Darkness stretched endlessly before him. The only sound was the howling wind and relentless rain. The only sensation—bone-chilling cold.
The fleeting sense of security brought on by man-made shelter vanished in the face of the storm, swallowed by the blackness. Darkness so complete that it distorted the silence of the deserted village, cloaking it in an eerie atmosphere.
Amano Ren crept along the wall, his fingers trailing the surface until they suddenly stopped—his hand met a smooth, cold windowpane. There was no dust on the glass, but that didn't prove anything.
His small, dirt-streaked fingers groped blindly in the dark. Finding a crack, he pried gently—and to his surprise, the window wasn't locked. Then again, it made sense. This place had clearly been abandoned in haste.
After opening the window, Ren realized, somewhat awkwardly, that in his current weakened state, climbing through it was impossible. So he had no choice but to continue feeling his way along the wall. After a while, he finally found a door leading inside.
By now, the night rain had intensified. Even the extended eaves designed to shield the house from heavy storms were useless against such a downpour. The rain spouted through drainage pipes, creating a rhythmic racket. The spot where Ren had been sheltering was already soaked.
Rumble...
A brilliant arc of lightning slashed through the sky, momentarily illuminating everything. In that brief flash, Ren saw the house clearly—a simple, ordinary residence, sparsely furnished.
Taking advantage of the intermittent flashes of lightning, he shut the window and found a box of matches and some paper. He gathered a wooden stool and a few wooden utensils to use as kindling and lit a fire.
He knew it was risky to make light in such a strange, unfamiliar place, but he had no choice. Without warmth, he wouldn't survive the night.
As the fire crackled to life, Ren finally felt a bit of long-lost warmth, and with it, some of the fear that had been gnawing at him began to fade. By firelight, he searched the house—there wasn't a scrap of food, but the kitchen still had intact cookware. At least he was able to boil a pot of water.
What puzzled him was that the furniture showed no sign of dust and was unusually messy, suggesting someone had lived here recently—only to flee suddenly for unknown reasons.
"Where… am I?" he muttered, staring blankly into the fire.
Why was he here? What was this place? Could he ever go back?
Questions pierced his mind like a thousand needles. If not for the hardships he'd endured growing up, he might never have managed to even stand upon waking. It was his will—and the surprising resilience of his malnourished body—that kept him moving.
Exhausted both mentally and physically, Ren curled up beside the fire and slowly drifted into sleep. When he woke, it was already morning, though the rain outside hadn't let up in the slightest.
His stomach growled. He was weak. If he didn't find food soon, he would starve.
He found something resembling a raincoat and slipped it on, then stepped into the curtain of rain outside.
There was no one around, so breaking into empty homes weighed lightly on his conscience. But house after house yielded nothing—no food, no supplies. Despair began to set in.
"Everyone left in such a hurry... not even scraps of food remain. Why?" Ren muttered as he walked, frowning.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted two iron trash bins at the corner of the street. Without hesitation, he approached them.
"Maybe here…"
He lifted the lid and tipped the bin over. A wave of stench rolled out, but he didn't even flinch. Calmly, he crouched and sifted through the reeking filth.
Unbeknownst to him, two figures had stopped several hundred meters away, watching him—a man and a woman.
The woman was young and strikingly beautiful, with long blonde hair and warm brown eyes. A forehead protector with a leaf-shaped emblem was tied across her brow. Despite her beauty, the armor she wore added a fierce and commanding presence.
The man beside her also wore armor, his long black hair contrasting sharply with his pale skin. What stood out the most, though, were his golden, slit-pupiled eyes—and the faint, almost serpentine makeup stretching from his eyelids to his nose. He radiated an eerie, inhuman coldness.
These two were none other than Orochimaru and Tsunade, returning to the Hidden Leaf after the war.
"Another war orphan?" Orochimaru muttered coldly, staring at Ren's back. He reached into his tool pouch and drew a black kunai.
"Better off dead than living like that."
His tone was flat as he stepped forward, ready to end it.
"Orochimaru, he's just a child. And he has no chakra," Tsunade said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
"Heh." Orochimaru sneered and glanced at her. "So what?" With a shrug, he shook her hand off.
Seeing him move with intent, Tsunade's frown deepened—but she didn't stop him. After witnessing so much death and spilling so much blood herself, even her heart had hardened. And besides, this wasn't the Land of Fire. This wasn't Konoha.
Ren, meanwhile, was oblivious to the figure creeping toward him with a kunai. He was focused on a scrappy, mud-colored dog a few steps in front of him—clearly hungry, and clearly unwilling to share the garbage. The growl in its throat claimed ownership over the trash heap.
"How long has it been…" Ren whispered, staring at the mutt. "Back then, I was the same… fighting for scraps others would throw away without a second thought."
He picked up a rock and locked eyes with the dog. His gaze was steady, emotionless.
The dog stiffened. It sensed danger. But hunger kept it from backing down. Had Ren not knocked over the trash bin, it wouldn't have had a shot at surviving either. Its growl grew louder and more aggressive.
"Sorry," Ren whispered.
The growling didn't faze him. He hadn't picked up the rock to scare the dog. Compared to the garbage, what lay before him was better—fresher.
He didn't hesitate.
The stone came crashing down.
In less than fifteen seconds, after a series of pained yelps, the small dog was dead.
Ren replaced the hood that had fallen off in the struggle, wiped the rain from his face, and picked up the limp, skinny body. With fire at his disposal, he had no intention of eating it raw.
Orochimaru watched the entire scene from a distance, eyes glinting with fascination.
"Heh… interesting…"
He slipped the kunai back into his pouch, eyes following Ren's retreating figure. He had expected the boy to either drive the dog away or share the trash with it—not kill it outright for food.
If Ren had been a shinobi, this wouldn't have surprised him. But what intrigued Orochimaru was the detail that Ren still held the bloodied rock in his hand. Even after killing the dog, he hadn't let go.
That meant he'd grown alert to danger—sensed the presence watching him—and instinctively clung to the only weapon he had. Before this, Ren hadn't been carrying anything at all.
It was as if, in that brief moment, Ren's awareness of the world… evolved.
Or perhaps, in just a heartbeat—he'd grown.
Orochimaru briefly considered taking the boy back to the village—but quickly dismissed the idea.
The war was over, yes, but tensions still simmered. No one would accept an outsider, no matter how harmless he seemed.
Still…
He stood silently in the rain, snake-like pupils fixed on Ren.
If he couldn't bring the boy in—then the only option left was to eliminate him.
"Orochimaru."
Tsunade had seen it all as well. She was startled, and she could sense the growing killing intent emanating from him.
As Ren made his way back toward the house, he suddenly felt a chill—a malevolent gaze boring into his back. He shivered and spun around to look.
"People?"
Seeing them clearly, he relaxed—just a bit. But his wariness flared immediately. That man's cold, hostile eyes instantly marked him as dangerous.