Tenseigan had drained him more than he expected.
His head was clouded, a thick fog settling over his thoughts, and his limbs felt like they were made of lead. Each step was a struggle, his body moving with an unnatural heaviness as if the weight of his own flesh was too much to bear. He'd overexerted himself, and now the consequences were catching up to him.
I need to rest... The thought barely registered before his body demanded it. He swayed slightly as he made his way toward the bed, the exhaustion settling deep in his bones. Before he could even manage to pull the covers over himself, his eyes fluttered shut, and the darkness claimed him, pulling him under with a sense of inevitability.
---
The world had been moving too fast, a blur of noise and motion, but then everything seemed to freeze. A small voice broke through the rush—a high-pitched, childlike sound that made his heart feel a little lighter.
"Hey!"
He turned, squinting against the harsh sunlight. A little girl stood in front of him, no more than five or six. Her cherubic face glowed in the warmth of the afternoon, soft and innocent.
She was small—probably just three feet tall—and her delicate frame made her look fragile, like a flower still learning to bloom. Her hair was a soft brown, unevenly cut with bangs that framed her round face, stray locks falling around her ears. She wore a simple yellow dress with tiny pink flowers on the hem and oversized sandals that tripped her up as she took an unsteady step.
Her energy was contagious, as if she'd never known stillness. She was a burst of life, untainted by the weight of the world.
"Hi! You look like you're thinking real hard! What's your name?"
Her voice had a cheerful, innocent lilt to it, the kind that made you forget everything else. Her curiosity was so pure, so unguarded, and for a moment, he forgot about the world around him.
He blinked, unsure how to answer. Her presence, so small and carefree, caught him off guard.
"Ah... just thinking about life," he muttered, his voice quieter than usual, almost as if speaking to her was some sort of release.
She tilted her head, a curious frown crossing her face.
"Life? What's that? Can you eat it?"
Her laughter bubbled up, light and carefree, making something in his chest tighten. It was the kind of innocent joy that made him feel like he was hearing something he hadn't heard in years. Something simple, pure.
"No, no. You can't eat it," he replied, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
"But you can enjoy it, if you're lucky."
She didn't seem to fully understand, but it didn't matter. Her eyes sparkled with something deeper—a sense of wonder, as if everything in the world was new and full of possibility.
"Yeah," he added with a gentle grin,
"You can play with it. And sometimes... sometimes life plays with you."
Her smile grew wider, as bright and wide as the sun, and it hit him like a wave. For a second, everything felt right in the world again.
"I like life," she said, her face lighting up.
"And I like my mommy too! She's the best!"
The certainty in her voice, the unshakable belief that the world was full of goodness, made his chest ache in a way he couldn't explain. The pure joy radiating from her was enough to make him forget, if only for a moment, how heavy the world had become.
She looked over her shoulder, her face lighting up even more.
"There's my mommy!" she shouted, as though she hadn't seen her in days, even though the woman was standing just a few feet away.
He turned to follow her gaze and saw the woman standing there, her face full of warmth as she waved at the girl. Something about the sight—the simplicity of it, the connection between mother and child—stirred an unfamiliar peace inside him.
The girl bounced on her feet, eager to run to her mother.
"Mommy!" she squealed, and just like that, she was the picture of innocence, untouched by the harshness of the world.
Before she ran off, she turned back to him, her face alight with a smile that could light up the whole world.
"Bye, bye...mister! I'll see you again!"
He smiled back, warmth spreading through his chest as he watched her go. There was something about her innocence, her hope, that soothed a deep ache he hadn't known was there.
But just as she spun to run, something in the air shifted. A shrill, high-pitched screech cut through the moment—tires screeching, metal scraping against asphalt.
His heart stopped.
A truck—out of control—was heading straight for her. Too fast, too close. His mind barely had time to register it.
Instinct took over. He ran, his legs burning with effort as his body moved before his mind could catch up.
"Move!" he shouted, but it was already too late.
With all his strength, he shoved her away, his hands colliding with her small frame. She tumbled onto the grass, rolling out of the truck's path. Everything slowed, and he could see it all unfold in agonizing detail.
The truck kept coming. It was too fast, too close.
The impact came with a sickening thud.
Pain exploded through his body—blinding, searing pain that felt like every bone in his body shattered at once. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move. The world around him spun into darkness.
And then, nothing.
---
In that darkness, he felt something—a presence, not quite a voice but a vibration, a force that hummed with an energy so powerful it made his very soul shudder. It was not empty. It was a deep, suffocating *presence*, heavy with weight and meaning.
A figure appeared before him. Not a human figure, but something so vast, so full of light, he couldn't comprehend it. The light was so intense it threatened to consume him, and yet he couldn't look away, even as it seared his senses.
The figure radiated a brilliance like the sun itself. Each contour of its being blazed with an unearthly glow. It was taller than any man he had ever seen. A presence so overwhelming it felt like the very fabric of reality bent around it.
He tried to make sense of it, but his mind faltered. His eyes burned from the light, unable to fully meet the figure's form. It was as if the figure was beyond his perception—*too pure* to be understood by human senses.
And then, the voice.
It wasn't a voice at all. It was more like the very essence of sound, vibrating in his chest, filling the space around him. It hummed with a power that shook him to the core. It was ancient, timeless, and yet somehow filled with compassion.
He wanted to ask who it was, to beg for answers. But no words came. Only the weight of the presence pressed upon him. For a moment, he understood—understood that this was beyond him, beyond anything he could control.
The figure spoke, but the words were lost. They slipped through his mind like water through his fingers, just out of reach. He could feel the intent, the weight of what was being said, but the meaning was just beyond his grasp.
It was too much.
The pain in his head returned—sharp and agonizing. Each attempt to remember only caused more disarray. His thoughts were torn apart. He tried so desperately to hold on, but the more he reached, the more it all slipped away.
The radiance dimmed. The figure faded. The pain worsened. He reached out, but there was nothing to grasp.
And then, the light, the figure, the voice—it vanished, and with it, a piece of himself.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
---
He jerked awake with a violent gasp, trembling as if he had been holding his breath too long. His skin was cold, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he felt suspended between two worlds.
What had just happened?
Images—a flash of light, the overwhelming figure, the power—flashed through his mind. But like smoke, it all slipped away. He tried to hold on, but the memory was fading too quickly.
His forehead was slick with sweat, his breathing shallow as he tried to steady himself. His hands pressed against the cold surface beneath him, grounding himself in the here and now.
*Who was that?* The figure. The being. The *god*?
It felt like a dream, just out of reach. A memory half-remembered. A dream that lingered at the edges of his mind.
The pain in his head throbbed—a dull ache that gnawed at him. Every attempt to understand made it worse. It was like trying to catch a fleeting shadow.
*What was I supposed to remember?*
His hand went instinctively to his right eye—the one that felt *different*. Tenseigan. That was it. The figure had given him Tenseigan.
But why?
Why had he been chosen? What was he supposed to do with it?
The headache intensified as he pressed his fingers to his temple. The answers,
like the figure, were slipping away.
For now, there was only one thing he was certain of:
The figure had given him Tenseigan.
But *why*? And more importantly—*what now?*