Dawn never came.
The sky was still dark when the first fireball ripped through the northern perimeter.
A roaring flash, then screams. Smoke curled into the air like a signal from hell.
Then—
Silence.
Then—
The second strike. South wall. The ground trembled. Blades clashed in the distance. Another scream—wet, final.
Elias shot up from his cot, already half-dressed, heart racing.
It's happening.
The Uchiha had come earlier than expected.
His Jougan flickered to life as he threw open the flap of his tent. The world changed. Color drained. Chakra lit up like veins across the battlefield.
And among the flickering lights…
There they were.
Three of them.
Uchiha.
Not wearing full armor—just black battle cloaks with red stitching. Hair tied back. Faces calm. Efficient. Their chakra moved like coiled snakes: dense, sharp, ready to strike.
One was already inside the compound. He stepped over a corpse, blood glinting on his blade. His Sharingan eyes spun lazily.
"Not a war. A hunt." Elias thought.
He turned and ran.
Not toward the fight—but away from it.
Because in the chaos, in the blood and fire, Elias understood something:
They weren't here for the clan.
They were here for him.
⸻
The clan's defenses were collapsing.
This wasn't a skirmish. It was an execution.
The Uchiha moved like smoke—silent, coordinated. Every target was taken down with precision. The minor clan's shinobi were skilled, but unrefined. Too few. Too desperate. The gap in power wasn't just talent. It was legacy.
And the Uchiha had been perfecting theirs for generations.
⸻
Elias ducked behind a collapsed wall, breath ragged, eyes scanning for escape routes.
Think. Move. Don't stop.
His Jougan flared, tracking the chakra threads across the battlefield.
Then—
A flicker behind him.
Too late.
A kunai slammed into the dirt beside his head. He twisted away just in time to avoid the next one. A figure dropped from the trees—silent, swift.
Uchiha.
This one was young. Barely older than Elias looked. His Sharingan burned with curiosity rather than rage.
"You're him," the boy said. "The outsider. The eye."
Elias didn't respond. His hand was already gripping a stolen kunai—blade shaky but ready.
The Uchiha didn't attack.
He looked at Elias like one would a strange animal. "You don't move like a trained shinobi. But your chakra is awake. And that eye…" His gaze sharpened. "They told me it wasn't a dojutsu we knew. They were wrong."
He stepped forward.
Elias backed up.
"You should come with us. You're wasted here."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
The boy shrugged. "I figured you'd say that."
Then he vanished.
Shit—! Elias barely managed to parry the next strike. The Uchiha's blade scraped his arm—shallow but painful. Elias threw a punch—wild, untrained—but the Jougan read the boy's movements. A flicker of chakra in his heel warned of a sidestep, and Elias kicked there first.
A lucky hit.
The boy staggered.
But not for long.
A fire-style jutsu bloomed behind them—too close. Heat rushed past Elias's face as another member of the clan flew across the courtyard, burning.
The boy looked up, annoyed. "They're making a mess of things."
Elias didn't wait. He ran.
⸻
No plan. Just move. Stay alive.
He tore through the ruins, slipping into the same shrine where it all began. It was darker now, the mural barely visible.
But he could still feel the eye's presence.
The Jougan pulsed again, brighter now.
Not fear. Something else.
Warning.
Elias turned. Another Uchiha stood in the entrance—an older man. Face marked by scars. His Sharingan didn't spin. It glowed steady and cold.
He stepped into the shrine slowly, reverently.
"I remember this place," the man said. "It was sealed after the last Heaven's Watcher died."
"You knew about them?"
"We destroyed them," he said calmly. "Their eye was too dangerous. It saw what the Sharingan couldn't. Truth. Emotion. Weakness. We couldn't allow that."
His hand moved slowly to his weapon.
Elias clenched his fists, trying to draw chakra to his limbs.
The man raised an eyebrow. "You've barely begun to walk this path, and yet… that eye awakened naturally."
He stepped closer. "You don't belong to any clan. And yet your blood sings with an ancient power. Who are you?"
Elias said nothing.
But the Jougan flared again—sharper now, clearer. It revealed something underneath the Uchiha's calm.
Guilt.
Not hesitation.
Regret.
Elias's vision sharpened. The man's chakra network trembled—not with fear, but with remembrance. The shrine meant something to him.
"You killed someone here," Elias whispered, eyes wide.
The Uchiha froze.
"There was a woman. Like me. One of the Watchers. She died here. Didn't she?"
"…You saw that?"
Elias nodded. "Your chakra spiked when you looked at the mural. You're remembering it."
The man lowered his weapon an inch. "You're not supposed to be alive."
"I am."
The tension grew unbearable.
Then the Uchiha's expression shifted. "You're not ready. But they won't stop hunting you."
He turned to leave.
"Wait—why are you sparing me?"
He paused at the threshold. "Because I don't know what your eye will become. And I want to see it."
Then he vanished.
⸻
Elias collapsed against the wall, breathing hard.
Around him, the clan was dying.
He could hear the screams. The fire. The last gasps of a people who had taken him in—even if they never truly trusted him.
He didn't cry.
He didn't mourn.
He just sat in the dark.
And for the first time… didn't feel helpless.
He wasn't strong. Not yet. But he was necessary.
The Jougan wasn't just a gift. It was a beacon. A curse. A warning to this world that someone from beyond had arrived with no history, no allegiance, and no intention of playing by its rules.
.
.
.
The smoke still lingered on the horizon, a faint black plume against the dawn sky. Elias's heart thudded against his ribs—not from exhaustion, but from the steady beat of purpose that had rooted itself deep inside him.
He did not look back.
The minor clan was no more.
What remained were echoes: cries swallowed by the forest, the snap of burning timber, and the weight of a new war pressing down on him.
This world doesn't wait for heroes.
It only waits for survivors.
Elias moved like a shadow between broken trees and shattered earth, each step measured and careful. His Jougan flickered—showing paths that were safe, alerting him to the faintest chakra signatures.
He did not want to fight anymore. Not now. Not yet.
He needed to disappear.
⸻
The land around the ruined compound stretched wide and wild, a jagged tapestry of forests and hills carved by rivers that twisted like silver snakes.
Elias kept walking.
He traveled for days, avoiding villages and roads. Every shadow could be a hunter. Every face, a threat.
But the world was alive.
Birds called in the distance, and the wind whispered secrets through the leaves. For a moment, the weight of his past lifted. Just for a moment.
I am not the sum of my blood.
I am more.
⸻
One night, under a sky thick with stars, Elias crouched beside a small stream and dipped his hands into the cold water.
He stared at his reflection.
The Jougan's pale glow flickered softly in the moonlight.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
No answer but the ripple of water.
His mind drifted back to the Uchiha man's words—the legacy of the Watchers, the blood that was hunted.
And yet, Elias was alive.
And he would not be hunted forever.
⸻
As Elias approached the border of Senju territory, the forest thickened, ancient trees towering overhead like silent guardians. The air shifted; it was heavier here, dense with the power of those who ruled the land.
Senju land.
He had heard stories—of their strength, their ruthlessness, and their unyielding grip on this war-torn region.
Better to avoid them.
But fate rarely honored caution.
⸻
He was spotted.
From the shadows, a patrol emerged—three shinobi moving swiftly and without hesitation. Their eyes cold, weapons drawn. Their chakra flared, bright and unrelenting.
"You don't belong here," one said sharply, voice edged with warning.
Elias met their gaze. No words. Only the weight of his resolve.
The youngest of the Senju cracked his knuckles. "Run."
⸻
What followed was a blur.
Elias's legs burned as he sprinted through the forest, branches scraping his arms, dirt grinding beneath his feet. Behind him, the shouts grew louder. The sharp swish of weapons cutting through the air.
His Jougan flared with every heartbeat—tracking the fastest route, revealing dangers hidden in the underbrush.
The chase was relentless.
⸻
After what felt like hours, the forest gave way to rocky cliffs and a roaring waterfall crashing into the river below.
Elias skidded to the edge, chest heaving.
The valley stretched out beneath him—a deep chasm where water met stone.
He was alone.
⸻
Behind him, the Senju patrol approached, weapons ready.
Elias had no choice.
He looked down into the frothing water below—cold, dark, and unknown.
His Jougan pulsed—steady, calm.
Taking a deep breath, Elias stepped forward.
And leapt.