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Chapter 140: A Mother’s Burdens
🕑 Added 2025-11-05 15:29:24 +0000 UTCThe smoke of Kusagakure still hung in the sky days after the burning. To anyone passing by, the air tasted of ash and copper, the smell of fear soaked into every stone.
Yet the cause of the destruction had left — and with her, the one thing that made Kusagakure stand out among the other minor shinobi villages.
A red-haired woman, her body covered with bite marks, trembled whenever anyone approached her and hugged her little baby girl as if her life depended on it.
Kanna Uzumaki, one of the few survivors of the fall of Uzushiogakure and the Land of Whirlpools, had heard the commotion outside her little house — her prison.
She had been afraid — not for her own safety; she was sure she would be safe. No, her fear was for others: that many would be hurt. Not because she cared about them; she didn’t. She feared they would be hurt because then they would need treatment.
She didn’t mind helping… but what they wanted went beyond that. She could feel it — her body growing weaker, worried that one day she wouldn’t be able to keep up, that one day her arms would be too weak to even hold Karin.
When soft knocking on the door came after the shouts outside, she didn’t open. She hugged Karin and tried to hide — though there was nowhere to hide — curling up on her bed.
Then the door opened, and she cracked her eyes just enough to see who it was. She imagined all kinds of people on the other side of that door, but the woman there wasn’t any of those.
Not some blood-soaked attacker, some cruel shinobi or bandit. No — it was a beautiful woman, the most beautiful she had ever seen: long white hair trailing down behind her, almost touching the ground, a large black silk dress, and a blindfold over her eyes.
She looked like some blind noble lady — delicate and transcendental.
“Come with me, Uzumaki. Away from this, to something better,” she said, holding out her hand.
Her voice was magnetic; it drew her to her feet. Cuddling Karin to her chest, she slowly walked toward the woman, and once she was led outside, she screamed at the sight.
Bodies cut in two, blood everywhere. A frightening sight — and a shocking one, for she had heard only a few screams. But this… to kill them so quickly, so cleanly… fear welled up in her heart.
Yet after living in this village, her heart had grown dull, used to the abuse and cruelty. She couldn’t find it in her to go back, so she followed beside the woman as she slowly walked through the village as if she owned it.
She kept her head down — afraid of seeing the carnage, but also afraid of seeing anyone else, afraid they would stop her. She had no doubt this village would offer her nothing but abuse and death in return for hope for her daughter.
But maybe… maybe with this woman… she would be better off. After all, someone strong enough to cause this was unlikely to be hurt — which meant she likely wouldn’t need treatment as much as an entire shinobi village did.
Kanna could easily heal a few people without issue. What reduced her to this was the sheer volume of treatment she had to give.
…
That was three days ago.
Kanna still couldn’t sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the bones — white spires rising from the ground, piercing men like paper — and the woman’s hair fluttering as if it had a will of its own.
She hadn’t even looked angry.
She had looked bored.
The woman — Kaguya-hime — didn’t speak much. She just walked and led her along, pausing whenever Kanna felt her weak legs were about to give out beneath her, letting her rest just long enough to continue the walk.
She was afraid, didn’t dare say anything — just followed along.
Still, it wasn’t bad. Kaguya-hime was cold, but not unkind. She didn’t seem bothered about the breaks or about the times little Karin got fussy. Thankfully, the fresh air seemed to calm the child down.
Karin had always been a good child, and seeing her happy outside like this took a weight off Kanna’s heart.
“Why…” Kanna whispered, her voice trembling before she could stop herself. “Why did you help us?”
For a long moment, there was no answer. The night stretched on, heavy and endless. Then, softly, the blindfolded woman turned her head.
“I didn’t,” Kaguya-hime said. Her voice was calm — not cruel, not warm — simply true. “I punished those who displeased me. And taking you away was that punishment.”
The words struck harder than any blow.
Kanna lowered her head, eyes burning, shame and gratitude twisting together until she couldn’t tell them apart. “Then… what will you do with us?”
Kaguya seemed to think about it.
“I don’t know,” she admitted after a pause. “Perhaps nothing.”
And that, somehow, was worse than any threat. Kanna knew they wouldn’t survive on their own; they needed her to protect them… but she also knew the truth: she had little to offer. Someone like Kaguya-hime didn’t need healing. So what else could she give?
Kaguya-hime turned her gaze toward the dark forest beyond their small shelter, as if the world itself bored her. The firelight flickered on her pale skin, yet no shadow dared cling to her.
Kanna wanted to say something more — anything — but the words wouldn’t come. It felt wrong to speak freely in her presence, like raising one’s voice in a temple.
So she sat in silence, holding Karin close, listening to the faint rustle of wind through the trees. The forest was quiet here — too quiet. Even the insects seemed to hold their breath when Kaguya-hime was near.
The woman stood a long time without moving, her expression unreadable beneath the soft fall of silver hair. When she finally spoke again, her voice was softer, almost as if she were speaking to herself.
“But fear not, child. Now that I have taken you from your home, I will take responsibility for you.”
Kanna blinked in confusion, unsure if she had heard correctly. Take responsibility? That was what she wanted… but delivered with such a cold tone, it was hard to believe.
“I… I don’t understand,” Kanna said carefully. “What does that mean?”
Kaguya turned her head slightly, the firelight reflecting faintly across the smooth silk of her blindfold. “You are safe now. You and your child. That is all there is to understand.”
…
Living under the protection of Kaguya-hime was nothing like what Kanna had expected. Here, weeks after leaving Kusagakure, she finally realized just how different it all was.
Kaguya-hime didn’t demand to be healed; she never got hurt. The only thing she seemed to do was walk.
And so Kanna and little Karin followed along, walking through the Land of Grass and into the Land of Fire.
She did feel slightly safer here, farther from Kusagakure — though she guessed it didn’t matter much. With Kaguya-hime next to her, what could Kusagakure even do?
That woman had single-handedly walked through their village, killed anyone who resisted, and left without getting hurt; even her clothes remained perfectly clean.
What place could be safer than beside her?
Once in the Land of Fire, Kaguya-hime also started to open up a little more — though Kanna was sure it was thanks to Karin. An innocent child who knew no better, she was interested in this beautiful woman, and while Kanna had been scared, Kaguya-hime hadn’t cared.
No — she took the attention as it came, and proved somewhat skilled with children, at least more knowledgeable than Kanna ever was.
Kaguya-hime, despite being blind, could always tell what Karin wanted when she got fussy.
“You are really good with children, Kaguya-hime,” she finally said as they sat in a private room in an expensive restaurant. At first, Kanna had been worried she might break someone in such a place.
But Kaguya-hime always took her to such places, sparing no expense on where she stayed or what she ate — truly acting like a woman of high noble birth, something that clashed with her brutal strength.
“Finally brave enough to ask me questions? Here I was beginning to think you would remain too afraid to ever speak up,” Kaguya said, with the first hint of amusement in her tone since they met.
“I… I… I was just scared…” Kanna had nothing else to say.
Kaguya-hime sighed. “I have three children myself, and I have watched many, many children — so I know a thing or two,” she said at last.
Kanna couldn’t help raising her eyes, looking at the blindfold on Kaguya-hime’s face as she talked about watching children, wondering if she had always been blind. But she didn’t dare ask. “You look much too young for that.” She focused instead on the other topic — children — something they apparently had in common.
“The first two were twins.”
Kaguya’s hand froze halfway to her teacup. For a moment, the faintest flicker of something unreadable passed over her face — not sadness, not anger; just a pause so deep it seemed to swallow the air around them.
“They were born together,” she said at last, her tone quiet but unshaken. “Yet they were so very different — both inheriting such different things from me. If only they hadn’t inherited my intelligence as well.”
Kanna didn’t know how to respond, so she said nothing. She could feel the weight in Kaguya’s words — not quite grief, but not far from it.
Kaguya set the cup down without drinking. The faint sound of porcelain against wood echoed sharply in the silence. “The two first I gave everything; yet… they were true disappointments. The youngest was different,” she continued, her voice carrying that distant softness again, like she was remembering a dream instead of a life.
“Him I gave a purpose, and he hasn’t disappointed me yet.”
Kanna didn’t fully know what to think. Kaguya-hime sounded like she spoke of something that had happened long ago — children grown — but given how young she looked, Kanna still couldn’t believe she was a mother twice over.
“Do you miss them?” she asked quietly before she could stop herself.
Kaguya didn’t answer right away. She lifted her head slightly, the silk of her blindfold catching the warm lantern light. “Miss them…” she repeated softly, as though tasting the words. “No mother fails to miss her children. But I know… the two eldest… they wouldn’t be happy to see me. As much as I love them… they only hate me back.”
Kaguya’s voice had softened, but the words themselves carried no tremor, no sorrow. They were too steady — like a truth she had long accepted.
