Part One – Voyage to the Rain
The ship cut slowly across the dark waters, its sails heavy under the cold wind. The survivors of the Uzumaki clan—children, teenagers, a handful of wounded adults—huddled in silence. Their eyes were hollow, their hearts broken, their bodies stained with soot and blood that even the ocean spray could not wash away.
Among them, Kaito sat with his back against the railing, his sword resting across his lap. He stared blankly at the horizon, where the morning sun bled into the sea. His mind replayed the night over and over: the flames devouring the village, the Patriarch's last stand, the screams, the chains, the blood.
"Why?" he thought bitterly. Why did this have to happen to us?The Uzumaki had always been neutral. They had not threatened the great nations. They had not started wars. They were healers, sealers, protectors of balance. So why… why did they want us destroyed?
The answer eluded him, leaving only a raw ache in his chest.
Beside him, Soka shifted uneasily, her crimson hair clinging to her damp cheeks. She had been watching him, worried by his silence. Finally, she whispered, "Kaito… you haven't said a word all day. You're scaring me."
Kaito blinked, dragging himself back from his spiraling thoughts. He forced a faint smile, though it felt brittle. "Sorry, Soka. I was… just thinking."
"About the village?" she asked gently.
He nodded, but then shook his head, brushing it off. "It doesn't matter right now. We have to focus on what comes next."
Soka studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Then… let's talk about that. What's next?"
At her words, Kaito's shoulders eased. For the first time since they had fled, he allowed himself to think of the future—not the past. They began to talk in hushed voices about training, about what they needed to do to survive in this new land.
Piece by piece, they shaped a plan.
Morning would be for physical training: running, push-ups, strengthening their young bodies.
At midday, they would practice Kenjutsu, sharpening Kaito's skill with the blade while teaching Soka basics.
After lunch, from 2:00 to 4:00, they would focus on chakra control, refining their reserves and practicing delicate manipulation.
Evening would be for Taijutsu sparring, honing their instincts in hand-to-hand combat.
At night, they would train their bloodline powers, experimenting with seals and attempting to touch the abilities hidden in their Uzumaki blood.
Finally, they would refine their chakra in meditation before bed.
The two spoke for hours, adjusting, debating, and even testing small portions of the routine on the deck of the ship. The other Uzumaki survivors occasionally glanced their way, and though none joined in, some took faint comfort in the sight of two children daring to look toward the future.
Days passed in this rhythm. And then, at last, the cry went up from the sailors:
"Land! Land ahead!"
Through the mist and falling rain, a jagged coastline appeared. Dark mountains, veiled by storm clouds, loomed over rivers and marshes. The Land of Rain. Amegakure.
Part Two – The Wilderness of Rain
The survivors disembarked. There were only twelve Uzumaki left—a pitiful remnant of a once-proud clan. After brief farewells, each family or group set off in different directions, seeking shelter, anonymity, or perhaps allies.
Kaito and Soka stayed together, walking into the dense forests that bordered the rivers. The rain never seemed to stop, dripping through leaves, soaking their hair, and chilling their bones. But they did not falter.
At first, survival was clumsy. They were children, after all. Kaito's first attempts at fishing ended with him drenched in cold water, while Soka laughed until her stomach hurt. But little by little, they learned.
They fashioned fishing spears from sharpened sticks, using chakra to steady their grip.
They learned to set traps for small animals, rabbits and birds that they skinned with trembling hands.
Soka gagged the first time she cut into a carcass, but Kaito steadied her, reminding her they needed to live. By the third day, she worked with grim determination.
Their hands toughened. Their reflexes sharpened.
They discovered how to use bark and vines to bind, how to shape crude tools. Kaito's strength allowed him to fell small trees, and together they began building a hut—rough, uneven, but theirs.
Every day, their training regimen continued alongside survival. Their muscles grew lean and strong. Their chakra control improved as they used it in daily tasks—channeling it to heat food, to harden their bodies, to sense each other in the rain.
They grew closer, too. Nights were long and filled with stories—memories of the village, of their families, of the Patriarch's stand. They comforted each other through nightmares, and in the silence after tears, they made promises to grow stronger.
Weeks turned into months. Their hut grew into a proper cabin, reinforced with wood and stone. They tanned animal hides for clothing, stitched with clumsy fingers that slowly grew deft. They ate fish roasted over fire, wild berries, and sometimes even venison when fortune smiled.
With every passing day, the weak children who had fled Uzushiogakure disappeared, replaced by hardened survivors. Their strikes grew sharper. Their stamina seemed endless, the famed vitality of the Uzumaki blooming within them.
By the end of their first season in the Rain, they no longer looked like refugees. They looked like young warriors.
Part Three – The Chunin of Amegakure
It was during one of their foraging trips that it happened.
Kaito and Soka were walking through the dripping forest, baskets in hand, when the sound of movement made them freeze. Four figures stepped into view—shinobi in the flak jackets of Amegakure.
Chunin.
Their eyes narrowed as they took in the sight of two red-haired children, their chakra bright and overflowing.
"Uzumaki," one spat. "So the rumors were true. Survivors."
The leader sneered. "Orders are clear. Eliminate them. Amegakure doesn't need trouble with the Great Nations by harboring Uzumaki."
Soka and Kaito exchanged a glance. Neither spoke—but in their eyes burned the same fire.
Kaito's hand went to his sword. Soka sank into a low stance, fists raised.
The four chunin spread out, forming a deadly circle. The leader raised his hand. "Attack."
The forest exploded into violence.
The Battle
Two chunin rushed first, kunai flashing. Kaito met them head-on, his sword singing through the rain. Sparks flew as steel clashed, his strikes fast and fluid, each movement drilled through months of practice. He forced them back step by step, his blade moving like lightning.
Soka darted between trees, her movements precise and sudden. She struck from angles, fists slamming into pressure points, forcing grunts of pain. One chunin stumbled as her kick shattered his knee, but she rolled away before his partner's kunai could pierce her.
The leader wove hand signs—Water Release: Gunshot! Bullets of water blasted toward Kaito. He twisted, his sword deflecting some, chakra-hardened skin taking the rest. He countered with a downward slash, carving into the earth, forcing his enemies to leap back.
Minutes passed. Rain soaked them all, steam rising where chakra clashed with wet soil.
The chunin's breaths grew ragged. Kaito and Soka's did not. Their Uzumaki vitality fueled them, their chakra endless compared to ordinary shinobi.
At the ten-minute mark, one chunin faltered, chakra reserves drained. Kaito seized the moment, his blade flashing across the man's chest. He collapsed, groaning, blood seeping into the mud.
The others grew desperate. They launched jutsu in tandem—wind blades, water whips, shuriken showers. Kaito and Soka moved as one. He parried, she struck. He absorbed, she redirected. Slowly, methodically, they turned the tide.
At thirteen minutes, the four chunin were gasping, their chakra nearly gone. Kaito and Soka stood unbowed, energy still surging in their veins.
The children advanced.
Kaito's sword slashed, disarming one opponent before the blade pierced his chest. Soka ducked under another's wild punch, striking her palm into his throat. He fell, choking.
The last two tried to flee, but Kaito's blade and Soka's fists ended them swiftly.
The forest grew silent once more. Four corpses lay in the mud, the rain washing their blood away.
Kaito wiped his blade on his sleeve. Soka exhaled, shaking her hands. Then, slowly, they both smiled.
They had survived. They had won.
"Thirteen minutes," Kaito muttered, half in disbelief.
Soka smirked. "We've gotten stronger. A lot stronger."
They walked back toward their cabin, shoulders squared, not even tired. For the first time since the massacre, they felt something more than grief.
They felt pride.
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I saw that most of the votes were for Kaito to be a villain and to explore the world or form his organization, so I'll do that. I'll see if he will form his organization or not depending on your votes.