Mastering the Elements - Chapter - 61

The candle flame flickered in the draft, painting the small, dark room in pale orange light. The walls were bare stone, damp with underground chill. Itachi Pottaru sat at a narrow wooden table, hands folded neatly in front of him, listening to the ragged ex-mercenary across from him describe the same story he had heard in fragments across five hidden villages.

“A man,” the mercenary wheezed, rubbing his unshaven jaw. “Tall. Black cloak with red clouds. And that mask. Orange, with the one hole…like a whirlpool.”

Itachi’s gaze did not waver. “He calls himself Madara Uchiha.”

“That’s what he said, yeah,” the man rasped. “But I never believed it. Madara Uchiha’s been dead for generations. But this one—he moves like a ghost. Walks through walls. You think he’s gone—and he’s behind you.”

Itachi nodded once and slid a folded pouch of ryo across the table. The man snatched it up with shaking hands.

“Where did you last see him?”

“Amegakure,” the mercenary whispered, eyes darting. “Few months back. They say he’s always there—lurking in the rain. Sometimes he goes to meet Pain, sometimes he just…watches. The Ame shinobi don’t dare interfere.”

Amegakure.

The Hidden Rain. A village ruled by mystery—its borders closed, its streets always soaked in endless storms. A place where spies were as common as puddles, and secrets died faster than they were spoken aloud.

Itachi stood slowly, his cloak settling around his lean frame.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “Leave this country. You’ve spoken enough.”

He turned and stepped into the darkness beyond the door.


He didn’t return to Konoha right away. He walked alone through the moonlit fields, crossing hidden passes and quiet rivers until he reached a clearing where he could see the stars.

There, under a crooked pine tree, he unrolled a small sealing scroll. By lantern light, he wrote in precise, neat strokes:

Father—
I have confirmed repeated sightings of the masked man calling himself Madara. The locals refer to him as “Tobi.” He has been seen frequently inside Amegakure. I believe he has ties to its leadership.

My Rinnegan is ready. If required, I am confident I can engage him. But entering Amegakure without sanction is not possible—it would mean war. I await your counsel.

—Itachi

He sealed the scroll, pressed his palm to the markings, and sent it rippling into the secret channels between himself and the Pottaru Estate.


By dawn, he was already moving again. His cloak was pulled tight, and his mind was alive with questions he could not answer.

Amegakure.

If Tobi had ties to that village, he had allies more dangerous than mere mercenaries.

He could not fight that alone. Not yet.


The scroll appeared in a shimmer of pale light on Harry’s writing desk.

Harry picked it up without surprise. He read slowly, green eyes narrowing as he took in every word.

He had known this day would come. He just hadn’t expected it so soon.

His gaze drifted out the window, where Naruto was tracing Flying Thunder God seals in the courtyard, sweat streaking his bright hair. Not far off, Hinata and Midori were sparring beneath the early sun.

He thought of Itachi, walking alone in enemy lands.

And he felt the familiar chill of foreboding.


He took fresh parchment and dipped his brush in ink:

Itachi—
Your caution is wise. Amegakure is not a place one enters lightly, even with the Rinnegan. For now, gather intelligence. Confirm what you can of Tobi’s movements. If he is meeting with Amegakure’s leadership, we must assume he is coordinating with Pain.

Do not engage without my instruction. You are not to risk yourself alone. Return home when your mission is complete.

If he is truly behind the Rain’s walls, this is no longer a hunt. It is a war. And we will prepare accordingly.

—Harry

He pressed the seal, sending the scroll back to Itachi in a burst of golden chakra.


In the silence that followed, Harry rested his hand on the desk, eyes closed.

The storm was gathering.

And soon, all of them would be called to stand against it.



Deep within the Forest of Death, where even seasoned Jōnin hesitated to tread, there was a place that no one in Konoha knew existed.

A clearing where the trees grew impossibly tall, their roots webbed in coils of ancient chakra. Where the air felt heavier, denser—alive.

Here, Harry Potaru had made his hidden sanctuary.

He called it the Garden Beyond Time.

At the heart of the clearing, wide beds of cultivated herbs spread like green quilts across the soil. Glowing mushrooms pulsed between rows of stalks with silver-tipped leaves. Strange blue vines snaked around wooden trellises.

And overhead, magical wards shimmered faintly—invisible to shinobi senses, their lattice woven of runes older than any jutsu. No Byakugan, no Sharingan, no sensor technique would ever detect this place.

Harry moved methodically between the rows, gloved hands brushing leaves with the tenderness of an old friend.

A simple moment—pulling weeds, harvesting blossoms—but beneath it was a purpose no one would ever guess.


He paused to examine a tall stalk crowned with pale flowers shaped like miniature bells. He plucked one, holding it up to the morning light.

Starshade.

A plant unknown in his old world. Its sap could reverse nerve damage in a matter of hours. He had only discovered it after weeks of searching the deep jungle beyond the Forest of Death.

He placed it gently into a woven basket already brimming with ingredients:

—Phoenix Root, for stabilizing dying chakra pathways.
—Emerald Thorn, an antidote to paralytic poisons.
—The silver-petaled Ghost Bloom, which glowed when mixed into healing potions.

And tucked among them were sprigs of Valerian, Aconite, and other plants that had come with him from Earth.


He straightened, exhaling slowly.

In the quiet, the weight he always carried settled over his shoulders:

He would not die here.

When the day came—and it would come—when his body failed or the world itself ended, he would not pass into the afterlife.

He would simply move on, pulled by the will of Death Herself to whatever corner of creation required him next.

He was the Master of Death.

A title he had never wanted.

But one he could never abandon.


He glanced over to the side of the garden, where a massive oak trunk—split open like a wound—revealed the entrance to his magical storage vault.

Inside were all the things he had invented:

—Sealed potions that could mend a heart in seconds.
—Scrolls detailing the runic matrices he had used to craft protective wards strong enough to withstand bijū chakra.
—Blueprints for weapons that no shinobi had ever imagined.

Because one day, whether by his will or not, he would vanish.

And when he did, he refused to leave nothing behind.


He walked into the vault, trailing fingers along rows of jars and boxes.

In the far corner stood an unassuming wooden chest, carved with the three Deathly Hallows—the mark that had haunted him since childhood.

Harry rested a hand on the lid.

I know you’re watching, he thought, not sure if he was addressing Death, or simply the quiet in his own mind.

You wouldn’t have sent me here without a reason.

He knew that reason now.

It was not simply to guide Naruto, or to start a new family, or to heal wounds no one else could heal.

It was to be here where the Black Zetsu roamed.

And when the celestial clans of the Ōtsutsuki arrived in their endless hunger for chakra.

He had seen it in the visions—the Ōtsutsuki descending like locusts, consuming worlds for their cursed fruit.

It was the kind of evil that Death could not abide, because it cheated endings themselves.

Planets, lives, entire histories erased—no birth, no death, just consumption.

And so Harry gathered.

He gathered every herb, every weapon, every spell he could remember.

Because when the Ōtsutsuki came…

He would stand in their path.


Outside, the first birds of morning began to call.

Harry stepped back into the garden, his basket in hand. He looked up through the canopy to the distant sky, where somewhere, unseen, the next threat was already moving closer.

He closed his eyes.

When that day arrived, he would be ready.

And if Death came to call, he would greet her not with fear—

—but with the quiet understanding of an old friend.



To most of Konoha, Harry Pottaru was a curiosity.

A man who rarely ventured far from his estate. A man who trained three children so diligently, yet never seemed to answer to any Hokage, any clan, any council.

A man who, from the outside, appeared content to sit in his garden or in the quiet rooms of the Pottaru household, eyes closed, palms resting on his knees.

They called it idleness.

They could not have been more wrong.


In reality, while his breathing slowed to a whisper, Harry’s consciousness stretched across worlds.

Through the Rinnegan, he reached beyond the barriers of this single reality—feeling for the subtle pulse of familiar chakra.

A thousand delicate threads wove through his awareness:

The glimmering lights of shinobi life force across the continent.

The cold, predatory aura of the masked man called Tobi, always hidden, always circling.

And far to the west, the storm-swallowed city of Amegakure, where a Rinnegan he did not recognize pulsed like a heartbeat in the darkness.

That was why he had never permitted Itachi to go there.

No matter how strong his son had become, he would not be sent against a wielder of the Rinnegan—not alone.


But even as he monitored this world, his perception drifted further.

Further still.

Past the soft blue of the skies.
Past the thin dark of the upper atmosphere.
Past the silence between stars.

Until he felt it—

A ripple of chakra so vast, so alien, it felt like the gravity of a black hole pressing against his mind.

Ōtsutsuki.


His breath caught.

Not here, but close—a neighboring planet, brimming with chakra like this one.

He opened his eyes slowly.

The garden around him was unchanged. The birds still sang. The breeze still rustled the leaves.

But everything had shifted.


When he rose and walked back to the house, Mikoto was sitting by the veranda, mending a torn sleeve from one of Naruto’s shirts. She looked up as he approached, sensing the weight in his steps.

“Harry?”

“I have to leave.”

She set the fabric aside, her hands trembling just a little.

“Is it…dangerous?”

He met her gaze, quiet and honest. “Yes.”

Footsteps sounded from the hall. Naruto came barreling in, trailed by Itachi, who looked equally concerned.

“Where are you going?” Naruto demanded, eyes wide. “We can come!”

“No.” Harry’s voice was steady but final. “This is not a mission either of you can share.”

“But—”

Itachi stepped forward, calm but resolute. “If it is that man, Tobi, I—”

“It’s not Tobi.” Harry’s gaze grew distant. “It is something older. A clan that predates your nations. The Ōtsutsuki.”

Even Itachi looked unsettled at the name, though he had never heard it spoken aloud before.


Mikoto stood, crossing the porch to rest her hand over Harry’s heart. “How long?”

“I don’t know.” He reached up to cover her hand with his own. “But I promise I will come back.”

Tsunade stepped out onto the porch then, one hand pressed to her round belly. “You’d better,” she said, her voice wavering. “Because if I have to give birth without you here, I swear by every ancestor, I will hunt you across the stars.”

He gave her a soft smile and inclined his head. “Then I will be quick.”

She tried to smile back but couldn’t hold it. Tears slipped down her cheeks.


Naruto clenched his fists. “You said we’d all train together. You said—”

“And you will.” Harry stepped close, resting a hand on his shoulder. “But you must stay here and protect this world. That is your place, Naruto.”

Slowly, Naruto’s hands dropped to his sides.

“…Okay,” he whispered.


Mikoto leaned in and kissed Harry, fierce and trembling. “Come home,” she said against his lips.

He touched her cheek gently. “Always.”


When he stepped back, the air around him began to shimmer.

The pupils of his eyes narrowed, becoming concentric circles. The Rinnegan flared in each iris, pale green chakra flickering around his shoulders like ghostly fire.

He pressed his palms together, and space itself twisted.

For a heartbeat, he looked at them all—Mikoto, Tsunade, Itachi, Naruto—and his gaze was full of quiet, unbreakable devotion.

Then he vanished—

—folding reality itself—

—and was gone.

Far, far beyond the sky, on a world bathed in teal light, a figure with skin as white as carved ivory looked up, as if sensing the flicker of Harry’s arrival.

Six tomoe rotated slowly around the alien’s Rinnegan.

The Ōtsutsuki’s mouth curled in a cold smile.