(AN: Thank you for reading happy holidays)
Raizo Uzumaki was two years old when the world began to show just how deeply it lived inside him.
He spoke early.
Not in the clumsy, half-formed sounds most toddlers used, but in clear words that landed with surprising precision. Akane noticed it first when he began forming short sentences without hesitation, as if the words had already existed somewhere inside him and he was simply retrieving them.
Most children spoke because they wanted something.
Raizo spoke because he had noticed something.
Some days, he said very little at all. He sat quietly, watching the way light shifted across walls or how wind pulled at the curtains. Other days, he asked questions that made Akane pause mid-motion, heart skipping just slightly as she tried to remind herself that he was still just a child.
One morning, she sat on the porch repairing a torn sealing pouch, needle moving steadily through cloth. Raizo toddled up beside her and watched for a long time, head tilted slightly, dark eyes tracking every movement.
"Why does paper remember?" he asked suddenly.
Akane blinked. "Remember?"
Raizo pointed to the sealing tag in her hand. "Paper remembers chakra. Why?"
For several seconds, Akane couldn't speak.
She set the pouch aside and pulled him gently into her lap, steadying her breathing before answering. "Because chakra leaves a mark," she said carefully. "The paper holds that mark so it can be used later."
Raizo nodded once, as if that explained everything.
Then he leaned forward and placed his small palm against the sealing tag.
It glowed.
Not brightly. Not violently. Just a soft, spiraling shimmer—gentle but unmistakable.
Akane froze.
The glow faded almost immediately, but the mark remained. Raizo's chakra—dense, coiled, and distinctly his—was burned into the paper like it had always belonged there.
"That's enough for today," Akane whispered, more to herself than to him.
Raizo rested his head against her chest, listening to her heartbeat, perfectly content.
Akane held him a little tighter than usual.
Uzushiogakure shaped Raizo as much as his blood did.
He grew among stone paths carved into spirals, tide walls etched with seals, and shrines worn smooth by centuries of reverence. Red banners fluttered in the wind. Blue waves crashed endlessly below the cliffs. White markings decorated every home.
The village breathed in patterns.
Raizo loved the sea most of all.
Whenever Akane or Riku took him to the shoreline, he waddled straight toward the tide pools and crouched beside them, utterly still. He watched the water swirl between rocks, eyes following each curl and collapse with intense focus.
He rarely blinked.
Once, a fisherman paused nearby, noticing the boy's stillness.
"That child's seein' somethin'," the man muttered.
Riku stood beside him, hands folded loosely, eyes on his son. "Yes," he said quietly. "He is."
At home, Raizo moved through daily life like a quiet current.
When Akane swept the floor, he traced patterns in the dust—spirals, triangles, repeating curves. When Riku organized tools, Raizo rearranged them into balanced formations without being asked.
One afternoon, Riku noticed Raizo lining up pebbles across the porch. The stones formed a long, curved chain, precise enough that Riku's breath caught.
He crouched beside his son. "Raizo," he said softly. "What are you building?"
Raizo pointed. "It goes like this."
Riku removed one pebble.
Raizo stopped instantly.
His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but concentration. He picked up the pebble and placed it back exactly where it had been.
Riku felt cold settle into his chest.
"That's a sealing array," he whispered.
Akane, overhearing, nearly dropped her tea. "He's two," she said. "He shouldn't—"
"He doesn't understand," Riku said quietly.
"He feels it."
Raizo continued arranging the stones, adjusting the curve until the flow felt right to him.
It wasn't just patterns.
It was people.
Raizo felt emotions as if they were weather.
If Akane grew anxious, he appeared at her side, small hand pressed to her knee until her breathing slowed. If villagers whispered angrily in the market, he stopped walking, frowning even when he couldn't see them.
Grief affected him most.
One afternoon, rainclouds gathered low over the rooftops as Akane carried Raizo through a narrow side street. An older woman passed them slowly, clutching a funeral prayer slip.
Raizo turned his head sharply.
His small hand tightened on Akane's shoulder.
"Hurt," he whispered.
Akane swallowed, heart aching. She kissed his hair gently. "I know, little one. But that pain isn't yours."
Raizo didn't understand.
But he felt it anyway.
Around this time, Raizo met his first friend.
Hina Uzumaki entered his life like a crashing wave—loud, energetic, clumsy, and fearless. She was the same age, though her boundless energy made her seem older.
The first time they met, Hina tripped over a cushion, knocked over a table, and laughed as bowls shattered on the floor.
Raizo ran to her immediately, placing a hand on her shoulder as if checking for injury.
Hina giggled. "You're funny."
Raizo stared at her, then smiled—small and soft.
From that day on, they were rarely apart.
Raizo followed Hina because she was warm. Bright. Easy to read. Her emotions didn't overwhelm him—they steadied him.
The day everything changed began quietly.
Akane cooked lunch. Raizo sat on the floor drawing spirals with chalk on a wooden board Riku had made for him. His drawings were complex now—tight coils, branching curves, simplified seal patterns formed entirely from instinct.
Riku was at the market.
Hina wouldn't arrive for another hour.
Then a crash echoed outside.
Merchants shouted. A crate shattered.
Akane flinched.
The pan slipped from her hand.
It struck the floor with a violent clang, oil splattering across the stone.
Fear spiked.
Raizo felt it.
Not like sound.
Like a wave crashing into his chest.
His breath caught. His pupils dilated. Chakra surged, spiraling outward from his feet, cracking stone.
"Raizo!" Akane cried.
Too late.
Her fear flooded him. Borrowed. Amplified.
His eyes flashed—crimson, unstable, flickering like broken reflections.
The Ketsuryūgan.
Akane rushed forward, pulling him into her arms. "Shhh—Mama's here. You're safe."
Raizo sobbed, overwhelmed, shaking violently.
Riku burst in moments later.
"He felt my fear," Akane whispered. "All of it."
Riku placed a steady hand on Raizo's back. "Breathe, Raizo. Just us."
Slowly, the chakra faded.
The red retreated.
Raizo clung to Akane, exhausted.
The Council heard about it by sunset.
Emergency deliberations followed. Arguments clashed. Fears surfaced.
But the head elder silenced them.
"We are not discussing a weapon," he said firmly. "We are discussing a child."
Monitoring increased. Guidance was ordered.
And responsibility settled heavily on Akane and Riku.
That night, Raizo slept between them.
Riku stayed awake, watching his son breathe.
"Our son will not fear himself," he whispered.
Outside, waves curled in perfect spirals.
Inside, Raizo stirred—eyes fluttering open just long enough for a faint red shimmer to glow beneath them.
The ocean answered him.
And Raizo answered back.
Thanks for reading, feel free to write a comment, leave a review, and Power Stones are always appreciated.
I have two other stories I am currently working on
The first story is called Reborn as Stephen Cooper it currently has 20 chapters go and check it out tell me your thoughts
The second story has a work in progress name but it is a story a soul reincarnated as Cain (Bible) in the world of TVD/Originals.