Chapter 1: The Riftwalker's Shadow
The sun was low over a small, quiet village tucked between rolling hills, painting the wooden roofs in warm amber. Birds chirped, and a faint breeze carried the scent of fresh bread from the market. For most, it was an ordinary afternoon. For Menma Uzumaki, it was anything but ordinary.
At just fourteen, he moved through the streets with an elegance that betrayed years of training. His black hair fell over piercing blue eyes, the left swirling with faint crimson flecks — a premonition of the power that would later mark him as The Masked Warden. Though his small frame hinted at youth, the lean muscle under his shirt and the calm certainty in his stride revealed a boy who had carried more responsibility than many adults.
He paused in a narrow alley, senses alert. The air shimmered in a way only someone like him could detect: a disturbance in the space around him. The ripple of dimensional energy was subtle but unmistakable, like a stone thrown into a still pond.
Menma knelt slightly, hands brushing the ground, eyes narrowing. Not natural… someone's experimenting.
Before he could focus, a soft, frightened voice called out from the market square.
"Hey! Over here!"
Turning, Menma saw a girl with silvery hair, roughly his age, tugging at the hem of her dress as she ran toward him. Her eyes were wide, shining with the kind of fear only someone who had just lost everything could have.
"Who… who are you?" she asked, panting.
Menma crouched to her level, voice gentle yet firm. "I'm Menma. You're safe now. What's wrong?"
"My brother… he…" Her voice faltered, and she swallowed hard. "He went outside the village, chasing after something, and now he's… he's gone!"
Menma's sharp mind instantly cataloged possibilities. A wild beast? A rogue mage? A dimensional anomaly? His senses tingled — the residual magic in the air was faint but dark, a twisting pull that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
"Stay here," he instructed, standing. "I'll find him. But you… stay back."
She hesitated, then nodded. Something in his eyes made her trust him immediately. It wasn't just the confidence — it was the calm that promised protection.
The village outskirts were quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the trees. Menma's blue eyes scanned the horizon, detecting the invisible threads of space. He whispered a spell under his breath, and a faint shimmer appeared around his hands. Wood Make Magic, a gift he had barely mastered, sprouted a thin, flexible vine from the soil, winding ahead like a probe.
He always found a way to reach where others couldn't.
Hours passed. Shadows lengthened, and the village square emptied as merchants and children returned home. Yet Menma pressed on, silently weaving through the woods. It wasn't long before he found him: a boy, terrified, trapped in a glowing, unstable rift. Dimensional energy tore at the air, the edges of the anomaly crackling with blue-white sparks.
Menma assessed quickly: the boy was unharmed but unstable. One wrong move, and he could vanish into the rift — or worse.
He raised a hand, palm glowing faintly with Space Devil Slayer Magic, the magic resonating with the rift itself. Carefully, he wrapped the boy in a protective aura and whispered, "Hold still. I'll bring you back."
With a precise strike, Menma tore the rift open just enough, bending the fabric of space with his Rinnegan. The shimmering mirror-like dimension inside twisted, reflecting fragments of countless worlds. He slipped through briefly, pulling the boy toward him, then stepped back. The rift snapped closed, leaving only faint sparks floating in the air.
The boy blinked, shaken but safe. "I… I was going to—thank you…"
Menma smiled faintly. "You're welcome. But don't wander alone again."
As the adrenaline faded, Menma noticed a figure watching him from the edge of the treeline. A girl — the same one from the village — stood frozen, her wide eyes reflecting awe and fear.
"You… you did that?" she asked softly.
"I did what needed to be done," Menma replied. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. "No… I… I've never seen anyone like you."
Menma crouched slightly, offering a hand. "Then let's make sure you stay safe."
Her small hand met his, and in that simple contact, a bond was forged.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I'm… Mirajane. Mirajane Strauss."
"Menma," he said, giving a rare, faint smile. "Remember that. And remember — I'm here if you need help."
That day, in the quiet village on the edge of the forest, a childhood friendship was born — one that would survive grief, guild wars, and the darkest corners of Fiore.
Evening Reflection
Later that night, Menma sat atop a hill overlooking the village. The moon was pale silver, casting long shadows over the rooftops.
His mind replayed the incident — the rift, the boy, the strange pull of energy that had felt both familiar and alien.
I can't let this grow unchecked.
The Rinnegan beneath his closed eyelid twitched faintly, six tomoe spinning in miniature arcs. Dimensional energy whispered to him — a faint resonance of worlds unseen.
"I'll protect this world… and anyone in it," he murmured, voice barely audible. "Even if it kills me."
He didn't notice the soft glow from the woods, or the way Mirajane watched him silently from the village's edge. In her young eyes, he was more than a mage; he was a promise of safety, a pillar against the chaos of a world that had already taken so much from her.
And for Menma Uzumaki, the Masked Warden and Riftwalker, that promise would be kept — no matter the cost.
End of Chapter 1: The Riftwalker's Shadow