Chapter 549: The Things That Keep Moving (Patreon)

Kenway Compound — Guest Wing — Konohagakure

Several hours passed before the Kenway Compound finally began resembling a home again instead of a diplomatic meeting held beside an unexploded bomb.

Izuna had returned from his conversation with Itachi quieter than when he left. Itachi had offered no explanation to the others beyond saying that they had spoken, and nobody had been foolish enough to demand details when Izuna's expression made it obvious that he was still sorting through everything he had heard.

Madara, meanwhile, had somehow progressed from being regarded as an immediate catastrophic threat to merely being watched by almost everyone whenever he moved.

It was an improvement, though a very small one.

Minato eventually decided that everyone needed space.

"There are guest rooms farther down this wing," he explained while guiding the resurrected brothers through one of the quieter corridors. "Alaric has more bedrooms than we normally know what to do with."

Madara walked beside Izuna, his attention drifting between the seals embedded in the walls and the architecture surrounding them. "How many people does he expect to house?"

Minato scratched lightly at his cheek. "With Alaric, I stopped assuming the number of rooms has anything to do with the number of guests."

Madara gave him a sidelong look.

That answer sounded irritatingly plausible.

They passed another junction before Minato stopped before a set of polished wooden doors. He opened the first.

Madara stepped forward, then stopped.

The room beyond was considerably larger than he had expected.

A broad bed rested against one wall beneath carefully fitted curtains, its mattress thick enough that Madara briefly wondered whether ordinary people had become physically incapable of sleeping upon firm surfaces. Polished furniture filled the room without cluttering it, while a woven rug covered much of the floor. Lamps had been placed near the bed and writing desk, and decorative woodwork framed the windows overlooking an inner courtyard.

Madara's eyebrow slowly rose.

He had slept in caves, military encampments, abandoned fortifications, underground chambers, tree branches, and battlefield tents.

During the Warring States Period, a good bedroom had been one whose walls were thick enough to delay whoever attempted to murder you during the night.

This room appeared designed around an entirely different standard.

Comfort.

Madara looked toward Minato.

Minato had already recognized the expression.

Madara gestured into the room. "Is Alaric, beneath everything else, simply an obscenely wealthy businessman?"

Minato opened his mouth, but nothing came out, leaving Madara waiting as he glanced toward the furniture, then back toward the Uchiha.

Calling Alaric a businessman was technically correct.

From what he knew, Alaric owned businesses.

A staggering number of them, apparently.

He possessed wealth that Minato had stopped trying to contextualize after seeing how casually the man purchased land, commissioned buildings, funded private operations, equipped shinobi, and maintained a compound whose pantry occasionally contained imported ingredients Minato could not identify.

Yet reducing Alaric Jonathan Kenway to wealthy businessman felt roughly equivalent to describing Madara Uchiha as an experienced shinobi.

Minato scratched the back of his head. "I genuinely don't know how to answer that anymore."

Madara studied him, then gave a small nod. "Understandable."

Izuna smiled faintly beside him.

Minato opened the neighboring room.

It was nearly identical.

Madara immediately looked toward his brother. "You will manage?"

Izuna's head turned toward him. "Nii-san."

"You are unfamiliar with the room."

"I have been unfamiliar with every room I entered today."

"That is not an answer."

Izuna released a quiet sigh.

Minato wisely remained outside the argument as Izuna continued.

"I can perceive enough."

Madara's Rinnegan narrowed. "How?"

Izuna lifted one hand, releasing a controlled pulse of chakra.

It was faint enough that Minato might have missed it without consciously paying attention. The chakra traveled through the floor, walls, furniture, and nearby structure before returning in minute variations.

Izuna tilted his head.

"The bed is several steps ahead and slightly to the right. There is a table near the window. The wall is farther away on the left than the right, which means the room extends in that direction."

Madara's expression changed.

Izuna sent out another pulse.

"It is crude compared with sight, but the returning chakra gives me a spatial impression. Different surfaces return it differently. Wood does not feel like stone. Fabric does not feel like either."

Minato became interested. "Almost like echolocation through chakra."

"I do not know what that means."

Minato smiled awkwardly. "Never mind."

Izuna continued, "I cannot read writing or distinguish fine details this way, but I will not walk into a wall simply because nobody is holding my hand."

Madara studied him for several seconds.

His brother had been alive for only hours.

Already, Izuna had begun constructing a replacement sensory framework around the absence of his eyes.

A quiet approval settled into Madara's expression. "Hm."

Despite it being quiet, Izuna still heard it. "That sounded suspiciously like praise."

"Do not become arrogant."

Izuna smiled. "Coming from you?"

Madara ignored him.

Izuna turned toward Minato instead. "Thank you for the room."

"You're welcome."

Izuna stepped inside, briefly touching the doorframe to confirm its location before continuing farther into the bedroom using another soft pulse of chakra, and the door closed behind him.

Madara remained in the hallway for another second.

Minato looked toward him.

Something had changed in Madara throughout the day.

The pressure remained, as did the ancient confidence, yet Izuna's presence had placed something almost ordinary beneath the legend.

Madara inclined his head. "Thank you."

Minato blinked.

The words had come quietly enough that he almost wondered whether he imagined them.

Then Madara turned and entered his own room. The door closed, leaving Minato standing alone in the corridor.

A slow smile appeared.

"Definitely a long wait."

.

Madara spent approximately three minutes examining the bedroom.

He checked the windows, doors, seals, adjoining walls, and possible entrances.

Only after determining that Alaric's guest room was not secretly designed to imprison him did Madara notice another door near the far wall.

He opened it.

His Rinnegan moved across the adjoining chamber, then stopped.

Madara remained in the doorway.

The bathroom was immaculate.

A polished bathtub occupied one side, while a separate enclosed shower stood nearby. Two sinks had been fitted into a broad counter, their metal fixtures unfamiliar despite being mechanically simple enough that Madara could infer some of their function.

The toilet required considerably more thought as he stared at it, then at the tank, and finally at the plumbing.

"What is this?"

No one answered.

Madara approached the sink instead and turned one handle, causing water to flow immediately as his eyes narrowed.

He turned it off, then on again, and water immediately flowed.

He tried the second handle, and warmer water emerged as Madara stared at his hand beneath the stream.

There was no servant carrying it, no Fire Release heating it, and no visible chakra mechanism... just infrastructure.

His attention shifted toward the products arranged along the counter, including several toothbrushes that remained sealed inside their packaging.

A tube read:

TOOTHPASTE

Madara picked it up.

Mint, dental cleaning, and application to a toothbrush.

He stared at it for several seconds before placing it down and picking up another bottle.

SHAMPOO

Another.

CONDITIONER

Then:

LIQUID BATHING SOAP

Madara's expression became increasingly suspicious as though Alaric had stocked the bathroom specifically to expose him to unnecessary conveniences.

He picked up the final bottle.

LOTION

The instructions promised softer, smoother skin.

Madara read them twice.

His gaze slowly dropped toward his own scarred hands.

Then returned to the bottle before placing it very carefully back on the counter.

"No."

After several moments, curiosity overcame pride.

Madara removed what remained of the black clothing beneath his ruined armor and entered the shower.

The controls were irritatingly intuitive once he stopped assuming they concealed some technique.

He turned one, and water struck him suddenly, causing Madara to shift into a combat stance before realizing what had happened.

The water continued falling as his expression flattened, and he slowly straightened.

The temperature was cold, but when Madara adjusted the other control, warmth spread across his shoulders, making him stop.

Water ran through his hair, down his back, and along scars collected across battles so old that most people alive could not name the wars that caused them.

Madara turned the control farther, and his eyebrow rose as the water grew hotter.

He turned it in the opposite direction, making the water cold, then turned it back again until it was warm.

The simplicity was offensive.

Generations of servants, buckets, fires, wells, and preparation had apparently been defeated by metal pipes inside a wall.

Madara looked up at the showerhead.

"What… luxury is this?"

His voice disappeared beneath the running water.

A man who had fought Hashirama Senju until landscapes changed beneath them stood motionless beneath warm running water because nobody had warned him civilization had apparently solved bathing while he was busy manipulating history.

Eventually, Madara reached for the shampoo.

He read the instructions once.

Then used far too much.

Kenway Keep — Dining Room — Philadelphia

Across a boundary Madara did not know existed, Alaric Jonathan Kenway was confronting a very different challenge.

"Hunter."

His two-year-old son stretched farther across the dining table.

Kassandra continued eating while watching the effort with the calm amusement of someone who had already decided not to interfere.

Hunter's fingertips remained several inches away from the small plate of fruit he had apparently determined could only be acquired personally.

Alaric slid it toward him.

Hunter immediately sat back. "I could have reached it."

Alaric froze, his hand remaining on the plate as Hunter selected a berry.

Alaric slowly turned toward Kassandra, who took another bite without looking at him.

Alaric looked back at Hunter. "You could have reached it?"

Hunter nodded seriously. "Yes, but you moved it."

Alaric stared as the child ate the berry, while Kassandra's mouth twitched.

Alaric leaned slightly forward. "Hunter."

His son looked up.

"How long have you been talking like that?"

Hunter frowned. "Like what?"

Alaric turned toward Kassandra again, and this time she smiled openly.

"When," Alaric asked with exaggerated care, "did our two-year-old son start having entire conversations?"

Kassandra rested her fork against the plate. "While you were busy."

"That is accusatory."

"Sure... but it's true."

Alaric looked back toward Hunter, whose attention had temporarily shifted toward the sunlight reflecting from a spoon.

Kassandra continued, "He has been learning quickly for months. Every time someone teaches him a word, he remembers it. When adults speak near him, he listens."

Alaric narrowed his eyes at the boy.

Hunter, on the other hand, noticed. "Why are you looking at me strangely?"

Alaric leaned back. "What the fuck?"

"Alaric," Kassandra's warning arrived immediately.

He looked toward her while Hunter looked between them.

Alaric cleared his throat. "What the… heck."

Kassandra shook her head as Hunter returned to his food.

Alaric whispered, "He talks like he's five."

"He does not talk like he is five."

"He just asked why I was looking at him strangely."

"He also cried yesterday because a biscuit broke."

Alaric paused, looking at Kassandra, then at Hunter, then back at Kassandra before nodding his head slightly. "Good."

Kassandra laughed. "Good?"

"He's still two."

"He is definitely still two."

As if determined to prove the point, Hunter reached toward his cup, missed the handle, and stared at it with visible betrayal before trying again.

Alaric smiled. "Jonathan?"

Kassandra nodded. "Jonathan discovered he likes being read to."

"Of course he did."

"They go through books together."

"What books?"

"Children's books."

Alaric relaxed.

"And whatever else Hunter convinces him to read."

Alaric's eyes narrowed again. "That sounds dangerous."

"Jonathan has judgment."

"I meant Hunter."

Kassandra smiled.

Alaric returned his attention to his son. "So what have you been doing while I was gone?"

Hunter brightened immediately. "I played with Jenny."

"Jennifer?"

"Yes."

Jennifer Scott-Kenway had become one of the children Hunter naturally regarded as family despite the increasingly complicated web of bloodlines, marriages, friendships, and household connections surrounding the Kenways.

"What did you play?"

"We had ships."

Hunter moved both hands across the table as though mapping the engagement.

"Mine was bigger, but Jenny said hers was faster."

Alaric nodded solemnly. "A serious dispute."

"She cheated."

Kassandra raised an eyebrow.

Hunter continued, "She moved the ship when I was not looking."

"Did you prove it?" Alaric asked.

Hunter paused. "No."

"Then accusations require caution."

Hunter thought about this.

Kassandra stared at Alaric. "You are teaching legal standards to a toddler."

"He accused someone of cheating."

"He is two."

"Justice has no minimum age."

Kassandra sighed.

Hunter continued before either could argue.

He talked about Reuben and Flavia's child, then the children of Thulani and Aveline, recounting games whose rules appeared to change every few minutes depending upon which child had most recently begun losing.

At one point, Hunter described an argument over a wooden horse with enough seriousness that Alaric found himself asking follow-up questions.

Kassandra noticed.

"You realize you are investigating toddler politics."

"Apparently Jenny seized disputed property."

Hunter nodded emphatically. "She did."

Alaric pointed toward him. "See?"

Kassandra covered her mouth to hide a smile.

The conversation continued.

Somewhere in the middle of Hunter describing how one of the children had attempted to hide behind a curtain despite leaving both feet visible, Alaric stopped eating and simply listened.

Hunter had changed.

Not dramatically enough for someone who saw him every day to notice a single moment when it happened.

That was the problem: there had been no single moment.

Words accumulated, sentences became clearer, relationships developed, and games gained histories.

His son had begun constructing a small world around himself while Alaric was elsewhere dealing with worlds large enough to destroy one another.

The thought quieted him.

Kassandra noticed immediately.

Her eyes moved toward his face, but she said nothing.

Hunter continued explaining something about a toy sword while Alaric smiled and asked another question.

There was no regret in the moment, because he had reasons for leaving.

Some of those reasons involved threats that could one day reach Hunter himself.

Yet the irony was difficult to ignore.

Alaric spent enormous portions of his life trying to protect the future, yet sometimes the future sat across from him eating fruit while he was busy protecting it somewhere else.

The Commonwealth continued without him: William governed, Kassandra commanded, Jonathan maintained Kenway Keep, the Vanguard fought, Celestial expanded across continents, and Hunter learned how to speak while Alaric was away.

He reached across the table and ruffled his son's hair.

Hunter immediately tried fixing it. "Papa."

"What?"

"You messed it up."

Alaric smiled. "Sorry."

Hunter gave him a suspicious look that suggested he did not believe the apology, prompting Kassandra to laugh quietly as lunch continued.

For the first time since returning, Alaric made no attempt to think ahead... not toward Madara, the Ten-Tails sealed inside him, France, Spain, or whatever Obito might be planning; he simply remained at the table.

Eventually, the plates began emptying.

Hunter had reached the stage where eating had become less interesting than inspecting everything around him, while Kassandra leaned back slightly with one hand resting near the Staff of Hermes.

Then the Staff pulsed faintly, and Kassandra's expression changed.

Alaric noticed immediately. "What?"

Kassandra did not answer. Instead, she moved her hand toward the Staff as another pulse passed through it, her eyes narrowing slightly as she listened to a voice Alaric could not hear directly.

Aletheia.

The Isu consciousness had apparently been attempting to gain her attention for some time.

Alaric waited as Hunter looked curiously toward the Staff, while Kassandra's expression became more serious.

"What happened?" Alaric asked.

She finally looked toward him.

"Aletheia wants to speak with you."

Alaric glanced at the Staff. "Now?"

Kassandra nodded.

"Preferably."

His posture changed.

"About what?"

Kassandra listened for another moment.

Then her eyes sharpened.

"The Succession Core."

Alaric became still.

The artifact remained secured inside his Kamui Dimension, isolated from ordinary access while Aletheia continued studying whatever portions of its architecture could be analyzed without risking another unintended reaction.

Kassandra's fingers tightened around the Staff.

"She says she found something."

Alaric looked at her.

"Inside the transfer protocols?"

Kassandra shook her head slowly.

"No."

The answer immediately interested him more.

"Aletheia says she finally penetrated part of the Core's deepest defensive encryption."

Alaric leaned forward.

"And?"

Kassandra's expression turned grave.

"Whatever was hidden behind it, she says you need to hear about it personally."