Chapter 4

The sky above the Flame Kingdom burned like molten glass. Every breath of wind carried a faint taste of ash, and the great banners along the palace walls shimmered as though they, too, were aflame. Beneath that terrible beauty, Menma walked the stone corridor toward the council chamber.

He had dreamed of this morning. In the dream the light was the same—crimson, trembling, endless—and his brother’s voice had faded into the hum of fire. When he woke, he had sworn the dream meant nothing. Now the world itself seemed intent on proving him wrong.

He paused before the bronze doors. Behind them came the muffled chant of the Flame Priests, their words too old to understand but heavy enough to make the floor thrum beneath his feet. The guards did not meet his eyes as they pulled the doors open.

The council hall was a circle of fire and gold. Torches lined the walls in precise symmetry, and at the center, a brazier rose higher than a man, its blaze shaped by runes into the image of a phoenix. The elders of the Flame Kingdom sat around it—robes red, faces pale, eyes bright with fear disguised as reverence.

Naruto stood before them.

He was dressed in white ceremonial linen, the color of untouched fire, but the sunlight from the high windows caught in his hair and made him look like the flame itself had chosen to wear a human face. Menma’s chest tightened. His brother was smiling, though the smile did not reach his eyes.

“Prince Naruto,” said the High Priest, voice rasping like coals shifting. “The Omen has been read. The heavens have called for one born of royal flame. You are to undertake the Training of the Chosen.”

The words fell like hammers. Around the circle, courtiers murmured blessings and congratulations, but Menma could hear only the echo of the dream: fire devours fire, and brothers burn apart.

“My lords,” Menma said, breaking the ritual silence. “There must be other candidates. The prophecy speaks of lineage, not of age. My brother is barely past sixteen—”

“The flame chooses youth,” another priest interrupted, eyes narrowing. “Only the unscarred vessel may carry the pure heat of Tenjin’s breath.”

Menma’s hands curled at his sides. “And if that heat destroys him?”

The High Priest regarded him with something like pity. “Then he was never meant to endure.”

Naruto turned toward him, still calm, still smiling. “Brother, it’s all right,” he said softly. “I want this.”

Menma stared at him, searching for the boy who used to climb the cliffs and laugh at thunder. “You think you do,” he whispered. “Because they’ve told you it’s glory. But I saw what the omen looked like. It wasn’t glory, Naruto—it was hunger.”

A flicker crossed Naruto’s eyes—doubt, or maybe understanding—but then it was gone, replaced by the serene courage of someone who had already decided the path could not be changed.

The High Priest raised his staff. “The council accepts the omen. At sunset, the prince shall stand within the Circle of the Flame and speak the Oath. Until then, none may leave the temple grounds.”

The verdict struck the air like a blade. The chamber emptied with the rustle of silk and the clang of sandals on stone. Menma remained until the torches dimmed, until only his brother and the brazier’s glow were left.

Naruto reached for him. “Menma. You’ve always protected me. Let me do this—just once—for all of us.”

Menma wanted to argue, to drag him from the hall and ride far from the city, but the fire’s reflection in Naruto’s eyes seemed to hold the whole kingdom. He could not move. He could only nod.

Outside, the twilight spread like spilled ink. From every rooftop rose the chant of the priests, binding words of the ancient oath into the air. Menma watched from the terrace as the first stars appeared—each one trembling, as if afraid.

He whispered to the night, “If destiny demands a sacrifice, let it take me instead.”

The wind carried back only the sound of burning.

When the sun began to fall, the entire kingdom seemed to hold its breath.

The air grew heavy, thick with incense and distant chanting. The Flame Temple’s great dome caught the dying light and poured it back into the world as rivers of gold.

Menma stood at the temple’s threshold, barred from entry by two guards in crimson armor. Inside, the sacred hall had been sealed for the ceremony; only the chosen, the priests, and the royal seers were permitted within. But the scent of smoke and burning oil drifted out through the cracks in the great doors, clinging to his lungs as if the flame itself wanted to mark him.

“Open it,” he demanded.

One guard bowed his head. “Forgive us, Prince Menma, but the rite cannot be interrupted.”

Menma’s voice broke into a growl. “He’s my brother.”

“Then you must trust the fire to spare him.”

The words struck something deep within him—faith and helplessness at destiny. He turned away before the anger could consume him. Above the temple, the heavens still blazed red, the same shade as in his dream.

Inside the temple, Naruto knelt upon a circle etched into the marble floor. The markings pulsed faintly, like veins of molten light beneath stone. The priests surrounded him in a ring, their faces hidden behind masks of hammered gold.

“Repeat after us,” said the High Priest. “I am the flame, eternal and unbroken.”

Naruto’s voice was soft but steady. “I am the flame, eternal and unbroken.”

“I accept the heat that purifies.”

“I accept the heat that purifies.”

“I shall carry Tenjin’s breath within me until the final dawn.”

He hesitated then—the air thickened, the runes at his feet flared brighter. His heart pounded as if something vast and ancient had turned its gaze upon him.

“I shall carry Tenjin’s breath within me until the final dawn,” he whispered.

The brazier before him roared to life. Flames leapt high, spiraling upward until they formed a serpent’s shape before splitting into wings—a phoenix of fire, ancient and immense. The heat scorched the air, yet Naruto did not flinch. The fire reached for him like a living thing, wrapping around his arms, threading through his veins. He could feel it—alive, aware, whispering in a tongue older than stars.

You are the vessel of dawn. Seek the shadow, and you shall find your end—and your beginning.

His vision blurred. The hall dissolved into color and light. Somewhere beyond the veil, he saw a figure—a boy standing amid darkness, eyes the color of storms. The shadow reached toward him.

Naruto gasped. The vision shattered. The fire died down.

When his eyes cleared, the priests were staring at him in awe.

“The flame has chosen,” the High Priest murmured. “He has seen the mirror.”

Outside, Menma felt it before he saw it—the surge of divine energy spilling from the temple. The torches along the palace walls flared blue, and a low hum filled the air. Then the great doors creaked open, and Naruto emerged, unscathed but different.

His steps were slower, his gaze distant, as though something unseen still spoke to him.

“Brother!” Menma ran to him, gripping his shoulders. “What did they do? What did you see?”

Naruto blinked, the faint light of the fire still glowing behind his eyes. “It was beautiful,” he said, voice almost reverent. “And terrible. There was… someone there.”

“Someone?”

“A shadow. Watching me. Waiting.”

Menma’s stomach twisted. “Then the omen—”

Naruto smiled faintly. “Maybe destiny isn’t something to fear.”

Menma stared at him, unable to answer. The night air had grown cold around them, though the temple still burned bright.

When they returned to their chambers, Naruto sat by the window, tracing the faint burn marks on his wrists where the flame had touched him. Menma watched from the doorway, torn between pride and dread.

“You’ll start your training tomorrow,” he said finally. “The priests will push you harder than anyone. You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I know.” Naruto turned to him, expression soft. “But if I don’t, who will carry it?”

Menma clenched his fists. “You don’t need to carry the will of gods. Let them burn their own path.”

Naruto only smiled again, that quiet, fearless smile that had always made Menma both proud and terrified. “Maybe but that’s not how destiny works.”

Menma turned away, unable to look at him any longer. Outside, thunder rumbled, though no storm gathered. The night was too still.

In the silence, Menma made a vow—to defy whatever prophecy bound them, to tear apart any fate that dared to take his brother from him. Even if it meant setting fire to the heavens themselves.

Far beyond the mountains, in the realm of shadow, a prince named Sasuke awoke from a dream of flame.

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