A silhouette stood still on the hilltop, pressed against the red glow of a full moon hanging low in a cloudless, star-lit sky.
His head tilted upward, as if leaning into the infinite expanse—bright, yet cloaked in darkness. A few pale clouds drifted lazily past, carried by silent wind currents.
Behind him, trees shed their golden-yellow leaves, their branches already sprouting delicate hints of new green.
He wore a blueish-black robe that cloaked his body from shoulders to feet, fastened at the neck but left open enough to reveal flashes of his chest and abdomen as it fluttered in the breeze.
Beneath, a loose white shirt with a few undone buttons danced against a pair of dark trousers, messily belted.
His face, still young—barely past his teens—was framed by overgrown black hair, tousled by the wind.
But it was his eyes—piercing and blue—that gave him away. They stared at something distant, desperate and waiting, like they'd been searching the sky for far too long.
Then he saw it.
A faint shimmer—barely a flicker—broke the stillness of the stars. It pulsed once, then again, like a distant heartbeat in the sky.
His breath caught.
The shimmer grew brighter, sharper. No longer just light—it was motion. A streak.
Like a tear ripping through the fabric of the heavens.
It wasn't falling.
It was arriving.
The boy took a slow step forward, eyes locked. The wind whispered through the trees behind him, but he didn't flinch. And somewhere deep within him, something stirred.
He whispered to the sky, not as a question—but a memory:
"So, the prophecy was true, you finally came…"
The sky ruptured.
The streak of violet fire screamed across the firmament, then plunged.
A second of silence.
And then—impact.
BOOM.
The hill shook beneath him, a deep tremor rising from the earth's core. The trees behind him bent with the shockwave, shedding a cascade of golden and green leaves into the air like fragments of time.
A blinding flash swallowed the base of the distant valley. The entire horizon lit in ghostly white, then crimson, before dying into a pool of smoke and ash.
The wind was no longer gentle. It howled—alive, twisted with static and energy. His robe snapped and fluttered violently behind him like wings made of night.
Birds screamed out of the forests, flapping frantically into the sky, fleeing something ancient and wrong.
Leaves burst into the air. The ground moaned. A ring of scorched earth expanded outward like ripples in a dark sea.
Still, he didn't move.
The explosion hadn't fazed him.
His eyes narrowed.
The meteor struck the river like a silent scream.
For a second, the world paused — no birdsong, no wind, just steam rising in hissing spirals where the fire met water.
Then came the aftershock.
The river convulsed, rippling outwards with tidal force. A wave erupted, tall as trees, swallowing the banks and dragging twisted logs into its maw. The air grew heavy — thick with heat, smoke, and the sharp scent of scorched earth.
Nearby trees snapped like matchsticks, their bark seared black. Animals scattered in panicked bursts, vanishing into the undergrowth. A flock of birds, dazed, circled once before dropping like ash.
The wind arrived last — not gentle, not natural. It howled in spirals, tugging at the boy's clothes, pushing against his chest like a hand trying to keep him away.
He stood frozen, eyes locked on the glowing crater now pulsing in the river's heart.
It was no ordinary rock.
It beat — once.
A low thump, like a second heartbeat inside the earth.
And then the tides began to rise again... Then the tides began to rise again...
Rushing toward him with a roar, a maelstrom of debris, mud, and splintered trees surging in its wake. The impact had disturbed more than just water — it had shaken the land itself, cracked the riverbed and forced water to spill beyond its bounds.
The boy stood on a narrow cliffside ledge, barely twenty feet above the river's edge — Now, that ledge shuddered beneath him.
The surge slammed into the base of the cliff, climbing higher with every heartbeat, clawing at the rock with muddy fingers. Stones crumbled loose under his feet, tumbling into the chaos below.
He took a step back — "Too late", he whispered.
The edge gave way.
For a split second, he was in the air — not falling, but suspended, like time refused to move with him.
Then, from behind — a hand.
Firm. Cold. Unfamiliar.
Within his blink of an eye — (Flassshh...)
He was just in an inn, surrounded by cracked wooden walls and the dull scent of damp earth and candle wax. Rain whispered against the old roof above, and the world outside felt distant.
Now, standing before the boy was a tall, unwavering figure—his presence almost spectral in the dim light. A sleek black hoodie shrouded his head, casting shadows over a smooth, expressionless mask that concealed his identity entirely. The mask itself bore no markings, yet something about its stillness felt unnerving, as if it watched without eyes. His stance was calm, controlled.
He took a locket from the ground — a simple silver piece, cold to the touch.
"You are useful indeed", he muttered calmly.
With a sudden swift of expression—anger flaring in his eyes—the tall man looked toward the agile-looking teen, his robe draped in moisture.
He had just retrieved his locket from the ground—calm at first—but the moment his gaze met the boy's, something shifted.
"Haven't I told you, Genzou—never go out there alone at Tojinbo Cliffs!"
The masked man's voice cracked with urgency.
"We can't afford to lose anyone else..." he rasped, a violent cough breaking his sentence.
"Not now... not again."
"I had to see for myself—whether that prophecy in your old book was real… the one about the Ōtsutsuki, Master Roku", said Genzou, his voice low but unwavering.
Suddenly, Roku dropped to his knees, his mask fell off his face to ground. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, and each breath came faster, sharper, trying to make sense what was happening to him.
"Master!! Are you alright? What happened!", said Genzou, rushed towards him and trying to get hold of his arms to help him stand. When suddenly from backdoors a wavering yet promising sound echoed ------
"Roku-kun," he said gently, yet with undeniable authority, "You used a space-time jutsu, didn't you? Perhaps something akin to the Flying Raijin… It's taken a toll on your body. You've burned through nearly all of your chakra."
"Deku….sama....its…its… ok" stammered Roku.
"I see, so he used Teleportation something technique….hmm that makes sense how I just travelled meters of distance in just a blink of an eye in that chaos." Genzou thought as he tried to make sense of the event.
From the shadowed doorway stepped a man cloaked in a long, dark olive-green haori—worn and weather-stained, its hem frayed from years of travel. Underneath, a fitted charcoal tunic wrapped close to his body with tightly bound grey sashes across his waist and forearms, each one marked with tiny symbols—fūinjutsu, barely visible unless one knew where to look.
His hair was shoulder-length and greyish, streaked with silver near the temples, and tied back into a simple low knot. His face was lined but composed, and his eyes—pale like distant lightning—burdened by old age and tiredness yet unwavering and still.
He turned his gazed towards Genzou —who was holding his master by slipping his hands through his shoulders trying to build support and posture.
"Genzou," he said, eyes briefly flicking toward the slumped figure of Roku, "take your master inside. He shouldn't be on his feet—not in this state."
"Understood," he said quietly, nodding with resolve.
The silver locket—still clenched in the masked man's hand—reflected the flickering candlelight as Deku-sama turned away from the door, his expression unreadable.
"Whatever came from the sky tonight," Deku-sama murmured, more to himself than anyone else, "wasn't just a star. It was a signal."
Genzou glanced back, brows furrowed as he safely rested his master inside the room in the back.
"A signal… to who?"
"To mankind, Genzou.
To warn them.
The Ōtsutsuki have stirred again—and this time, they're not coming to observe or harvest.
They're coming to claim."
He turned toward the window, where the rain now fell in sheets against the cracked glass, looking towards the moon strangely.
Deku-sama's expression hardened.
"Tell me, Genzou…"
"Doesn't the moon seem… different lately?"
"What exactly are you trying to say, Deku-sama?" Genzou asked, his voice low but steady.
His cold eyes, until now distant and guarded, sharpened—beginning to reflect a flicker of curiosity… or perhaps unease.
Deku-sama didn't answer immediately. Instead, his vented gaze remained fixed on the moon, now peeking through a break in the clouds—too red, too still, too shiny with a faint glow encircling the moon like a ring .
While he thought, a slow breath escaped him. —
"Are you alive, Toneri…?"
"I hope your attempt to give us time… doesn't go in vain."
Deku-sama turned from the window, the last flicker of moonlight fading behind the clouds. His expression, though weathered and tired, had regained its steel.
"Get some rest, Genzou," he said, his voice calm but resolute.
"From tomorrow onward… things won't be so forgiving."
Genzou gave a small nod and disappeared into the back rooms, the old wooden door creaking shut behind him.
Deku-sama remained still, standing by the window, his figure bathed in the soft flicker of candlelight. Outside, the forest beyond the inn lay cloaked in mist and rain—silent, watchful.
His eyes narrowed, locked on something far out in the wilds—unmoving, yet stirring his instincts.
Then—
CRACK.
A thunderclap tore through the night sky, rattling the old beams of the inn. A searing flash of white light followed, illuminating the world for an instant—
—and with it, Deku-sama's face.
His calm expression had shifted. His eyes had changed.
His expression had changed. No longer calm—he was frowning.
The veins around his temples bulged and spread, a pale network blooming outward from his tightening gaze.
His white eyes glowed faintly, scanning through storm, trees, and darkness beyond.
"Byakugan…", he whispered while making a tightened ,familiar hand sign with one hand.
With that—
Light fades.