Chapter 82 – Tower of the Unnamed

White.

Endless.

Weightless.

Naruto floated.

No ground.

No sky.

No body.

Just thought.

And thread.

A single red strand pulsed beside him.

It wrapped around his chest, coiling slowly like a heartbeat.

He tried to move.

Nothing.

He tried to speak.

No voice.

Only presence.

Then—

A pulse.

Not chakra.

Not sound.

But memory.

His first bowl of ramen.

Gone.

The warmth.

The laughter.

The name "Teuchi"—

erased.

Naruto thrashed.

No limbs. Just the feeling of resistance.

Another pulse.

A swing in a lonely park.

Gone.

The dust. The creaking chains. The boy who sat beside him—

Nameless now.

Naruto screamed without breath.

Something watched.

Then—

Footsteps.

Soft. Wet.

Like bare skin walking on thread.

The whiteness cracked.

A platform emerged beneath him.

Spun from rope. Endless strands.

And from the mist ahead—

A tower.

Black.

Tall.

Twisting like a helix.

The Tower of the Unnamed.

Its walls pulsed.

Every inch etched with faces.

Eyes closed.

Mouths sewn.

Some familiar.

Some… his.

Naruto stood.

He didn't know how.

His body had returned—but it wasn't quite right.

His reflection on the thread surface—

No whisker marks.

No scars.

His face—

Generic.

Like someone had half-remembered drawing him.

And then forgot.

He stepped forward.

Each movement sent ripples through the thread floor.

The red thread followed, dragging behind like a leash.

The tower's door opened.

No hands.

No hinges.

It simply parted.

Naruto entered.

Darkness.

Whispers.

Not around him—

Inside him.

"You're almost ready."

"Only one name left."

He walked deeper.

Walls shifted.

No stairs.

No floors.

Just levels.

Each held a memory.

Suspended in strings.

Sakura's laugh.

Sasuke's stare.

Iruka's warm smile.

All spinning slowly in the air, like caught butterflies.

He reached out to touch one.

It bit him.

Blood trickled.

The memory hissed—and burned away.

He stared at his hand.

The cut vanished.

But something else changed.

He forgot what he just saw.

A hole formed in his mind.

Panic rose.

But a voice silenced it.

Not a whisper.

A command.

"Keep climbing."

He obeyed.

Level after level.

More memories.

More pain.

Then—

He stopped.

In the center of the next floor—

A throne.

Woven from names.

And on it sat a man.

Back straight.

Eyes blank.

Hair white.

Skin pale.

Not old.

Not young.

Not human.

But Naruto knew him.

Even if he couldn't name him.

The man smiled.

"Hello."

Naruto clenched his fists.

"Who are you?"

The man cocked his head.

"I was once the first. Now, I am none."

Naruto narrowed his eyes. "Are you the Loom?"

"No."

"I am the one it forgot."

He stood.

And the threads bent around him like subjects bowing.

"You hold the broken dojutsu."

Naruto's eyes flickered.

He'd forgotten.

The dojutsu.

He looked into a mirror of thread.

His left eye—

Fractured.

Not the same.

A single shard of red bled from its center.

The man stepped closer.

"That eye remembers."

"That's why you're here."

Naruto grit his teeth. "Why me?"

The man raised a hand.

Thread unwound from his palm.

It wove an image in the air—

A village.

Hidden.

Surrounded by storm and sea.

And deep beneath it—

A loom.

Gigantic.

Spinning.

Weaving names into existence.

One name pulsed on it.

Naruto Uzumaki.

And then—

A blade cut it.

A crack formed.

The image vanished.

The man whispered:

"You were never supposed to exist."

Naruto froze.

The red thread around his chest tightened.

The tower shook.

"No," Naruto whispered.

"I fought for my place."

"I bled for it."

The man's eyes shimmered.

"Then fight again."

He raised his hand.

And the room collapsed.

Thousands of threads shot toward Naruto.

Each one carried a face.

A name.

A life.

And they wanted his.

Naruto screamed.

His left eye snapped open.

Boom.

A pulse of raw, broken chakra.

The threads shattered.

The tower groaned.

And the man—

Laughed.

"You are the tear."

"You will be the Unweaver."

Naruto fell to his knees.

Gasping.

Bleeding from the eye.

He stared down.

The red thread in his chest had turned black.

Burning.

Sizzling.

And then—

He vanished.

The tower blinked.

Empty once more.

But somewhere, in the cracks of the sky, a whisper rose.

"The Unweaver walks."

"And the story bends."

—End of Chapter 82—