Naruto had never liked sleeping much, though he could not explain why. It was not because of nightmares. He rarely had those. It was more that sleep always felt heavier than it should have, as if once he closed his eyes, he was sinking somewhere deeper than simple rest. On most nights, he ignored the feeling because there was nothing else to do in his small apartment once the lights were off and the streets outside went quiet.
That night, after the shopkeeper had pushed him away from the fox mask display, he lay on his back staring at the ceiling for a long time. The apartment still smelled faintly of ramen broth. The cracked plaster above him looked the same as it always did. Nothing in the room had changed, yet something inside him felt unsettled.
He had asked himself the same question again while brushing his teeth.
Why do they look at me like that?
He had no answer. He never did.
Eventually his eyes grew heavy. His breathing slowed, and the darkness behind his eyelids deepened until the familiar shape of his room faded away.
When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in his bed.
Cold stone pressed against his bare feet. The air felt dense and carried a strange metallic scent. The space around him was enormous, far larger than his apartment, yet enclosed. A dim red light flickered across walls that seemed carved from rock.
Naruto turned slowly, taking in his surroundings without panic. He had always had vivid dreams. This felt clearer than usual, but he still assumed that was what it was.
Then he heard breathing.
It was slow and deep, the kind of sound that seemed to move the air itself. The vibration of it traveled across the stone floor and into his legs.
Naruto followed the sound with his eyes and finally saw it.
Massive bars rose up in front of him, each one thick and towering. Behind them sat something enormous, its form partly swallowed by shadow. Two red eyes opened and fixed onto him.
His chest tightened instantly. The pressure in the air became heavier, like standing too close to a cliff's edge and suddenly realizing how far down it was.
He did not run.
The creature behind the bars studied him with quiet intensity.
"So," the deep voice said, rough and resonant, "you have found your way here."
Naruto swallowed but forced himself to keep looking at it. "You're the one inside me, aren't you?"
The fox did not answer immediately. Its tails shifted slowly behind it, scraping against the stone.
"Yes," it said at last. "I am."
Naruto glanced around at the enormous space, then back at the cage. "This is the seal, right?"
"You stand within it."
Naruto scratched the side of his head. "So I'm dreaming inside my own stomach. That's weird."
The fox's eyes narrowed slightly, though not in anger. It leaned forward, chains along the gate rattling faintly as it moved.
"You do not seem frightened."
Naruto shrugged. "I mean, I was a little. But I already knew something was in there. People don't glare at someone for no reason."
The fox watched him carefully, and beneath that observation there was something else—an assessment that Naruto could not perceive.
"Tell me," the fox said slowly, "what do you remember?"
"About tonight?"
"About before."
Naruto frowned. "Before what?"
"Before this life."
Naruto blinked several times, then gave an awkward laugh. "That doesn't make any sense. No one remembers that kind of thing."
The fox did not laugh with him.
Naruto's smile faded gradually. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly aware that the question had not been random.
"I don't remember anything like that," he said, this time more seriously. "I just remember growing up here."
The fox leaned back slightly, still watching.
Naruto hesitated, then asked what had been sitting in his chest for years. "Are you the reason everyone hates me?"
The words came out quietly but clearly.
"Yes."
There was no hesitation in the answer.
Naruto lowered his eyes to the stone floor. "Did you really destroy the village?"
"Yes."
He stood there for a moment, absorbing that. He had heard whispers before. He had pieced things together from fragments of overheard conversations and cold stares. Hearing it directly felt different, but not shocking.
"I wasn't even born yet," he muttered.
"No," the fox agreed.
Naruto looked back up. "So they hate me because of you."
"Yes."
He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. "That's… kind of unfair."
The fox gave a low rumble that might have been a sign of amusement.
"Humans are not known for fairness."
Naruto let out a small breath through his nose. "I guess that's true."
The silence that followed was not tense. It was strange, but not hostile.
"What's your name?" Naruto asked suddenly.
The red eyes sharpened. "You dare—"
"If we're stuck together, I should know what to call you," Naruto interrupted, though his voice held no disrespect. It was simple practicality.
The fox studied him for a long moment.
"Kurama."
Naruto repeated the name quietly to himself, as if testing how it felt. "Kurama."
There was something oddly familiar about it, though he could not place why.
"You will not attempt to free me," Kurama said after a pause.
Naruto looked down at himself. "I can't even make more than one shadow clone without messing up. I don't think I'm freeing anyone anytime soon."
For a brief second, something shifted in the fox's gaze—not warmth, not approval, but a recalibration.
"You are unusual," Kurama said.
Naruto shrugged. "That's what people keep telling me."
He glanced again at the enormous cage. "Can I come back here?"
"If your mind wanders here again, you will."
The space around Naruto began to blur at the edges. The red light dimmed slightly.
"Okay," he said, feeling the dream pulling him away. "See you, I guess."
When he woke up, early morning light was filtering through the window of his apartment. The ceiling above him looked the same as always.
He sat up slowly, pressing his hand lightly against his stomach.
"Kurama," he murmured.
The name felt real.
Deep within the seal, the fox's eyes opened once more. The boy's chakra was still immature and unstable, but beneath that instability lay a faint pattern that did not belong to an ordinary child. It was subtle and incomplete, more like a distant echo than a clear presence, yet it remained consistent.
Kurama did not understand it fully.
But he had time to observe.
And he would.