(Side story of a Seer)
"So... why are we doing this?"
Two children—a boy and a girl—walked side by side down a winding dirt road, their sandals kicking up little puffs of dust. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden hue over the village, where the shadows of old wooden houses stretched lazily across the path. Cicadas buzzed somewhere in the distance, their constant drone filling the still summer air.
"I told you, Amon," the girl replied with an exasperated huff. "I'm doing a welfare check on a patient we had recently!"
Lumian let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms behind his head as they passed a weathered fence overrun with ivy.
"Yeah, but what does that have to do with me?"
A vein twitched on Audrey's forehead. Without hesitation, she smacked him hard on the back of the head.
"Ow!" Lumian glared at her, rubbing the sore spot as Audrey turned away with a dramatic huff.
They passed a market stall long since closed, the scent of dried herbs lingering faintly in the air. A cat napped lazily on the stall's counter, barely twitching at their footsteps.
"Mind telling me who we're meeting at least?" Lumian muttered.
Audrey sighed, her tone softening.
"We're meeting a blacksmith named Eisen. He ended up in the hospital after he—supposedly—charged into a fight against a group of Suna-Shinobi, without his comrade's backup."
A gust of wind stirred the dust around them as they finally stopped in front of a soot-stained building. The structure groaned under its own age, but the anvil-shaped sign swinging overhead made it unmistakable: this was the blacksmith's shop. The air was tinged with the lingering smell of coal and metal, a warm, earthy scent that clung to the wooden beams.
Audrey took a breath, steeling herself as she entered the shop.
. . .
The inside of the shop was... interesting, to say the least.
The walls were rusted and discolored, as if they'd been soaked in smoke and sweat for years. Every step they took caused the warped wooden floorboards to creak beneath their feet, the sound echoing faintly in the stillness.
A wide array of shinobi weapons hung on the walls—some gleaming, others clearly neglected. Display cases lined the room, showcasing all manner of deadly tools: shuriken with razor-thin edges, chipped but formidable swords, and rows upon rows of kunai. A few odd contraptions Audrey couldn't even name sat behind smudged glass, gathering dust.
"Mr. Eisen? Are you here?" Audrey called out, her voice cutting through the musty silence.
No response.
She glanced at Lumian, who shrugged before strolling toward the back of the shop. There was a door—crooked on its hinges—resting in the far wall. It had chipped paint and the door looked like it would fall from its hinges.
He stared at it for a moment, then slowly pushed it open.
His eyes widened.
Lying on the floor was a short, burly man with a ridiculously large beard that fanned out beneath him like a collapsed nest. His tiny eyes were barely visible beneath bushy brows, and honestly… he looked like a dwarf.
He snored loudly, a half-empty beer bottle still clutched in one hand. Dozens more littered the floor around him, some upright, most on their sides. A shallow puddle of beer had formed from the spills, soaking into the floorboards and staining the man's already grimy clothes. The stench of alcohol and iron hung thick in the air.
Lumian stared for a moment, then slowly looked back over his shoulder.
"Found him."
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"Mr. Eisen! You were just discharged! You shouldn't be drinking so much!" Audrey scolded, marching into the room with hands on her hips.
The dwarf-like man grunted from the floor, barely lifting his head as he fumbled for another nearby bottle. Before he could grab it, Audrey swiftly snatched it from his grasp.
"Ah, you little rascals *burp* leave me to drink in peace!" he slurred, waving one hand in the air dramatically.
With great effort, Eisen pushed himself upright, wobbling on unsteady knees. He swayed like a tree caught in the wind, arms flailing slightly as he tried to maintain balance.
"I fought a whole squad of Suna brats with nothing but my hammer and half a lung!" he bellowed, voice echoing through the cramped backroom. "If that doesn't earn a man a drink, then what does, eh?! EH?!?"
A beer bottle clinked against his boot as he stumbled forward.
. . .
Lumian blinked, unimpressed.
"Did they perhaps happen to hit you on the head?" he internally lampooned, expression deadpan.
Eisen, completely ignoring the looks they were giving him, continued his ramble—slurred nonsense, half-formed sentences, and boastful declarations that barely made sense. Then, mid-rant, he wobbled… and promptly collapsed on the floor, snoring almost instantly.
Audrey groaned, already rubbing her temples. She knelt down beside him and checked his pulse out of habit.
"Hey, Amon. Help me carry him to the hospital," she said, voice tinged with annoyance.
Lumian didn't move. He simply tapped a finger to the center of his forehead, just between his brows, eyes narrowing as he observed the unconscious man. A moment later, his expression shifted to something sharper. Focused.
"...Hey, Audrey. You said this guy charged into a group of Suna-ninjas?"
Audrey blinked, caught off guard.
"Yeah... at least that's what I heard. Why?"
Lumian was quiet for a moment. Then:
"Can we wait for him to wake up first?"
Audrey tilted her head. "Huh? Why? He should clearly go back to the hospital for another check-up!"
"I want to talk to him beforehand." His voice was low now, thoughtful.
Audrey stared at him, then sighed and threw up her hands.
"Eh... do whatever you want."
She headed toward the shop's exit, pausing at the doorway.
"Just make sure you carry him to the hospital when you're done playing detective."
And with that, she walked out, the door creaking shut behind her and leaving Lumian alone with the unconscious blacksmith and the lingering scent of metal and stale beer.
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Watching Audrey disappear through the door, Lumian turned his attention back to the unconscious blacksmith.
He stared for a moment, then nudged the man's forehead lightly with the tip of his sandal.
"Hello? You alive down there?"
The only response was a series of half-hearted grunts followed by another deep, rumbling snore.
Lumian exhaled sharply, then grinned—a sly, mischievous curve of his lips.
"Alright... just know that you forced me to do this."
He brought his hands together and formed a quick sequence of seals, his fingers moving with practiced ease.
(Author: Genjutsu release! Testicular torsion!)
(Nah guys I'm just kidding lol)
Genjutsu: Sound Amplification.
It was a subtle jutsu Audrey had taught him—a technique rumored to have been invented by the Second Hokage to rouse his brother, Hashirama, when he was snoring during meetings. It targeted unconscious individuals by drastically amplifying sounds within their perception, bypassing even the deepest sleep.
With a smirk, Lumian clapped his hands once.
To him, it sounded perfectly normal.
To Eisen, however, it was as if an entire stadium full of people had screamed directly into his eardrums through a war horn.
"AUGHHHHHHH!!!"
The dwarf-like man rocketed upright with such force that he smacked his head against the low ceiling, sending a rain of dust and splinters showering down.
"GAAAH—WHO?! WHAT?! FIRE?! WAR?!"
He stumbled in place, beard flailing as he spun around in a panic, eyes wide and bloodshot.
Lumian took a step back, a obnoxious smile on his face.
"Good Morning, Mr. Eisen."
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"So you wanted to talk to me?" Eisen asked, now seated cross-legged on the floor. He took a swig from the beer bottle Lumian had reluctantly handed him, retrieved from the corner of the cluttered room. Lumian sat across from him, the light from a nearby window casting long shadows between them.
He nodded silently.
Then, after a moment of quiet contemplation, his expression shifted—calm, but serious.
"I wanted to ask you a question."
Eisen grunted, raising the bottle again. "And what's that?"
There was a pause—long, deliberate.
"Why do you have suicidal tendencies?"
The question echoed across the silent room.
Eisen froze, mid-sip. Then he spoke out of the corner of his mouth somehow still drinking while speaking.
"...And why would you assume that?"
Lumian's gaze drifted to the man's head—not physically injured, but surrounded by a faint, unnatural aura. A shadowy hue clung to him, barely visible but unmistakable to someone attuned to the Seer's intuition. It pulsed with grief. Heavy. Lingering. Old.
The clues had been there: the reckless charge into battle, the excessive drinking, the vacant, almost defiant demeanor. But this… this confirmed it.
"Mr. Eisen," Lumian said gently, "did you perhaps have someone you cared for... in the past?"
The bottle slipped from Eisen's fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud, rolling to a stop.
He didn't react.
Didn't even look at it.
His eyes were wide now, but empty—like someone staring into a memory too painful to name.
"How... how did you..." he murmured.
His voice cracked. Not from age... but from something raw and buried.
. . .
Regret.
. . .
Lumian let out a quiet sigh, gaze steady.
"Let me guess... was it a son? A daughter? Wife, perhaps?"
The shift was immediate.
With a speed that would've surprised even a seasoned chunin, Eisen surged forward. One moment he was seated; the next, he had Lumian by the collar, lifting him with raw, trembling strength.
"You punk..." he growled, spit flying from clenched teeth. "Say one more GODDAMN word and I'll make sure you never speak again."
But Lumian didn't flinch.
Didn't resist.
His expression remained calm—eyes focused, piercing through the man like he wasn't even looking at him, but through him. Into something deeper.
And then he spoke again, quiet but unwavering.
"So what is it?"
The words lingered in the air like smoke.
Eisen's fist rose high—shaking, furious. It cut the air with a sharp whoosh as it arced downward… and then froze. Inches from Lumian's face.
The silence that followed was heavy, electric.
Eisen's breathing was ragged. His eyes wide. And then, slowly, he let go.
He stepped back, stumbling slightly, and dropped to the floor again with a grunt. His hand reached for the fallen bottle and picked it up.
This time, he didn't drink.
He just stared into it, watching as the amber liquid sloshed around, forming bubbles that disappeared and collided with each other.
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After a long, dragging silence, the man finally spoke—his voice rough, low, and tired.
"Son."
The single word echoed through the room like a dropped stone in still water.
Lumian remained still, having his posture remain stagnant from the beginning of their exchange.
His gaze never wavered.
Then he spoke, voice quieter now, yet purposeful.
"Would you perhaps like to see him?"
Eisen grunted, staring down into the bottle like it might offer an answer. After a moment, he took a long sip and let the silence stretch again.
"You brat..." he muttered. "You're not even strong enough to put a scratch on me..."
Lumian chuckled softly, shaking his head with a small, knowing smile.
"I'm not talking about death, Mr. Eisen. I have other methods. But if you truly want to see him... I need you to cooperate with me."
Eisen's eyes flicked up, searching the boy's face. There was no mockery in his expression. No arrogance. Just calm certainty. A presence far too still for someone his age.
Slowly, the blacksmith set the bottle down beside him.
Then, with a single audible burp, he pushed himself up from the floor and stood tall—less wobbly now, the edge of drunkenness fading beneath something older. Something heavier.
"Alright, kid..." he muttered, his voice quieter.
. . .
"Let's see what you've got."
. . .
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"Alright, Mr. Eisen... I want you to slowly relax your body—but don't fall asleep just yet."
The two of them were now upstairs in Eisen's bedroom. It was a cramped space, cluttered with old tools, worn books, and faded pictures that hadn't been dusted in years. The bed itself was far too large for someone Eisen's size making it a almost comical image if one were to take a picture.
Lumian pulled out a silver pendant from his back pocket and hovered it above Eisen's figure.
"I want you to imagine your loved one. The colors of his eyes.... The shape of his face.... And the figure of his body."
He waited as he presumed that the man followed his instructions.
Lumian sighed before speaking again.
"Now try to keep that image in your head before you fall asleep."
After a while he heard snoring confirming that he followed his orders.
He let the pendant dangle over the man for a bit.
Then with his right arm holding it, he very carefully formed a hand sign with his left hand.
. . .
What Lumian was about to do, was something that ordinary Seers couldn't do back in Lord of the mysteries. They could, yes, see visions of their clients.... However, their clients weren't able to see the same visions.
Lumian was going to use the divination powers of a Seer, to look at the image of his son in the man's mind and try to create a realistic projection that would appear in the man's dreams using Genjutsu.
Although he had never used it before, he counted on his talent for Genjutsu and his abnormally high spirituality to do the jutsu successfully.
Lumian sighed before activating the jutsu.
He hoped this would work...
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*Clang*
*Clang*
*Clang*
When did it begin...
That sound....
*Clang*
*Clang*
*Clang*
. . .
Ah, yes...
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It started in his childhood.
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"What is this, Dad?"
The hammer was almost too big for his small hands. Its head was wide, iron-plated, aged with soot and time. The handle was smooth where it had been held a thousand times before.
A man with a tall frame and soot-streaked face crouched beside him.
"This..." he said, resting the hammer in the boy's arms, "is my heart. And now I'm giving it to you."
Eisen stared in awe at the weight in his hands, not quite understanding the meaning—yet feeling it.
His father chuckled, lifting the boy onto his broad shoulders.
"Let me show you my body... and the place I belong."
They entered the forge. Smoke. Sparks. Firelight.
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The hammer became his life. And the Anvil was his resolve.
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"Hey Eisen, you coming?"
A voice rang out behind him. A teammate, half-dressed in flak armor, clearly ready for another mission.
Eisen didn't answer.
He didn't even look up.
The iron glowed orange beneath his tongs, and he shaped it slowly—precisely. One breath at a time.
"Tch... leave him be," another voice said. "He's always near that damned fire. When we're not fighting, he's always doing this....."
They left.
Eisen stayed.
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The Furnace was his only love. When he came home, he would embrace it.
However, on that day.... Steel met flesh.
He met her.
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"Hello?"
A woman walked into the shop.
She had hair as white as lilacs. Her face shone brighter than any fire that he smelted iron with.
Her eyes were as amber as the furnace.
She walked up to the counter's display.
"You make these?" she asked, eyes sparkling as she lifted a kunai.
"I do."
She smiled.
Her smile lingered, soft and curious.Not forced. Not flirtatious.Just... genuine.
"They feel balanced. Not like the ones they give us at the armory."
Eisen blinked. She was a kunoichi?
"You're a shinobi?" he asked, trying to sound neutral—though his voice held a rare flicker of interest.
She nodded, brushing a lock of snow-white hair behind her ear."Temporary stationing. I don't usually come this far out into the Land of Fire."
He didn't answer immediately. His hands were still blackened from the forge, soot caught in the creases of his skin. He glanced at them, then at her pale ones, tracing the smooth steel of the kunai like it was art—not a weapon.
"That kunai... I didn't make it for killing," he said quietly.
She tilted her head.
"Then what did you make it for?"
A long pause.
Eisen looked away, back at the smoldering forge behind him.
"To last."
She didn't say anything right away.
Then she placed it back down carefully.
"Well," she said with a warm, ember-like smile, "that's rarer than killing."
She turned to leave.
"Wait," he said before he could stop himself.
She looked back, white hair catching the firelight.
"Your name?"
She smiled wider.
"Fern."
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He abandoned the forge and his life.
He had a new heart.
One made out of flesh.
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"Neh, Eisen…"
He no longer held the hammer.
Now he held the flesh of the one he came to love.
His wife smiled.
"What should we name him?"
Her belly bulged as she sat gently in the rocking chair, the wood creaking softly beneath her.
Eisen paused, lost in thought, then shook his head with a small grunt.
Smiling at his usual quiet demeanor, she chuckled and gently ran her hands across her stomach.
"I have a name in mind… want to hear it?"
Eisen nodded.
"...Stark," she said softly. "I'd like to name him Stark."
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But Eisen was foolish to think that flesh could last longer than steel.
And his new heart… crumbled.
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He sat on a chair in the hallway—outside the room.
The walls were white. Too white.He breathed in the sterile air, thick with disinfectant and dread.
Then the doors slid open with a whisper.
Eisen rose immediately, eyes locked onto the doctor.
"I'm sorry," the doctor said quietly. "We did everything we could… but she didn't make it."
The words hit harder than the hammer that met steel.
Tears fell. Silent. Unstoppable.
. . .
Later, another nurse stepped out. She held a small bundle wrapped in a blanket.
"The baby survived," she said gently. "Would you like to see him?"
Eisen nodded, arms already out before he realized it.
They placed the child in his grasp—so fragile, so light.
He quietly stared at the boy. His cries rang out..... but they met a wall of iron.
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He was guilty of everything that he had done.....
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"Hey, Daddy! Can I play with the others?"
Stark tugged eagerly on his father's calloused hand as they passed a park, where children darted through the playground, laughing in the golden light. His eyes were wide with hope—the kind only children carry.
Eisen glanced down at him, jaw clenched, eyes hard. He didn't stop walking.
The boy's grin faltered. His hand loosened its grip.
"I told you," Eisen said, voice rough and tired, "you're coming with me to the forge."
"But Dad—!"
"No."
He gripped Stark's wrist—firm, not violent, but unyielding. The boy twisted slightly, resisting in silence, small sniffles escaping as he blinked back tears.
Eisen didn't look at him. He just pulled the boy along, down the dusty road, past the sound of laughter, toward the furnace's roar.
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He could've said something that day...
Just one word.
Anything.
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Stark was older now—thinner in the face, taller in the shoulders.
He stood quietly in the doorway, the late sun behind him casting his shadow into the forge.
Eisen kept hammering. The hiss of quenched steel and the rhythmic clang of metal drowned the room.
"Hey, Dad…" Stark said, voice careful. "I'm heading out. Mission near the Suna border. Shouldn't be more than three days."
Eisen didn't look up.
Didn't pause.
Didn't answer.
Stark waited—just a moment longer.
Then turned and walked away.
His footsteps faded, soft against the wood floor.
And the hammer kept falling.
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Until it was too late.
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Eisen looked up, wiping the back of his forearm across his brow. His skin glistened with sweat, the forge's heat still clinging to him like a second skin. The hammer rested heavy in his grip, its head cooling in the air.
At the entrance stood a figure—tall, still.
A man clad in maroon and white robes, the flames embroidered along the hem swaying slightly in the wind. On his head sat a wide-brimmed hat, the kanji for Fire clearly marked on the front.
The Third Hokage.
Eisen's grip tightened instinctively. He quickly stepped forward, bowing low, soot clinging to his clothes and beard.
"Lord Hokage… to what do I owe—?"
He stopped.
Hiruzen had bowed.
Not deeply—but enough. Enough that Eisen's voice caught in his throat.
The Hokage raised his head, his expression carved from solemn stone.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, the words like ash. "Your son, Stark… was killed during a mission near the Suna border. Ambushed by rogue shinobi. We… recovered his remains."
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then—
Clang.
The hammer slipped from Eisen's hand and hit the ground with a dull metallic thud.
He staggered, then collapsed to his knees.
His hands trembled.
His breath hitched.
He didn't speak.
Couldn't.
Hiruzen stood their somberly, lowering his voice.
"He was brave… to the very end. A hero of the Hidden Leaf. His name will be etched on the Memorial Stone, alongside those who gave their lives for the village."
But the words—though heartfelt—washed over Eisen like rain on iron. Distant. Powerless.
He stared at the floor, unmoving.
Then—his shoulders began to shake.
At first, just barely. Then with increasing tremor, like a dam cracking.
The tears that hadn't come in years—tears buried beneath ash, steel, and silence—returned.
And in that moment, the forge master who replaced his flesh with steel…
Became flesh once more.
Because only flesh could cry.
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*Gasp*
Eisen jolted upright, breath sharp in his throat.
He was standing—somehow—in the old armory. The forge roared behind him, casting flickering shadows along the walls. The heat licked his skin, just like it had in the days of old. In his calloused hands, he clutched a familiar weight:
A hammer.
His hammer.
"What the..."
Confusion wrinkled his brow. His heart pounded as he looked around—this place, this moment—everything was too vivid to be memory, too strange to be real.
. . .
Then he saw it.
. . .
A figure at the doorway.
Still. Quiet.
And unmistakable.
His breath caught in his chest.
It was Stark.
Standing there exactly as he had the day before he left—those same amber eyes, his mother's eyes, watching silently.
CLANG
The hammer slipped from Eisen's hand and hit the floor with a metallic crash, echoing through the forge.
He didn't hesitate.
He ran.
Heavy boots thudding against the stone floor, armor plates creaking. His arms wrapped around the boy in a desperate, crushing embrace.
He clutched his son as though the world itself might tear him away again.
And he wept.
No restraint, no composure—just raw, unfiltered sobs wracking his frame as his knees buckled. He buried his face in the boy's shoulder, trembling.
Words trembled on his tongue.
But what could he say?
What words could mend years of silence? Of guilt?
He pulled back just enough to look at him. Stark didn't speak. He simply stared back, his expression unreadable, calm—almost serene.
He didn't need to say anything.
Because Eisen finally did.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, barely more than a whisper.
His voice cracked, but it didn't matter.
That was all he could give.
All he needed to say.
And in that moment—in that fragile stillness—they stood together, unmoving.
The father who had lost everything…
And the son who had waited, even in memory.
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Lumian sighed softly as he released the jutsu, lowering his hand and letting the pendant go still.
The room returned to its quiet stillness—faint creaks of the old wooden house, the distant crackle of the shop's forge below.
Eisen remained motionless on the bed, a thin line of tears sliding down the sides of his face.
Then, slowly, his eyes opened.
He blinked against the faint light seeping through the window. His breath was steady, but there was a hollowness in his gaze—as though he'd just returned from somewhere far, far away.
Eisen sat up without a word and ran a hand across his face, wiping away the moisture.
For a while, he didn't speak. Neither did Lumian.
Then, finally, the man looked up at the boy with a quiet intensity.
"…Thank you," he said, voice rough.
Lumian simply nodded. He didn't smile. He didn't offer any words. There was nothing to say that could add to what had already passed.
Eisen rose to his feet, each motion slow and deliberate. He walked to the door, his steps heavier than they had been before.
His hand rested on the handle, but he didn't turn it right away.
"I'll be heading to the hospital," he muttered, his tone lighter now, tinged with a weary dryness. "Just so that gal doesn't come pounding on my door again."
He paused.
Still facing the door, not turning around.
"I know that was Genjutsu," he said, his voice softer now. "But I thank you for allowing me to see him one last time..... For allowing me to say goodbye..."
A few heartbeats passed.
"If you ever need anything," he added, "you'll find me in the shop."
Eisen stood there for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on the floor.
Then he opened the door and stepped out, letting it close quietly behind him.
. . .
. . .
Lumian watched the door click shut behind Eisen, the quiet thud echoing softly in the room.
He kept his gaze there for a moment longer and let the silence settle.
Then, with a long exhale, he leaned back into the old wooden chair, its frame creaking beneath him.
Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the silver pendant and turned it over once in his fingers before slipping it back into place.
"Damn… I'm exhausted…" he muttered, rubbing at his temples.
His head tilted back, eyes fluttering closed as the weight of the effort finally hit him. Mental strain, chakra fatigue, and the raw emotion of what he'd just helped uncover—all of it wrapped around him like a heavy blanket.
He shifted to get more comfortable, folding his arms behind his head.
"…The geezer won't mind," he mumbled to himself, already drifting.
And in that warm, quiet room, with the faint scent of soot and old wood lingering in the air, Lumian let himself rest—just for a bit.
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(Author's note:)
And End!
Writing this story took some time but I was able to finish it.
Did you get the name references?
As always make sure to leave a comment or a review on this book.
Thank you.... and POWER STONES!!!!!