that from ashes can come fire. And that this fire... has a name.

Everyone repeated as if singing a hymn: — Uzushiogakure.

The flame of the brazier was still crackling softly, but the silence that hung between the six young people was no longer just that of a conversation that had ended; it was the silence that precedes ancient pacts, the kind of silence that lingers in crypts and in stories that refuse to die.

Each of them felt, even without words, that something had been sown that night, something that carried weight, but also a purpose.

Riki kept his hand extended in the center of the circle, lingering longer than necessary, not out of doubt, but to observe, his gaze moving between the faces of his friends, scrutinizing their hesitations, their emptiness, their wounds. It was there that he would plant loyalty.

With calm movements, he leaned back, pulling from inside his kimono a small dark leather case, marked by time; it was his ink case, the same one he used in seal training.

But now, it would serve a greater purpose.

— If we are going to promise something that goes beyond us... — he began, in a low voice, almost as if conducting a ceremony — We need to seal this not only with words, words are lost with time, but symbols last.

Sayuri arched her eyebrow with her usual sarcasm.

— Are you going to write a solemn haiku?

Riki did not smile, his eyes maintained the same gravity that was seen in clan leaders during funerals.

He opened the case slowly, reverently.

— We are going to draw the beginning of an order, a symbol that only we will recognize, that represents our cause, our bond, and that one day... will be feared.

The silence began again, not of doubt, but of expectation, he unrolled a white linen parchment on the floor and dipped the brush in black ink. Each stroke was made after a moment of meditative pause, in the center, he traced the spiraling whirlpool of the Uzumaki.

But inside it, a drop of scarlet ink, a bloodshot eye, a tribute to the Chinoike legacy, around it, six converging lines, each representing one of them, like pillars facing a common core.

Satoru murmured:

— It looks like... An ancestral seal, similar to those from before the destruction.

— It's not just pretty. Kaede interrupted. — It's a living idea, an altar in the form of a symbol.

Riki nodded, without taking his eyes off the parchment.

— From now on, we are not only heirs, we are watchmen, guardians of a memory they are trying to bury. Uzushiogakure was not defeated, it was betrayed, and if the world still fears our blood... let it also fear our union.

Akari crossed her arms, leaning forward:

— Are you proposing that we form a clan within the clan?

— No. He replied. — I am founding an order, like the Fire Temples. But this one... will be ours, secret, independent, born from the void of destruction.

Tetsu frowned thoughtfully. — And what do we call this?

Riki fixed his gaze on him, as if he already had the answer ready. — The Red Blade.

The others looked at each other.

Satoru took a deep breath.

— We need a place, a sanctuary of our own.

— There is an old underground workshop, Riki replied. — Used by Priests of the Uzumaki Clan to store forbidden scrolls, my grandfather took me there once. It was sealed after a destruction, but I know how to reopen it.

— We can restore it, clean it, make it functional, Akari said, already visibly excited. — A true sanctuary-barracks.

— And a refuge, Sayuri completed. — Where we can train, study... and say what the elders dare not.

Kaede looked at Riki as if she had been following him for a long time, even without knowing it.

— And you will be the center of all this?

— No! He replied, with false humility. — I will only be the one who guides. As long as it is necessary.

The flame of the brazier crackled, as if sealing the promise, then Riki traced a second version of the symbol, smaller, more refined, and handed it to Kaede.

— You keep this one, hide it as you would hide a soul seal.

He held the parchment with a care that bordered on the sacred.

Tetsu then raised his closed fist to his chest.

— For the Red Blade, and for the reconstruction of Uzushiogakure, for the blood and for a future.

Gradually the others repeated, their voices low but firm, like echoes of something older than themselves.

Riki finally spoke:

— This is our oath! The first night of many... If the world is going to hunt us, let it fear us, and if it is going to ignore us, let it underestimate us. But we will be like the roots that grow under the ashes, invisible, alive and unstoppable.

And there, in the shadows of that home warmed by memories and candles, was born not only a promise, but a principle.

An order, with faith, with blood. And with a name.