Chapter 6: The Quiet Between the Storms
In which grief sleeps, but doubt whispers loudest.
The wind blew strong in the highlands of the Land of Earth, whistling through jagged peaks and sending loose stones tumbling down the slopes. Above the frostbitten cliffs and craggy ledges, where few dared to tread, a burst of golden energy lit the skies—an explosion of raw force that momentarily disrupted even the mountain eagles circling far above.
Naruto and Peter landed a short distance away, their chakra platform skimming just inches above a ledge dusted with ancient snow. Susan and Logan arrived soon after, carried by another of Naruto's chakra trails. All four of them stared ahead at the woman who stood confidently on a flattened plateau, the smouldering remains of a massive feathered creature lying at her feet.
Rogue.
She looked at them with narrowed eyes, her wild white-streaked hair billowing in the wind, a faint golden shimmer still clinging to her gloved hands. The air around her was sharp, crackling with residual power. Her expression was cautious—stern, but not unkind.
"Well, would ya look who finally found me," Rogue said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Took y'all long enough."
"I'd say we let the bird roast a bit longer next time," Logan muttered, squinting at the smouldering carcass. "Would've made good stew."
Rogue smirked but didn't reply. Her eyes drifted to Naruto.
He studied her quietly, noting the strength in her posture, the odd weight in her aura. He could see it clearly with his Sage Mode—this woman's life force was dense, like a star trapped in a human shell. But more than that, it flickered with something borrowed—as if her power wasn't entirely her own. Chakra patterns that weren't native to her body shimmered across her skin in faint, golden hues.
Peter stepped forward and raised both hands. "Just a heads up, Naruto. Don't touch her."
Naruto raised an eyebrow.
"She absorbs powers," Peter added quickly. "All of them. Life force, memories, chakra, abilities—gone. Sucked out. She's like a black hole with a Southern accent."
Rogue shot him a sharp glance. "Thanks, Sugah, for the warm welcome."
Peter chuckled awkwardly. "Just... precautionary PSA. We've all had our share of accidents, haven't we?"
Naruto tilted his head slightly, his Rinnegan eyes swirling faintly with curiosity. "Absorb… everything?" he asked, his voice neutral.
Rogue folded her arms. "Only if I touch someone skin-to-skin. I wear gloves for a reason. And I don't go stealing powers unless someone's trying to kill me. That clear?"
Peter tried to wave away the tension. "She's not like she used to be. It's under control."
"I'd appreciate it," Rogue said icily, "if my past didn't get dragged around like a bag of dirty laundry."
Peter raised his hands again. "Hey, hey—I was just making sure the guy didn't go for a friendly handshake and end up comatose."
Naruto didn't speak immediately. He was still observing her, thinking. Wondering—how much could she take? Could she hold chakra? Could she absorb Sage Energy? Could his Rinnegan suppress it? All intriguing questions, but for now, best left untested.
Instead, he gave a small nod. "Understood. I don't touch unless I have to."
Rogue quirked a brow, half-amused.
Susan stepped forward, her voice calm. "We've all been scattered across this world. But none of us have any answers yet. No signs of Reed or Johnny. No sign of a way back."
Logan grunted. "Feels like a trap without walls."
Rogue nodded slowly, her expression softening. "I figured it was something like that. The moment I woke up, I knew I wasn't on Earth. Air smells different. Sky's too clean."
Peter glanced between them. "So we're agreed—none of us know why we're here. No way home, no clue if the Beyonder's still watching, and no idea what he wants from us."
"Other than to see what we'll do," Susan murmured. "It's all a game. He dropped us into a world full of… chakra-wielding warriors, and now he's waiting. Watching."
Rogue crossed her arms again and looked to Naruto. "And you? You one of these chakra warriors? This your world?"
Naruto nodded. "Yes. My name is Naruto Uzumaki. I'm a shinobi—and the protector of this planet."
She gave a low whistle. "Looks like you've got your hands full, Sugah."
Naruto glanced at the bird she'd incinerated and gave a ghost of a smile. "So do you."
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There were many strange days in Konoha's history—days when dragons had swooped too close to the training fields, or when rogue clones of Naruto had attempted to declare themselves Hokage (again). But never, never, had Konoha seen quite a day like this.
The skies were clear and still, the streets quiet with a hush of respectful mourning. The Fourth Great Shinobi War had ended only days before, and the weight of it pressed on everything like a silent fog. Market stalls stayed half-closed, laughter was absent from the parks, and even the young genin seemed subdued, their usually boisterous chatter replaced by quiet whispers and uncertain glances.
Into this delicate stillness came them.
A scowling man in a long brown coat who looked like he hadn't smiled since the First Hokage had been a boy. A woman in blue and white who seemed too graceful for someone who could, apparently, turn invisible and tear tanks apart. A lean man in a full black suit that pulsed oddly, like it was breathing—and oh yes, he occasionally stuck to the ceiling. And finally, a redhead with a Southern drawl and eyes that looked like she'd seen too much and fought even more.
They were strange. They were powerful. And they had arrived with Naruto.
No one stopped him. No one dared.
Even without the red-and-black shreds of his old battle outfit, even without the glowing Sage aura or the weight of Kurama's chakra rippling through him, Naruto walked through the gates like a storm wrapped in quiet skin. The guards bowed, not out of protocol, but reverence. Because Naruto Uzumaki had not just saved Konoha—he had saved the world.
The newcomers followed behind him, their steps cautious, eyes scanning every new sight with a mix of curiosity and quiet awe. The scent of herbs, the faint rustle of wind through the towering trees, the ornate rooftops that seemed to dance over the hills like waves—it was unlike anything they'd ever seen. Peter leaned close to Logan and whispered, "Feels like we've walked into a painting," to which Logan just grunted.
Susan, on the other hand, looked quietly disappointed. Her smile was gentle, her posture regal, but her eyes flicked toward every corner, hoping—foolishly, perhaps—to see a familiar lanky man with silvering temples and a lab coat in tatters come barreling toward her.
He didn't.
Not yet.
But she held hope tightly in her chest, the same way Naruto was holding his grief.
When they arrived at the Hokage's Tower, Tsunade was waiting.
She stood tall, arms crossed, eyes tired but clear. Her gaze swept across the newcomers like a hawk assessing a flock of peacocks, all feather and shine and power. She said nothing for a long moment.
Then she turned to Naruto. "Are they trouble?"
"No," Naruto said simply. "Just... misplaced."
She didn't sigh, or scoff, or even question the absurdity of her top shinobi bringing five strangers from another world into a village still counting its dead.
Instead, she nodded once. "Then they'll be given quarters in the south district. ANBU will monitor them discreetly. If they need anything, they'll speak to Nara Shikamaru."
Susan stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Thank you. We'll stay out of the way."
"You'd better," Tsunade replied, though not unkindly. Then she glanced back to Naruto. "You brought more?"
"Hulk is in the ruins of the Land of Frost," Naruto said. "Wants to be alone. Magneto's in the Land of Wind. Says he'll stay where he is. I left a clone with him—just in case."
Tsunade arched a brow. "Just in case of what?"
Naruto's voice was dry. "Just in case he decides he's more interesting than I am."
A faint smirk flickered across Tsunade's lips. Then, the smirk faded as her eyes lingered on him a moment longer.
"You look exhausted."
"I just need some time," Naruto said, his voice quiet.
Tsunade nodded slowly. "Take it. You've earned it."
But as Naruto turned and began to walk away, Peter—suddenly unsure—called out softly, "Hey. You sure you're okay?"
Naruto paused. Turned. And gave a half-smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Just tired of being strong all the time," he said. Then he disappeared in a flicker of yellow light.
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The silence of the Hyūga ancestral graveyard was unlike any other. It was not empty—it was full, saturated with grief so profound it hung in the air like mist. Each gravestone, polished with care and inscribed with names now spoken in hushed reverence, marked a life extinguished too soon. The Fourth Great Ninja War had not spared even the proudest of clans.
Naruto moved through this silence like a ghost wrapped in golden light.
To the mourners, he was not just the boy who had once been shunned for the beast in his belly—he was now the flame that had held back the end of the world. Still, none called out to him as he walked. None offered words of gratitude. Their grief rendered them mute, and their reverence made them still.
He reached the front, where the elder Hiashi stood with the poise of a man too used to pain. And beside him, Hinata.
She looked like a wildflower in winter—delicate, frost-touched, and beautiful in her sorrow. Her lavender eyes, rimmed red with tears, stared at the name carved into the gravestone before her: Neji Hyūga. Beneath it, the simple words Beloved cousin. Fearless protector. Gentle soul.
She did not cry. She had cried already—cried until her body could no longer produce tears. Now, she simply stood there, shoulders trembling, her fists clenched at her sides. Neji had been more than family. He had been her shield against a world that expected her to be porcelain in a fortress of iron. Without him, she felt exposed, raw, like an unhealed wound.
Naruto saw all this and more.
And so, wordlessly, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Hinata turned slowly, her tear-slicked face meeting his. For a moment, she did not speak. And neither did he. There were no grand declarations, no speeches heavy with poetic grief. There was only this: the quiet presence of someone who understood.
"I'm here for you," he said softly.
Four words. They shouldn't have been enough. But they were.
Hinata bowed her head slightly. Not in submission, but in recognition. Naruto didn't just understand her pain—he shared it. He knew what it was to lose someone whose life had been tied to his own in a way few could ever understand. Jiraiya. Kakashi (once, and nearly again). Kurama. Sasuke.
And Neji.
As Naruto looked at the gravestone, he could almost see Neji's final moments again—bloody, smiling, speaking of freedom and fate. He had died so others could live. And Naruto, who had once been nothing, now carried the hopes of all those who had given their lives for his dream.
The pain twisted in his chest like a kunai embedded too deep to pull out.
"I promised him," Naruto said, voice low, "that I would protect you. And everyone else. That I would build a world where no one had to sacrifice their lives anymore."
"You will," Hinata whispered, finally speaking. Her voice cracked, but her words were certain. "If anyone can... you will."
Naruto didn't respond immediately. His eyes were still locked on Neji's grave.
"I thought... when it ended, there'd be peace. That we'd be happy. That no one else would have to feel like this. But even now... even after winning... it hurts."
He clenched his fists, the knuckles white with fury—not at Neji, not at the war, but at the unfairness of it all. At the universe that always demanded sacrifice, always took before it gave.
Hinata, trembling, reached for his hand.
Her fingers were cool, but steady. Her grip was gentle, yet firm. And in that moment, something shifted.
Naruto turned toward her, and their eyes met.
He had seen her face countless times—bashful behind cherry blossoms, fierce on the battlefield, glowing with admiration whenever he walked by. But now, he saw her truly. Not as the girl who once fainted in his presence, but as someone who had endured just as much, and yet still stood tall. Someone who, despite everything, had never stopped believing in him.
"I'm sorry," she said, and her voice broke on the words. "For not being able to save him."
Naruto shook his head. "No. You were brave. You fought beside him until the end. And now... you still carry him. In your heart. That's what matters."
They stood in silence then, side by side, watching the fading sunlight bathe the gravestones in gold. The shadows lengthened, the wind stirred the trees above them, and for a moment, the grief in their hearts settled—not gone, but quieter, like a tide finally pulling back from the shore.
Naruto knew the road ahead was long.
As they stood there, Hinata slipped her hand into his.
This time, he didn't let go.
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The stars above glittered like a thousand distant dreams, indifferent to the weight of the world below. Underneath their silver gaze, Naruto sat in the middle of a war-scarred field, one that had once echoed with screams, fire, and fury—and now, with nothing but the soft breathing of the weary and the mournful sigh of wind brushing over grass bent low.
His head tilted slightly, eyes half-lidded, Naruto watched as Hinata's chest rose and fell against his shoulder. She had fallen asleep not long after the final prayer had been spoken at the memorial pyres, the pale firelight casting shadows across her gentle face before the stars reclaimed the sky. She hadn't said much. She hadn't needed to. The way she leaned into him, the way her fingers curled slightly around the hem of his sleeve—it was enough.
She was exhausted. They all were.
Around him, scattered like fallen leaves across the clearing, warriors slept as though they'd been felled in battle—but this time, by grief. These were not ordinary shinobi now. They were survivors of the apocalypse. The Fourth Great Ninja War had ended, but its cost had been so high that it threatened to drown the victory in its wake. Even the most hardened of them, shinobi who had seen death since they could walk, sat with haunted eyes and hollowed souls.
Naruto hadn't slept. Not even once.
How could he?
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them. Ghosts. Friends. Family. Teachers. Children. Faces frozen at the moment of death. Neji, lying still beneath falling debris. Shikaku, whose brilliant strategies had saved thousands—but not himself. Sasuke, torn between salvation and self-destruction until the very end.
Especially Sasuke.
His voice came now, not in memory, but in mockery.
"You'll never handle it."
It wasn't real. It was Naruto's own doubt, his own despair, carved into the shape of the friend he couldn't save.
"Love will destroy you."
No. That wasn't true. It couldn't be true.
Naruto's hands tightened into fists in the grass, the earth trembling faintly beneath his skin. He had so much power now—too much, some said. Sage of Six Paths. Jinchūriki of balance. Eyes that could see the threads of reality and hands that could tear them apart. Yet he had never felt so helpless.
He looked down at Hinata. Her hair, dark and soft, fluttered lightly in the night wind. Her cheek rested just above his heart, and he could feel the steady beat of hers in return. Even in her sleep, she radiated quiet strength, gentleness, warmth.
"Let go of emotion."
But it was emotion that had brought him this far. His love for his village. His pain. His loneliness. His friends. His dreams.
He remembered the first time Hinata had stood in front of him on the battlefield, protecting him when he had nothing left to give. Her voice trembling, her body shaking—but her resolve unbroken. That moment had shaken him more than any blow.
If he abandoned love now, what would he become?
He would become Sasuke—a shadow chasing justice but bleeding hatred. A blade with no hand to guide it. A warrior with no soul.
"I won't become like you," Naruto whispered under his breath, and the darkness inside him recoiled.
He reached inward, not just toward the voices of pain, but toward the slumbering storm curled deep within him.
Kurama.
The fox was resting, its chakra slowly recovering from the cataclysmic battle. In its dreams, the beast stirred, sensing Naruto's emotions.
"You're still trying to fix the world, even with your heart bleeding like that."
A soft mental whisper. Not mocking, not cruel—just weary, and perhaps... fond.
"You're not alone, Naruto. You never were."
A tear slipped down Naruto's cheek, but he let it fall. He no longer hid from his emotions. They were part of him, as much as Kurama was. As much as Sasuke had been.
He wiped his eyes and looked around again.
Somewhere in this broken world, there were still monsters left to face. Not just the ones that descended from the stars, not just the ones who threatened peace with weapons and jutsu—but the monsters inside people. Fear. Hatred. Grief.
And those were harder to fight.
But he would fight them. He had to.