Chapter 1

The dream began as silence.

Not the kind that followed sleep, but the kind that came before sound was born. Menma floated in it, bodiless, watching a horizon that had not yet decided whether it would burn or freeze. Then came the first spark—small, trembling, golden—and the void shuddered. From that trembling light rose the Flame, and from its reflection crawled the Shadow.

They were brothers once, or perhaps halves of the same god. When the light exhaled, the shadow inhaled. When one created, the other unmade. Their breaths wove the world of Tenrai: mountains of crystal ash, seas of molten glass, and a sky forever split between day and dusk. Menma saw it all through borrowed eyes, the way a mortal sometimes glimpses eternity by mistake.

Then the voices came—layered, thunder and whisper mingled.

“When flame meets shadow, the world shall burn.”

“When love defies the gods, chains will appear.”

He tried to speak, but his words turned to embers and scattered. Below him the land divided: the Flame Kingdom, where suns never fully set, and the Shadow Kingdom, where they never fully rose. In each, a child stood alone. One wrapped in gold light that hurt to look upon. The other cloaked in darkness so deep it swallowed the horizon. Their eyes met across the rift, and Tenjin’s voice—the true god behind all others—rippled through Menma’s bones.

“They will find each other. And in finding,they can destroy the world.”

Menma reached for them. The children turned their faces toward him. The light one smiled—a small, trusting smile that pierced him with affection and dread. The dark one simply watched, gaze endless and still. The space between them ignited into an ocean of fire and shadow, curling together like lovers, like serpents, like war itself.

He fell through it, screaming.

He woke to the sound of bells.

The Flame Temple’s morning rites had begun; bronze chimes sang from the high spires, mingling with the scent of burning myrrh. Menma sat upright on his mat, sweat slick on his throat, the dream’s smoke still coiling behind his eyes. The room was painted by sunrise—long blades of red light slicing across the stone floor. His heartbeat echoed louder than the bells.

“Lord Menma.”

A voice, soft but steady. The door slid open, and High Priest Renga entered, his robes whispering like flame against stone. The priest’s eyes were old, milked with age yet bright with the same fire that lived in every worshipper of Tenjin.

“You dream it again,” Renga said, not a question.

Menma nodded. “The same two lights. Only this time they touched.”

Renga’s fingers tightened on the prayer staff. “Then the prophecy nears its second turning.”

“The prophecy is a story for children,” Menma said, though his throat tightened around the lie. “Two kingdoms, two heirs, a union that ends all things—it’s a tale to keep us loyal to the gods.”

“And yet you see what no one else remembers.” Renga stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You are one of the royal flame, Menma Uzumaki. The god’s breath moves in your blood. Do not mistake vision for fantasy.”

Menma looked past him to the altar where Tenjin’s sigil burned: a circle of gold bisected by a line of black. “If the vision is truth, then my brother is one of them.”

Renga’s silence was enough answer.

Outside, the city of Hikarui stirred awake—the capital of the Flame Kingdom, built upon rivers of dormant magma that glowed faintly beneath its glass streets. From the window Menma could see the morning markets unfurling like petals: banners of scarlet and amber, incense smoke rising in spirals. It should have comforted him. It didn’t.

“What if fate is wrong?” he whispered. “What if the gods see only what they wish to happen?”

Renga’s smile was faint. “Then you would be the first to defy Tenjin and live.”

The priest left him with that, the bells fading to a hush.

Menma dressed in silence, his hands moving automatically through layers of embroidered robes. His reflection in the obsidian mirror looked older than his twenty years. Eyes too bright, like the godlight that marked the Uzumaki line. When he tied the red sash around his waist, his fingers brushed the amulet of the royal crest—a sun divided by shadow. He wondered if Tenjin laughed each time one of them wore it.

He stepped outside into the courtyard. Heat rose from the tiles, shimmering in the dawn. A group of acolytes bowed as he passed, their faces reverent and fearful. He returned the gesture absently, mind still trapped in the dream.

Two children. Flame and shadow. My brother and… someone else.

He remembered Naruto as he had been last evening: sitting on the palace wall, wind in his hair, eyes catching every glint of the setting sun. Too curious, too bold. Always chasing horizons as if he could set them free.

If Tenjin’s prophecy was real, Naruto was the “flame that defies gods.” And the shadow meant for him—Menma didn’t want to think about it.

A flicker of movement drew his gaze upward. A raven wheeled above the temple, black wings cutting the light. An omen from the north. Menma felt the chill settle under his ribs.

He turned toward the sanctuary stairs where Renga waited. “Summon the royal council,” Menma said. “Quietly. And send a message to our northern allies in the Shadow Kingdom. To Lord Fugaku. Tell him his son’s dreams may mirror mine.”

The priest hesitated. “You would share vision with the shadows?”

“If the gods wish to divide us,” Menma said, “perhaps mortals should do otherwise.”

Renga bowed, reluctant but obedient. When he was gone, Menma faced the altar once more. The air shimmered; for a heartbeat, he thought he saw the two lights again—one gold, one black—circling each other within the flame.

He whispered to them, to himself, to whatever listened.

“Brother… I’ll keep you safe. Even if it means defying Tenjin.”

The fire flared, answering like breath.

And somewhere far to the north, in a citadel where dawn never reached, another young man stirred from the same dream.

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