That day, Thousand-Armed Buddha had a dream.
There was no blood in the dream.
This was unusual during the Warring States Period.
He stood in a pure white space, with the water at his feet, reflecting his body covered in scars from half a lifetime of fighting, and a face that was unfamiliar even to him - he was thirty-seven years old, but already like a knife soaked in old blood and rust.
The water surface suddenly rippled.
He looked down and saw a tree rising from the bottom of the water. The tree is very thin, and its buds are just beginning to bloom, growing at an incredible speed, branching out, spreading, and soon filling the entire field of vision. What grew among the branches and leaves was not fruit, but the face of a child—his eldest son, Hashirama, who had just turned six, was smiling foolishly.
That day, when Uzumaki Ruri sensed "the future" for the first time, she was still dyeing cloth, and she could still remember the scene at that time.
The deep red madder juice melts in cold water, like blood, but much gentler than blood.
She soaked the white linen cloth and ran her fingertips along the texture, feeling the subtle vibrations as the fibers absorbed the juice. This is one of the few moments where she can calm down - at the intersection of color and water, something becomes clear.
Such as today.
The water suddenly swayed.
It's not wind, there is no wind in the room.
Her face was reflected in the water: seventeen years old, with red hair, and the outlines carved by the sea breeze of Uzushio City between her eyebrows and eyes. But the next moment, the reflection changed. She saw——
fire. The raging fire engulfed the forest and houses.
Crying children, sitting on the scorched earth, holding motionless parents in their arms.
Two teenagers stood on both sides of the river, one with black hair and the other with a spiky head. They stretched out their hands, their fingertips almost touched, but there was a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood between them.
Then there was a man, giggling.
