The sun was only beginning to rise over Konoha, its light catching the rooftops as the village slowly awoke. Birds chirped. Merchants opened their shops. But inside the Hokage's office, Uzumaki Naruto sat staring at a single, ancient wooden box—sealed with wax, ink symbols, and what felt like the faint pulse of chakra.
Shikamaru stood beside him, scratching his head with a sigh.
"Why do weird artifacts always end up in your office?"
Naruto shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I'm just special."
"Or cursed," Shikamaru muttered.
The box had been dug up during a routine road expansion near the forest. No one could open it—not even ANBU. But when Naruto touched it, the symbols glowed, and the seals released on their own.
Inside was a scroll. Very old. So old the edges crumbled when Naruto lifted it.
A single line was written in flowing brush strokes:
"To the Hokage who carries the sun—prepare for what sleeps beneath the roots."
Naruto frowned.
"What sleeps beneath the roots?"
Shikamaru leaned in.
"Trouble. Always trouble."
As Naruto unrolled the scroll further, the ink shimmered and rearranged itself into a map—one pointing deep into the forests of the Land of Fire, to a place neither of them had ever seen.
Naruto stood up, tying on his cloak.
"Let's go."
Shikamaru groaned.
"Knew you'd say that…"