The Hidden Leaf Village burned under a sky torn apart by fire and fury. The Nine-Tails, Kurama, loomed like a demon god, its crimson chakra a suffocating weight that crushed the air itself. Each swing of its nine tails sent shockwaves through the village, splintering homes and hurling shinobi into the night. Ren Kisaragi, a scrawny seven-year-old with tangled dark hair and hazel eyes wide with primal terror, huddled behind a shattered stone wall, his small body shaking so violently he thought it might break. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one thick with ash and the acrid sting of dread. I'm going to die again, his mind wailed, the thought a relentless echo of his past life's end—screeching tires, shattering glass, then darkness. This isn't my world. I'm not supposed to be here.
In his previous life, Ren was a 17-year-old high schooler, killed in a car crash while watching Naruto fight clips on his phone—Hashirama and Madara reshaping the earth with cataclysmic power, Naruto and Sasuke clashing against tailed beasts in a storm of chakra, their final battle carving a valley into ruin. He wasn't a superfan; the clips were just fleeting glimpses of a world he barely understood, giving him names—Hashirama, Madara, Naruto, Sasuke—and a vague sense of their strength, but no context, no plot. Now, reborn as a Kisaragi clan child from a remote Konoha outpost, he was thrust into the night of Naruto Uzumaki's birth, when Kurama's rampage threatened to erase everything. His clan's Spark Release, a volatile kekkei genkai fusing fire and lightning, was a power he could barely touch without burning himself. The memory of his death haunted him, a cold knot in his chest that whispered, You'll die again. You're not strong enough.
Ren's trembling hands clutched his tattered tunic, the Kisaragi flame emblem fraying under his fingers, barely visible in the flickering firelight. His heart pounded, each beat a scream of fragility. I know this night. Minato seals Kurama into Naruto. The village survives. But me? His isekai knowledge was a fractured mosaic—epic battles, a spinning blue orb called Rasengan, but no map to survival. What if I change something? What if I'm not in the story? Another explosion shook the ground, and he flinched, curling tighter, his mind spiraling into panic. I'm just a kid. A dead kid in a kid's body. I'm not a hero.
"Move, kid!" A scarred jonin yanked him back as a flaming timber crashed where he'd been hiding. The man's soot-streaked face was hard, his voice cutting through the chaos. "You trying to die? Get to the shelters!" Ren's mouth opened, but his throat was locked, his voice swallowed by the memory of his last moments—pain, darkness, gone. The jonin shoved him toward an evacuation path, muttering, "Kisaragi brats, always trouble," before vanishing into the fray. Ren stumbled forward, legs wobbling like they'd betray him, his vision blurring as Kurama's roar clawed into his soul. I'm not a shinobi. I'm not anything.
His hands sparked faintly, tiny flecks of light dancing across his fingers—his Spark Release, a power his clan elders had tried to teach him in their small settlement. He'd only managed weak embers, once setting his own sleeve ablaze, and now the sparks made his stomach churn with dread. This is supposed to save me? It's going to kill me. But as he stared at the sparks, a strange warmth stirred in his core, a pulsing energy unlike anything from his old life. Chakra, he thought, his fear momentarily eclipsed by awe. It was alive, fluid, like a river inside him, wild and untamed. He clenched his fists, the sparks flaring briefly before fading. It's mine. But how do I use it? The sensation was thrilling yet terrifying, a mystery he didn't have time to unravel.
Dodging panicked villagers and splintered debris, Ren collided with a girl his age. Her chestnut hair, streaked with a bold red line, was tied in a messy ponytail, and her green eyes blazed with defiance, untouched by the chaos around her. Her tunic was smudged with dirt, but she stood tall, like the world's collapse was just a challenge. "Hey, watch it, dummy!" she snapped, grabbing his arm to keep him from falling. Her grip was firm, almost painful, and she sized him up with a scowl. "You're that Kisaragi kid, right? What's with you, shaking like a wet puppy?"
Ren's voice caught, his face pale as ash. "I-I'm Ren," he stammered, barely audible over Kurama's distant roar. His eyes flicked to the beast's silhouette, its chakra a red haze that made his skin crawl. She's not scared. How is she not scared? His mind flashed to his death, the pain, the void. "I don't… I don't want to die," he whispered, the words spilling out, raw and unguarded.
The girl raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but curious. "Mika Yuzuka," she said, her tone sharp but not cruel. "Konoha born and raised. And you're not dying tonight, spark boy, so quit whimpering." She tugged him toward a stone shelter carved into a hillside, her steps quick and sure. Mika was a shinobi's daughter, raised on tales of wind-style jutsu and Konoha's resilience, and even at seven, she carried a fire Ren envied. She'd heard whispers of the Kisaragi clan's "sparkly chakra" and figured this trembling kid was more liability than legend—yet his wide, terrified eyes tugged at something in her.
Inside the shelter, villagers huddled in the dim glow of flickering lanterns, their whispers a tense hum of fear. Ren sank into a corner, hugging his knees, his hands still sparking faintly. The walls trembled with each of Kurama's roars, and every shake sent a fresh wave of dread through him. This isn't a clip. This is real. I could die for real. His isekai knowledge was useless—flashes of fights, a spinning Rasengan, but no guide to surviving this night. Chakra was his only hope, but it felt alien, like trying to tame a storm. He closed his eyes, focusing on that warm pulse, letting it flow through him. It flickered, unsteady, but it was there, alive, whispering possibilities. This is chakra. It's… incredible. For a moment, his fear softened, replaced by a spark of wonder at the energy within him.
Mika plopped beside him, her ponytail swinging. "You're freaking out worse than my cat during a storm," she said, poking his arm. "What's your deal? You're a shinobi kid, right? Act like one." Her voice was teasing, but her eyes lingered on his sparking hands, a glint of interest breaking through her bravado.
"I'm not—" Ren's voice cracked, and he buried his face in his knees. "I'm not supposed to be here," he mumbled, too quiet for her to hear. How could he explain he was a stranger in this world, that the thought of dying again made his chest feel like it was caving in? "I just don't want to mess this up. Or… die."
Mika snorted, but her expression softened slightly. "Nobody's dying tonight. The Hokage's out there—my mom says he's the Yellow Flash, unstoppable." She paused, then grinned, a flash of warmth in the dark shelter. "Besides, you've got that spark thing. Maybe you're not totally useless." She leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Just don't set me on fire, okay, spark boy?"
Ren's lips twitched, a faint smile cutting through his dread. She's not scared. Maybe I don't have to be. He glanced at his hands, the sparks dancing like fireflies. Chakra… it's like nothing I've ever felt. He focused again, feeling the pulse grow slightly stronger, a warmth that pushed back the cold knot of fear. Maybe I can learn this. Maybe I can survive.
A violent tremor shook the shelter, and a woman screamed as dust rained from the ceiling. Mika grabbed Ren's hand, her bravado faltering for a heartbeat. "Stay close," she whispered, her voice tight but steady. Ren's heart raced, not just from the chaos but from the warmth of her hand, grounding him in the storm. He squeezed back, his dread still heavy but softened by her presence.
Outside, the sky flared gold, and a heavy silence fell. Ren's fragmented memories clicked: Minato's sealing Kurama. The Nine-Tails was gone, sealed into a newborn. Shaky cheers rose in the shelter, but Ren's eyes caught a chilling sight through a crack in the wall—a cloaked figure in the distance, its cold, calculating gaze fixed on the shelter, as if it saw him. A tattered scroll hung from its belt, marked with a faint, glowing symbol—a flame wreathed in lightning. That's not in the clips, Ren thought, his gut twisting. The Spark Covenant, a name he didn't yet know, had already found him.
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Please provide a single power stone per reader as it replenish everyday it will let me know that people are actually reading not just seeing the cover of the story.
Thank you.
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