A vision of a forest consumed Indra.
In the sky, a waning moon hung like a sickle of blood, judging the world below with its crimson glow. Beneath it, an ancient, moss-covered trail wound up the mountain, culminating in a massive Torii gate that guarded the path to the summit.
At the heart of the mountain stood a colossal, unnecessarily large gate, weathered by the passage of countless eons. Carved into it was a strange fan-shaped symbol. The gate was heavily sealed, a silent warning that whatever was trapped there should never be released.
The surrounding forest seemed to pulse with an ancient thirst. It was as if the moon's blood had descended to earth to stain everything: trunks, plants, and animals, nothing escaped the wild and primal corruption. At the top of the mountain, amidst the stained soil, a beautiful flower was born, delicate and cruel, the color of freshly spilled blood. Its beauty was an omen: silky and sharp, it announced that in that forest, life and death walked hand in hand.
And, out of nowhere, Indra awoke.
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial…]
Indra was now lying in an open space, but as his eyes opened, they found only an oppressive darkness. What he saw was not the crimson moon or the forest from the vision, but a low ceiling made of raw stone.
From the moment he returned from the vision, the silence of the place seemed to buzz in his ears. The pain of his body, broken by his educator. Along with the weight in his chest that prevented him from breathing properly, was gone. It had been replaced by the icy dampness of the stone floor. He did not know if what he had seen was the past, the future, or just a cruel illusion of the Spell, but the image of that blood-flower and the sealed gate continued to burn in his mind like an open wound.
Pushing away the disturbing images of the vision, Indra slowly rose from the cold floor. Where the stone ceiling had been, there was now only a sea of trees. Looking around, the world was a tangle of colossal trees and shadows that seemed to move at the edge of his vision.
From what he had been taught in his clan's classrooms, the Nightmare Spell was a cruel but fair master; it never gave a challenge without the tools to overcome it. However, the start of his journey, unlike the tales of terror and despair he had heard was marked by a strangely unsettling silence.
Feeling momentarily safe in that vegetal solitude, the youth closed his eyes and dived his consciousness inward, focusing on the spark of will that now pulsed in his soul. In response to his call, the void in front of him trembled, and runes of shimmering blood began to manifest.
As he focused on them, he confirmed his runes:
...
Name: Indra
True Name: —
Rank: Aspirant.
Soul Core: Dormant.
Memories: —
Echoes: —
Attributes: [Dreamspawn], [Mark of Divinity], [Born from pain], [Uchiha].
Aspect: [Cursed Eyes].
Aspect Description: [The shared aspect of the descendants of the Asura lineage, manifested through ocular mutations. Your eyes are the meeting point between the perfect structure of Nether and the chaotic conclusion of the Gods. The limit and potential for evolution of this Aspect depend entirely on the purity of the blood. They are tools of perception and destruction that evolve through suffering and transcendence.]
...
His gaze swept over the first lines with indifference but stopped at the Attributes. Indra fixed his eyes on the silver runes floating in the void. They were not just information, they felt like judgments etched into the very fabric of reality.
"[Dream Child]... [Mark of Divinity]." He murmured, his relatively childish voice faltering in the silence of the forest.
His gaze drifted down to the origin of the [Uchiha]. The revelation that the body he now inhabited was part of an unfinished lineage, shaped by a Daemon and finalized by the cruelty of the Gods, sent a chill down his spine. It was not just a lineage; it was an open scar of a divine war that never healed.
Reading the [Born from pain] attribute, a mocking smile appeared on his lips. The Spell knew. It knew that every fiber of his being had been tempered in suffering long before he arrived there. For Indra, pain was not an event; it was his foundation.
Upon reaching the description of his Aspect, the symbols glowed with a sinister, almost voracious intensity.
"Evolve through suffering." Indra let out a bitter laugh, feeling the icy dampness of the stone floor beneath his feet. "So the Spell finally gave a name to what I've always lived through. And as a bonus, it gave me an aspect tied to it. What a beauty..."
He closed his eyes tight, but the runes remained etched on the inside of his eyelids, burning his soul like red-hot iron. The Spell was not just observing him; it was cataloging every secret of his existence, turning his tragic past into survival statistics.
He stood naked before fate.
The blood-colored runes were still burning in his mind when the silence of the forest was brutally shattered.
"Itachi, let us return. Lady Kushina is requesting you now."
The voice was deep, raspy, and carried an authority that Indra did not recognize, coming from directly behind him. He froze for a moment. The name "Itachi" echoed in the void of his thoughts as something strange, a name that did not belong to him, but one the Spell seemed to have glued to his soul for this Nightmare.
He turned slowly and saw, standing a few meters away, a man with a rigid and imposing posture, short dark hair, and severe facial features. He wore a strange cloak, and his mere presence exuded a mixture of pride and unshakable discipline. It was the face of a man who expected absolute obedience.
Indra clenched his fists, feeling the texture of the skin of his hands, still findng the body he now inhabited strange. He was not Itachi, and the man before him, despite carrying Uchiha blood in every feature, was a complete stranger. However, the latent memories of the lineage whispered in his mind, forcing a sense of familiarity he struggled to repel.
If he wanted to survive this trial and reach the purity his runes promised, Indra would have to learn to play the role he had been given, however bitter the taste of that new name was on his tongue.
"Understood." He replied, his voice sounding cold and calculated, as he watched the man before him, searching for any sign that his true nature had been discovered.
Without waiting for a response, the man turned around and began to walk calmly back the way he had come. His steps were silent, almost supernatural, revealing the grace of a veteran warrior. Indra, feeling the weight of the unknown on his shoulders, began to follow him, keeping a distance of a few paces.
The silence that followed was oppressive. No words were exchanged during the entire journey, perhaps due to the obvious lack of intimacy between the man and the boy, or perhaps because Indra was too deep in his own runes. Every word read previously echoed in his mind.
After thirty minutes of a tense walk through the dark, giant forest, Indra finally emerged from the dense vegetation. Ahead of him, the landscape opened into what appeared to be a village.
As he crossed the stone streets, Indra felt a supernatural weight in the air. He began to observe the inhabitants, and a disturbing pattern emerged: everyone had hair as black as a raven's wing, but it was their gazes that piqued his curiosity.
In many of them, the irises were unlike the few he had ever seen. They were a vibrant crimson, adorned with strange symbols, small marks that spun slowly like the gears of a cursed clock. Some displayed only one symbol, others two, and the most imposing carried three.
Indra felt a chill. That was the physical manifestation of what he had read in his runes: the shared Aspect. An entire lineage condemned to carry the same ocular burden, each pair of red eyes being a mirror of the soul corrupted by Nether and the Gods. In that place, mutation was not an anomaly, it was the law.
He realized he was not just in a village of warriors, but in a nest of monsters. As he followed the man, every gaze that followed him showed contempt or curiosity, as if searching for something in the "young Itachi."
After some more time walking under the watchful eyes of the village, they finally stopped before the largest building in the town, a structure Indra had been able to see since the moment he left the forest.
It was a colossal residence, balancing on a fine line between rustic simplicity and an undeniable aura of royalty. That was the heart of the clan, a place destined strictly for the main Uchiha bloodline. At the highest point of the roof, carved in dark wood and stone, rested the fan symbol, the same emblem Indra had seen sealed on the gate in his vision, reigning over the village as a crest of sovereignty.
Guarding the entrance, clan warriors stood motionless like metal statues. They wore red plate armor and carried katanas and kodachis.
When Indra passed the guards, he felt a faint, constant pressure emanating from their motionless figures. It was not a gesture of hostility or ill-will directed at him, but merely a reminder of his existence. To Indra, that pressure seemed like a silent warning that in this place, strength was not a choice, but a condition of existence.
The man ahead did not hesitate, crossing the residence with firm steps. Indra followed him, entering the depths of the mansion. Every corridor seemed to tell a story of glory and tragedy, the dark wooden walls guarding the secrets of the lineage.
He could feel the pulse of his own [Uchiha] reacting to the environment, as if the mansion recognized the blood he carried. The young Uchiha knew that by crossing that door, the time for reflection was over. The fate of the "young Itachi" awaited him at the end of that hallway, and the Nightmare Spell was about to reveal its objective.